theangle.org

Contortionist PNG style: Credit Damian Baker

By The NewsHooker:

On location in the PNG Highlands, the NewsHooker describes how he evaded robbery by a local rascal.

I had let my guard down as, after being in Mt Hagen and Porgera, Goroka seemed a fairly benign little place.

A footy match was in full progress when I arrived and, as I looked around at the surrounding countryside, it appeared the locals were both hard-working and neat and tidy. I had left the swish surrounds of the Bird of Paradise Hotel (hooker budget does not run to $175 per night) and headed for my digs at the Lutheran Guest House (even at $33 it adds up).

This is becoming a common practice for me as I find the flash joint with the Internet, pay the exorbitant prices for the drinks and food, work may ass off on the computer to get my stuff out, then head off to the seedy side of town for the cheap digs.

The encroaching darkness has caught me a couple of times and concerned locals had, more than once, offered me a lift home.

The same thing happened this time, as I rounded the corner off the main road an old pastor offered me a ride in his 4×4. I crossed the road to decline with thanks as I was literally two doors from the guesthouse. However as I stepped back across the road I noticed a group of young fellas on the corner. I did my normal “look ‘em in the eye and say hello” routine as I passed them by.

I walked quickly with a couple of back glances and strode past a young guy with a hoodie on. He was right on the boundary of the guesthouse when he turned quickly, held up a knife and stated “this is a hold up.”

It was a strange few seconds, some sort of false deja vu happened ( maybe from a movie or something) as I almost couldn’t believe he had used the classic line. In fact I never gave him time to finish his line, as I sidestepped swiftly, took my trusty camera monopod off my shoulder, swung it in his direction and shouted a profanity mum doesn’t like followed by the word “off”.

I ran around the wannabe robber, putting the gates of the guesthouse between myself and him. He seemed a little shocked and surprised and backed off into the shadows as I took three steps, jumped and flung myself head first over the barbed wire- topped security fence, landing on my ass on the other side.

The poor old half-sozzled Lutheran security guard on the guesthouse side was more shocked than anyone in the street. At first he could not work out where I came from and then could not believe what had happened.

However after a few short words on the radio he checked the gates were locked and settled himself back in for the night.

Thank God this is the first place I’ve stayed in PNG without the obligatory rolls of razor wire I thought as I nursed my bruising, though I think the fact that Goroka is not as fortified as other towns I’ve stayed in the Highlands was a big part in me relaxing my guard.

I’m not sure if the two incidents are connected but my faith in Goroka was further shaken when a big bald white fella carrying a semi automatic gun ran screaming down the street yelling at a black fella an hour later. It was obvious the black fella had lost the white fellas trust (the gun was a good hint) but he kept repeating it for good measure all down the street.

As the brouhaha wound down a group of 6 or so locals arrived as backup, and after a few words of pidgin from Baldy they gleefully ran off hooting into the dark after the original poor untrustworthy fellow. Strange as it seems I was hoping they didn’t find him  (I don’t think they did) as I get a sense here in PNG that you don’t even have to scratch the surface to find the real violence.

Goroka Market. Credit: Toksave

Edginess

It’s strange what fear can do. It gradually increases in intensity until everybody is so amped and on edge that they are raring for a showdown. You can sense an edge in the air often in PNG, I watched a market crowd surge today as some sort of dispute arose.

The movement of the crowd was somehow ballet-like. Everyone at once trying to avoid the violence (in the move backwards) and at the same time making preparations to join it from the front foot. In a totally non-judgemental way it reminded me of the behaviour of pack dogs closing in for a kill on a more powerful animal.

I can’t explain these outbursts as the locals are the most friendly happy bunch you could ever expect to meet almost 99 percent of the time, but there really is a primitive edge to the way they react sometimes.

When this occurs, it’s as though you could cut the air with a knife; time seems to stand still, frozen in fear itself.

I know the edginess of the place is a big part of what I love about PNG, I just hope I can work in with it and not get caught out by it.

As I cross check the article, the sound of breaking bottles and something heavy being dragged on the road outside grabs my attention. Never a dull moment in PNG!!! As signal whistles sound out across the town the dogs are barking and its Saturday night in Gorkora.

I will turn off the lights as not to attract extra attention and see if I can catch a few winks. I should have realized, I’m still in the highlands, and maybe this bit of wildness has yet to be refined to the West.