A JOURNAL OF NEW GUINEA LITERATURE
A JOURNAL OF NEW GUINEA LITERATURE-
K O V A V E : A MAGAZINE OF NEWGUINEA LITERATUREThe editor is grateful to the pu lisherswhoseadvertisements made this pilot number ofKOVAVE possible, and to Jacaranda Press whoassisted us in producing it.Editorial Committee:Elton Brash, Vincent Eri, J o Gray, Leo Hannet,Rabbie NammaliuEditor: Ulli Beier; Box 1144 Boroko, PapuaCover design and vignettes: Georgina Beier
CONTENTSPOETRYl-\\'O POEMSBOASTING SONGA NEW GUINEA BESTIARYFOUR INCANTATIONSLAMENTSPIDGIN SONGSPROSEVILLAGE CHURCH AND SCHOOL,GROWING UP IN MAILUFOLKLOREWHY WE DO NOT RECEIVE CARGO FROMOUR DEAD RELATIVESLAKEKAVUHOW THE MOON CAME INTO BEINGCRITICISM"CAUTIOUSLY ADVANCE ATOMIC AGE" :A PAPUAN PILOT POETDRAMAEM ROD BILONG KAGOJ o h DcAiber
EDITORIALKovave is the name of the first initiation ceremony In Orokolo, in the Papuan Gulf. It formspart of the long cycle of.festivals and- maskeddances that gradually lead a boy 'into fullmanhood. After months of preparation in theseclusion of the eravo or man's house, theyouth is guided into the forest by his maternaluncles. Suddenly on the lonely path, the mask ispushed over him from behind, and he stormsforward in his new disguise towards the clearingin the forest, where he is going to meet hismasked companions. Some final instructionsare here given by the elders; the youths take asolemn oath, then try out their steps in a vigorus dance. Thus prepared they storm back intothe village a'sserting their new rights, TheKovave festival does not convey-full manhoodstatus on the initiates, but they have gainedone very important right: they are given their .weapons and they are now entitled to go andfight .- a*'/.*Kovave is New Guinea's'first literary magazine.Its purpose is to encourage young Papuansand New Guineans to write and to show them ,what their colleagues in other parts of the 'country are doing. It wishes to be read as a workshop magazine, a progress report on the,,state of creative writing in Papua and NewGuinea. Kovave will publish creative writing i n ,English and Pidgin, as well as transI"atioqs.Qf[,"l,traditional poetry and tales-from the numerpsw;:;, . .- -.*,,.languages of Papua and New Guinea.?.:.;.-.r.Lr.,.'.
TWO POEMSby Pokwari KaleIf we had grown to faceThe morning dews together,We could show our fathers that after allTheir counsels were not wasted.When our enemies came, with youthful bodies,We would have borne the children to safety,Then taken our arms to the front.If it had been, we would have sharedThe scolding, the praise, the worries together.Together we would have faced the first arrowsTo defend our Lukinya Rocks, our indestructible backers!Whose changing colours we watchedWith misty eyes, under the dawning sun,- . .When our legs were too thorny to carry us there,And our hands too small to grasp the protective shields.But. tell me, what is in your mindThat causes me to scratch my head?Yesterday you looked at me sideways,And since my return you have denied my due.Brother, the fault is not mine.It is the path of the whitemanThat our fathers chose for me;Yet this has deepened my love for you.a
I did not cook with good woodFor my land is brown with kunai.I used a kembo for woodBut there was nothing to eat.I called upon the elder; she refused.I called upon the younger; she refused.Neither sister would dare taste,For the roaring gully winds of chilling teeth,And the dark frowning clouds of my mountain lands,Threaten those dirty women of the plains.Let them toil in their plains,Their fat buttocks sweating.When my Kepaka clouds fetch me,The deep wet valleys of giggling streamsBeside the lone mossy ridges and stiff rocks,With the mumble of smoking falls, are mine.The whispers of my mountain birds will never leave mfNever will their sunburned faces see me.
