Achy breaky heart
It almost felt like home this morning. I refrained from opening my eyes to check the time for fear of ruining the moment. As I lay in bed with the fresh smells of rain pulsing around me, I contemplated how I could somehow capture this and the soft, comforting ambience created by sounds and smells of the welcome wet on my tin roof. Osmosis perhaps? Alright, my imagination is well and truly awake – definitely time to get up.
Surprisingly the thought of walking to work in the rain didn’t perturb my upbeat morning at all. As I walked out from under the protection of the coconut palms and mangosteens, the beach was desolate. Well, of human beings at the very least. The little mud crabs were making the most of having the beach to themselves sporadically scurrying at the speed of light to dodge my approaching sandy footprints. But one of the steel eyesores the industrials quite appropriately name as ‘barges’ eclipsing the would-be-perfect vista still caused me to criss-cross up the dunes to avoid being clothes-lined by their mooring ropes.
With my bus stop on the edge of town now within cooee and the time approaching near 7:30am, life began to awaken on the beachside. Half-naked kids made the most of their mothers’ distracted early morning busyness having running races dodging the litter (that I have grown to hate) and (it has to be said to create a realistic image) the rainbow of faeces (*see below for additional story) along the water’s edge. Pictures of sharks with little fish inside were etched into the sand with sticks and malnourished curly-tailed dogs made the most of the food scraps tossed into the ocean, along with everything else. (Still yet to discover why it is that dogs in developing countries more often than not have curly tails?)
I recognised one of the beaming little faces running towards me as a local girl Naumi, I had befriended at the bus stop a few weeks ago. We have been sharing stories each morning waiting for the number 8 bus to arrive and whisk us away into town and drop us at the markets. Last week she humbled me to no end, giving me a bilum her aunty from Kimbe had made for her.
Although she is in year 6, her age would be no less than 15 or 16. I have come to learn that education among MANY other typically imperative societal norms, have very little priority in governmental spending or consideration. Heart-broken. But, it doesn’t seem to bother little Naumi. I guess she doesn’t know any different. And ironically enough, she’s going to fix my broken heart she says to me this morning. She wants to become a doctor when she finished school. And a HEART doctor at that, too! She was even more ecstatic to learn that when I was born that I had had three holes in my heart. You see, we were meant to be friends, she squeals clinging to my arm.
Lesson 18: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Miss you already and always.
* Yes, every good journal needs an entry on faeces. So, you see, as mentioned previously rubbish collection is all-but non-existent in the sleepy locale of Kokopo. I see the rubbish truck every morning during my walk to work, but it doesn’t have any wheels. Apparently somebody stole them? Hmm. So now the ocean doubles not only as a bath to wash yourself in, but a rubbish depositary. The villagers along the beach sweep up their coconut husks, leaves, biscuit wrappers, nappies, old items of clothing, glass bottles, tuna cans and anything else lying around and throw it in the water. Then they wash themselves right next to their floating waste. Can you see why cholera is spreading like wildfire here now? Luckily for me, the people in my village have been taught basics in hygiene and treasure our beach.
I do have to admit though that one afternoon while swimming with the girls from my village, they scared me to no end. I thought they were jumping up and down in the water screaming ‘puk puk’ which means crocodile and ‘get of the water bloody quick’ but in fact they were screaming ‘pek pek’ which means poo... Also time to get out of the water.
Lesson 19: Make sure you distinguish your vowels. Mistaking a ‘e’ for an ‘u’ can either leave up sh*t creek or up sh*t creek without a paddle.
Surprisingly the thought of walking to work in the rain didn’t perturb my upbeat morning at all. As I walked out from under the protection of the coconut palms and mangosteens, the beach was desolate. Well, of human beings at the very least. The little mud crabs were making the most of having the beach to themselves sporadically scurrying at the speed of light to dodge my approaching sandy footprints. But one of the steel eyesores the industrials quite appropriately name as ‘barges’ eclipsing the would-be-perfect vista still caused me to criss-cross up the dunes to avoid being clothes-lined by their mooring ropes.
With my bus stop on the edge of town now within cooee and the time approaching near 7:30am, life began to awaken on the beachside. Half-naked kids made the most of their mothers’ distracted early morning busyness having running races dodging the litter (that I have grown to hate) and (it has to be said to create a realistic image) the rainbow of faeces (*see below for additional story) along the water’s edge. Pictures of sharks with little fish inside were etched into the sand with sticks and malnourished curly-tailed dogs made the most of the food scraps tossed into the ocean, along with everything else. (Still yet to discover why it is that dogs in developing countries more often than not have curly tails?)
I recognised one of the beaming little faces running towards me as a local girl Naumi, I had befriended at the bus stop a few weeks ago. We have been sharing stories each morning waiting for the number 8 bus to arrive and whisk us away into town and drop us at the markets. Last week she humbled me to no end, giving me a bilum her aunty from Kimbe had made for her.
Although she is in year 6, her age would be no less than 15 or 16. I have come to learn that education among MANY other typically imperative societal norms, have very little priority in governmental spending or consideration. Heart-broken. But, it doesn’t seem to bother little Naumi. I guess she doesn’t know any different. And ironically enough, she’s going to fix my broken heart she says to me this morning. She wants to become a doctor when she finished school. And a HEART doctor at that, too! She was even more ecstatic to learn that when I was born that I had had three holes in my heart. You see, we were meant to be friends, she squeals clinging to my arm.
Lesson 18: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Miss you already and always.
* Yes, every good journal needs an entry on faeces. So, you see, as mentioned previously rubbish collection is all-but non-existent in the sleepy locale of Kokopo. I see the rubbish truck every morning during my walk to work, but it doesn’t have any wheels. Apparently somebody stole them? Hmm. So now the ocean doubles not only as a bath to wash yourself in, but a rubbish depositary. The villagers along the beach sweep up their coconut husks, leaves, biscuit wrappers, nappies, old items of clothing, glass bottles, tuna cans and anything else lying around and throw it in the water. Then they wash themselves right next to their floating waste. Can you see why cholera is spreading like wildfire here now? Luckily for me, the people in my village have been taught basics in hygiene and treasure our beach.
I do have to admit though that one afternoon while swimming with the girls from my village, they scared me to no end. I thought they were jumping up and down in the water screaming ‘puk puk’ which means crocodile and ‘get of the water bloody quick’ but in fact they were screaming ‘pek pek’ which means poo... Also time to get out of the water.
Lesson 19: Make sure you distinguish your vowels. Mistaking a ‘e’ for an ‘u’ can either leave up sh*t creek or up sh*t creek without a paddle.
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