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Piku-Piku and Asukena – Part 3

Aishi Nokowano Gitehoma aka Papa Sii  Kotiyufa Village  Iufi-Iufa  2013
Aishi Nokowano Gitehoma aka Papa Sii,  Kotiyufa Village,  Iufi-Iufa,  2013


PORT MORESBY – Before I continue this story, I should let you know that it is an adaptation of a legend told by Papa Sii, whose image is at right

I have taken the words he told me and retold it using a contemporary overlay story of some bored village children.

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Piku-Piku and Asukena – Part 2

Piku-Piku (black grasshopper)


LEGEND - Nana-Muni held the bottle out to the three girls and Sukare took it carefully between two fingers, took a quick look and passed it to Teniso.

Teniso was a tomboy and she turned the bottle upside down and let the asukena (mole grasshopper) scramble onto Sukare’s hands.

Sukare gave a scream and a wince and dropped the bottle. The asukena scurried off into the kaukau vines.

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Piku-Piku and Asukena – Part 1

Asukena (mole cricket)
Asukena (mole cricket)


Baka Bina’s ninth book, Tales From Faif, is due for release before the end of December. It includes for extracts from the popular Cry Me a River series, two from the Pineapple series, four legends and three contemporary stories - KJ

A LEGEND - Alonaa was bored. He did not like the idea of babysitting the terror cousins –the three girls, Teniso, Sukare, Panikame, and two boys, Nana-Muni and Metty-Mahn, who were smaller than him.

The girls were terrors - more like terriers - who were too troublesome to look after.

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Garo Matana, the blue-eyed child – Part 1

Blue-eyesISO YAWI
| A fictional story in three parts

Outside the small brown vavine numana (Papuan women’s house), just beyond the civilised world, it was a cold rainy evening.

Standing 20 metres high on the plateau of Rako, the vavine numana was set some way from the village of Babaka. Within, a young pregnant woman, Tarubo, laboured in the pangs of childbirth.

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Tonight the Moon Carries Her Umbrella

| Ples Singsing

Translations: Bahasa by Sylvana Sandi; Tok Pisin by Michael Dom; Hiri Motu by Gemona Konemamata

She rises late in the afternoon
And tonight she carries her umbrella
Smoky tendrils trail behind her glittering sarung kobaya
As she strolls across my universe
Far, far away she walks, alone
Where my arms cannot reach to embrace her

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When the rains fall red


PORT MORESBY - Darn the wind!

As she stepped out of the PMV bus outside the Port Moresby town police station, Matalina immediately knew she would be in trouble.

The gale-force wind, blowing fast and furious from Ela Beach over the isthmus to Fairfax Harbour, was sweeping the debris away and replacing it with its own rubbish of torn bushes and plants.

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Project Infiltration


Port Moresby - Wallace’s story, ‘Project Infiltration’, won the Grades 11 -12 category for Best Language Usage Story in the Paradise College ANIS Writing Competition

DAY FIFTY-TWO BEGAN with fear; the type that kept me awake at night; the type that filled me with disconcerting uncertainty; the type that was present from the beginning.

It had been fifty-two days since my carefully orchestrated escapade and too long since my unfortunate kidnapping. I had seemed to have lost track of time.

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I spent a bit of time in New Guinea


So what did you do for a crust?
Oh, the usual, public service and all that
Me too, I was in health administration
Before that I was a kiap in Papua New Guinea
That’s interesting, who do you barrack for?

I walked the high mountains and deep valleys
I reckon the Eagles will make the finals this year
I met men who had never seen steel before
Go on, is that right, is that your car out there?
And I saw men fighting with bows and arrows

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All true stewards of nature


A band of warriors
Bold and brave with spears
Splendour of their forefathers
Invoked deep is their courage
Faces painted traditional colours of war
All true stewards of nature!

Brothers and sisters of Morobe
Spears sharpened in Tutumang haus
They will not give up
Fighting for Huon Gulf's clear beauty
Saying no to the mine's deep sea deposits
All true stewards of nature!

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Let words be not silent or sleep alone


Have all good poems been written
That we today have none to share 
What then of the heart being smitten 
By the beauty of eyes that stare 
Or the walk that none can compare 

Have all good poems been written 
That we today have none to read 
What then of the loss that burden 
A broken heart held by a thread 
Or photo lost to time instead

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Law & the unfairness we face


FACTION - I sidled up to Ve’ Maghe working on his next piece of writing or legal argument.  He was engrossed in penning a few lines and did not look up.

I’d been friends with Ve’ Maghe for a long time and had been around him so long I think he could recognise my smell, especially the lavender cologne that I liked to wear.  It was registered in his brain.

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Between islands



FICTION - The young woman drifted almost unnoticed to sit beside me. She was probably in her mid-twenties and without doubt strikingly beautiful.

From the way she was dressed she seemed educated. Maybe a teacher or a nurse or a research student who, like me, was headed to the islands.

I was on the starboard deck of MV Papua with just the warm sea breeze and a Philip Fitzpatrick Hari Metau novel keeping me company when she took the empty seat beside me.

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Reckless Healing


Always in a dilemma of loathing and loving
Your family that keep secrets
You are dismayed but they plead for your silence
It’s for your protection they say,
It’s for everyone’s peace
You want to disappear
But the feeble child inside you feels insecure
Home is what they provide
So you tolerate their exploitative ways
Yes, we all get broken any way
And a reckless healing would do anyway

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Hail Meri


I didn’t see my baby after the Caesarian. My sedated state made it impossible to do that.

After the procedure, the baby was taken from the operating theatre and brought to the nursery. I was told I would not see my miracle until I was able to sit up in bed.

I was afraid I might not recognise my baby.

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Kipilan’s moka exchange

Jeremiah Munini
Jeremiah Munini


PORT MORESBY - Kipilan, a leader of the Yanarian people near Wabag in Enga Province, was born in Tambori village, in the 1920s.

Three months before Papua New Guinea’s independence on 16 September 1975, he went to Port Moresby to record the story of his life in the Enga language and anthropologist Philip Nere translated it to English.

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