VILLAGE CHURCH AND SCHOOLby Vincent EriTHE harsh rustle of the sago palms contrasted sharply with the slow gentle swaying ofthe coconut palms.In the village below, clouds of dirty browndust danced in and outsamong the forest ofhouseposts. The wind forced itself through thecracks in the floor and the holes in the walls.The dust clouds twisted and turned formingweird and wonderful shapes.A fence five foot tall encircled the entirevillage. It was made of long bamboo tubesplaced horizontally on top of each other. Theywere kept in place by saplings pegged into theground. This fence had been erected on theorders of the government officers who said thatpigs must be kept away from the village.On the windward side of the village, outsidethe fence, stood a lone building. It stood in anorth-south direction. The entrance was on thenorth side. Each wall had a blackboard nailedto it, the largest being on the south wall. Therewere pictures of Biblical stories, and an ABCchart, that depicted many objects the childrenhad never seen. A hungry cockroach had eatenclean through the first picture which the teachercalled "apple". Three portraits looked downon the children: King George VI, ArchbishopDe Boismenu of Yule Island and St. Thtrhse,the patron Saint of the school.No partitions separated one class room fromanother. Everybody squatted crosslegged onthe palm wood floor.The school grounds were always wet. Theowners had allowed this land to be used for aschool, because it wasn't much good for building a house. Each flood scoured the area offood wrappings, human and animal excretaand pieces of paper. During the day the children*A chapter from a novel in progress.deposited more. At night the adults added tothe collection.Huge breadfruit trees towered above, cuttingout much of the sunlight. The undergrowtharound the classroom was so thick that thebuilding was not visible from any direction,not even from the village. Swarms of mosquitoesinfested the dark shadows and bothered thechildren.There were no toilets. Why bother to buildhouses to house our waste? That is what thevillagers would say to the medical orderlieswho complained. The villagers agreed thatit was necessary to build "small houses" forthe Government officers, and the white missionaries. Their beautiful white skins looked toodelicate to be allowed to use the bush. Theteachers and students used the bush. So didall the village people. The teachers themselvesdid not believe in the story of the worms thatmade people sick. Nobody had seen theseworms of destruction. The bush was kept cleanby the pigs, who grew fat on it and trailed theirbellies on the ground.Five days a week the children strained theirlungs and vocal chords singing their alphabetsand numerals. The teachers did not seem to bebothered by the noise. The parents heardtheir children's voices when they passed by ontheir way to the garden. To them it wasevidence that their children were learningthough it seemed to have little significance forthem what their children were learning.There was a new boy in the preparatoryclass. He had been in the school for a week. Hehad recently been transferred from the Protestant school, run by the London MissionarySociety, to the Catholic school.7
In the Daily Attendance register his namewas recorded as Hoiri Sevese. His father,Sevese Ovou, was a deacon in the L.M.S.Church. Hoiri was about seven years old.Hoiri had a bulging stomach, quite out ofproportion to the size of his legs. It was surprising that he could see where he placed hisfeet when he was walking. The other childrennicknamed him "tau bada", which literallymeans "big man." Originally it had been aterm of respect for all white people living in thedistrict, but by the late nineteen sixties it hadbecome more of a mockery.Hoiri didn't look as if he was going to inherit the towering build of his father. He wasshort and stalky and some people commentedthat he was growing sideways.Hoiri was shy in his new surroundings.Though he was familiar enough with the children in his class, who had been his playmatesfor years in the village, the school work wasd1;ferent and even the prayers were said differently in the new school. But gradually he pickedup most of the tricks of his new class. Helearned, for example, that by saying "May Ileave the room" he could have as manyrecesses as he liked.Right now he was anxious to leave the room.He had hidden a stick of sago in a secret placebetween the bearers under the palm flooring,and was worried whether another child mighthave discovered it. All the children kept theremains of their breakfast in such