There is a great adventure park between Nine Mile and Bomana, a brainchild of the colourful Justin Tkatchenko. Orchid gardens, lakeside walks, PNG animals in enclosures. You can go fishing and enjoy a barbecue.

Justin tried to import exotic animals for the zoo but was prevented by quarantine restrictions. So the park has concrete pretend animals adorning its entrance. As my brother said, "Ah, you saw Justin's animals which don't move!"

Vision City is to all appearances a modern shopping mall which could be found in any western city. I walked past the air-conditioned shops with the sisters and peered through the windows at jewellery, dresses and entertainment systems which an average PNG worker couldn’t afford in a lifetime.

"Who buys this stuff?" I asked.

"Oh mostly politicians and businessmen," came the answer.

But this is a façade.

Scratch just a little deeper and the old PNG is still there, even in Moresby. I doubt the trappings of wealth extend much beyond the city perimeter.

Perhaps the resources boom brought a new life to the privileged few, but the great unwashed still have to endure a life of privation, devoid of services and facing a constant struggle to make ends meet.

At Nine Mile, where I stayed with the family, there are a few mansions being built but most people in the settlement eke out a living running buai stalls and selling Ox and Palm, Wopas and Coke.

We had no water from 9-5 most days, power blackouts are common and there is limited, if any, sewerage apart from an open drain.

I wonder if visiting politicians and business people are aware of what life is like just one kilometre along the road from their posh hotel?

But the Melanesian way prevails. One morning we had an urgent phone call (on a Digicel 4G mobile) to say a brother had had an altercation with an employee over a performance-related issue which ended with a punch on the nose.

A compensation ritual was needed quickly before the aggrieved man’s family’s rumblings of payback turned into something more concrete.

So we bundled into Mana's PMV and drove to Three Mile in a display of family solidarity.

There was no need to worry. “Put away that busnaif, uncle,” I was advised.

When we arrived at the place of the offended party, brother was already sharing a bottle of Black Label with the aggrieved, three pigs were nobly sacrificing their lives in the cause of peace and the aunties from both sides were busy peeling kaukau and bananas.

Peace in our time.

But, while traditional courtesies remain, ordinary people in the settlements cry out for development and services, politicians continue to prevaricate while counting their ill-gotten gains, and the kids’ illnesses still go untreated and they can't afford to attend school in the much-proclaimed ‘free’ education system.

Cry the beloved country.