secret placesto be eaten later, and this made it necessary "toleave the room" as often as possible. Noticingthat many of his friends were "leaving theroom" Hoiri wanted to follow, but lacked thecourage to utter the pass word. Then, withoutwarning a boy nearest to him popped up like acork out of water."Please teacher, may Hoiri leave the room?"he shouted at the top of his voice. What couldthe teacher do when four or five other suchrequests had come from various quarters of theclass. Without even looking, he gave hisconsent.Hoiri felt greatly indebted to his courageousfriend. If his sago was still there his friendmust have some of it. In a flash he had disappeared under the building.One or two pigs raised themselves from theirsiesta and ey'ed him askance. Others rubbedtheir mud covered bodies furiously against theposts. The children in the school had got usedto the countless mild earthquakes everyday.Hoiri searched for his sago in vain. Someonehad "left the room" earlier, and had discoveredthe hiding place. He fought to hold back histears. Lunch was still an hour or so away.Concentration was more difficult on an emptystomach. For the first time he questioned hisreason for being in school. He had no clearideas about this, but felt vaguely, that hewanted to learn the white man's language. Notbecause he wanted to get a well-paid job-forthere weren't any such jobs for Papuans andNew Guineans to fill, but because the ability ofconversing with the white people would earnhim a respected position in the eyes of thecommunity.Hoiri wondered whether he would findanything to eat at his aunt's house. Two weeksago things had been very different. Then hismother was alive and even when she wentfishing or gardening she had always left somecooked food ready for him. But now Hoiriwasn't too eager to clear the steps of theclassroom when the last phrase of the prayerhad left his lips."Aren't you going to kneel down Hoiri? Weare all waiting for you." Faintly the teacher'svoice penetrated his brain. Hoirl had been soabsorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't beenaware of the silence that had fallen upon thebuilding.Hoiri had not become used to the Catholicway of kneeling for prayers and of making thesign of the cross. In his old school the teacherspoke the prayer alone, everyone else stoodwith their heads bowed and their eyes closed.Here they all recited the prayer together withthe teacher. Hoiri was surprised that in theCatholic school the same Father, Son andHoly Ghost were mentioned in the prayers.Why was there so much antagonism in hisvillage between the followers of the two
Whatever the arguments were about,tfie London Missionary Society seemed to bein the stronger position. They had been thefirst to establish themselves in the village. Infact Hoiri's grandfather had been a very smallboy when the Reverend James Chalmers firstlanded on the beach of Moveave.Hoiri made his way into the village under thecloudless sky. The sun made the shadows ofthe houses darker than they really were.Among the disorderly rows of houses, theelavo men's houses with their huge pointedgables towered impressively. Even thoughMoveave was one of the largest villages in thepapuan Gulf it looked fairly deserted now. Afew women were gossiping and weaving matsunder the houses. Others were patching holesin their fishing nets, or picking lice from eachother's hair.Out in the open the glare from the sandy soilwas hard on the eyes. The air was heavy withthe unpleasant smell of scorched earth.Hoiri wished he was taller than three foot six.He cursed the people who did not teach theirchildren and their dogs to do their businessoutside the village fence.Bands of illfed dogs roamed the streets.They howled miserably in the hope that somekindhearted people might give them sometitbits to eat. They appeared to have changedthe usual order of nature: the bones of theirribs appeared to grow outside their skins.Hoiri could tell that his aunt had gone outwith the other inhabitants of the house. Theonly step to the house had been pushed asideSO that wandering dogs could not enter thehouse uninvited. Hopefully Hoiri searched thefood rack above the fireplace. Over the yearsfhe smoke of cooking fires had coloured theentire room a dirty brown. For a minute hecouldn't see anything while his eyes adjustedti'Emselves to the dark."Have you found anything yet?" The voicebelonged to Hoiri's cousin Meraveka, whowent to the LMS school. "I've got a long stickof sago that will be more than enough for bothof us.'' Hoiri reappeared from the darkness ofthe house holding a whole roasted breadfruitand half a dried coconut-still in its shell.The cousins exchanged food as they walkedalong together. The oil from the dry coconutmade it easier to swallow the rubbery sago.The breadfruit was of the Samoan variety,which had been introduced by early South Seamissionaries."How do you like the Catholic School?"Meraveka was anxious to find out what newknowledge his cousin was learning. "I am notas happy as when we were at school together.I can't understand why my parents did nottake you to stay with us when your motherdied. Is it not customary for the father's closerelatives to take care of the children when themother dies? But look what happened. Theylet your aunt Anna take you with your brotherand sister into their house. And now she madeyou become a Catholic."Hoiri was troubled by his cousin's talk. Heknew that he himself had nothing to do withthe state of affairs. His father hadn't explainedanything to him either. In fact he had mysteriously disappeared soon after his mother'sburial and Hoiri did not know where he was orwhat he was doing."It was my father who made the decision,"Hoiri managed to say with great difficulty. "Ihad no choice but to go and live with AuntAnna. She said that if I didn't go to theCatholic school, she wouldn't give me a ramito wear. I chose to keep myself covered, ratherthan exposing myself to all the girls."A long silence followed. Meraveka felt heshouldn't have asked in the first place."What sorts of things are you learning at thenew school?""Oh, the usual A, B, Cs and 1, 2, 3s. Themain difference is that the teachers speak to usin English most of the time.""I would much like to learn that languagetoo. I envy the village constable, the councillorsand medical orderly who can speak to thegovernment officers when they come to ourvillage. The Samoan pastors in our schoolteach us well, but I don't like the way theyspeak to us in Toaripi. They don't even speakit properly."
Hoiri felt elevated. He was learning something his cousin wanted to know. What ismore, he told his cousin that in the Catholicschool the children were not forced to makesago for their teachers, a practice that wascommon in the L.M.S. school and a task thattook up the best part of the day. Hoiri hadoften heard his father say to the "Ekalesia"that the practice was undesirable but absolutelynecessary. "These Samoans," he would say,"have come a long way to bring the word ofGod to us. They have no land here where theycould make their gardens. It is our responsibilityto see that they have enough to eat.""I wish I could come to the same school asyou," Meraveka said, almost to himself.Hoiri felt sorry for him. He knew what thesesago expeditions were like and he knew thepunishment for shirking them: most boysrealised that it was wiser to go on the tedioussago expeditions than to face the embarrassment of being caned naked in front of the girls.Together the cousins forded the creek thatwas the only outlet in the south of the villageto the large waterways. The tide was low andthe water was up to their thighs.The cool smell of mud was a relief to theirnostrils. Though the water was full of animaland human excreta, the two boys were notb-othered in the least. They had been swimmingin that same creek ever since they had beenable to float.Long parallel trenches on the mud markedthe mooring places of the canoes. Now only afew unserviceable canoes were left lying around.But on a Sabbath day or on Friday-the"Government dayw-the same creek would bejammed with canoes."Did you notice that government officersdon't usually come to our village at lowtide?'Hoiri remarked. "I suppose that withall this excreta floating around they are afraidof letting the water touch their clean whitefeet.""I have never seen them brave the water inthis creek as yet," Meraveka added support."Whenever they come their canoes are ladenwith so many patrol boxes, cartons of goodsand furniture-you would think they'd cometo stay for months. With that kind of load atlow tides the canoe can't get anywhere nearthe normal landing places. So the men of ourvillage have to carry them like small children!"When they had crossed to the other sidethey could hear the laughter and chattering ofother boys not far away. It was usual at thistime of day for the boys to collect coconuts andfor the girls to cut wood and fill the water potsready for their parents' return.The boys were joking. They talked freelyabout sex. Not that they had personal experience of the matter. But they had heard itdiscussed often by their elders and there wasnothing mysterious about what went onbetween a boy and a girl in a lonely garden.They knew which of the partners gets a dirtyback in the event.Soon boys disappeared in the thick undergrowth, each heading for his family's coconutgrove. Hoiri and Meraveka made haste,because they knew that they had to swimacross the same creek nearer to its junctionwith a larger waterway and crocodiles hadbeen known to venture right up to the villagewith the incoming tide.By the time the sun was level with the treetops the boys had their bundles of nuts neatlytied up. They suspended the load on a stickbetween the two of them and marched off tothe bank of the creek to await the arrival ofsome fishing canoes. They noticed the whitebubbles in the water and knew that some canoesmust have already gone past. "Can you hearthe tui calling? It is announcing the turn of thetide," Meraveka said. "Many more canoesshould be here any minute."Soon a large canoe full of women and girlsswung into view from the bend in the creek.Their chattering was out of step to the rhythmof the paddles. Already the two boys couldrecognise one or two faces on the canoe.They all belonged to the boys' fathers' clan,the Operoro clan. Therefore they regarded allthe girls as their sisters and all the women astheir mothers.That night the full moon was out. It was
still a period of mourning so the children didnot boo and cheer. After the evening meal,they sat and told stories to each other inbetween the rows of houses. It was a specialnight. Boys and girls had to keep strictlyseparate. Mothers warned their sons andelder sisters warned their brothers. On noaccount were they to play with girls. Theywere told that .grown up girls and womenmenstruated at this time. The pale yellow circleround the moon was the sign. Should a girl'sgrass skirt touch any part of a boy's head,his growth would be stunted considerably.Hoiri didn't feel he should play and have fun.It would be unfair to his mother. Instead hesat near his aunt Anna listening to her mumbling to herself. She complained of the extraresponsibility thrust on her shoulders by theuntimely death of her elder sister. Not that sheminded looking after the children-but whatstupidity to terminate one's life when one hasyears of useful life still in one's body? Annacursed the "mesiri" men, the sorcerers. Shecouldn't think of one good reason why theyhad taken her sister's life."Who is 'they'?" asked Hoiri who hadpicked up Aunt Anna's last remark. "0 somepeople are never satisfied with their lot" hisaunt answered, not wishing to go into too muchdetail. "They've got to kill. I do not knowwhat they get out of taking other people'slives. You find that these people are friendlyto you, but that is only the surface.""But who are these people?'Hoiri interrupted, suggesting he was not to be put off easily."How can one tell they are preparing the deadlymixture?"Anna realised it was useless to avoid thesubject. Hoiri had set his mind on knowing thetruth."There are some men well-known in thisvillage. It is they who carry out the groundwork. They collect the dirt of the person who isto die. Sometimes they cut off a piece from theperson's dress. Fresh clean ginger is used.They make sure that their own dirt doesn'tget on the ginger or else they are as liable to die.Then they pass these things on to the experts,who are scattered in the villages of the Toaripicoast, or take them to far away villages on theMoiripi coast. These experts do the rest.""Have these experts any means of knowingwho their victims are?" Anna explained thatthey do. When the mixture has been kept in abamboo tube over a fire place for some time,the apparition of the victim appears from timeto time. The bamboo rolls about the floorwhen the victim is critically ill and writhesabout desperately trying to hang on to his life.The sorcerers have been known to throw themixture away, when they felt sympathetictowards the victim.Usually the victim doesn't know for sure.He feels unwell. When he goes fishing, the fishhe catches fall back into the water as he isabout to land them in his canoe. Some of hisproperties disappear mysteriously. Sometimesit is his close relatives' things that disappear.As his aunt talked, Hoiri remembered anincident that took place when he and hisparents were gardening up the river shortlybefore his mother's death. That day the halfinch-thick cane vine that secured their canoeto the nearest coconut tree snapped unexpectedly and t h e canoe was dragged into themuddy waters of the Taure river and sankmysteriously. More strange, the loose floorboards, which one would have expected toremain floating on top of the water, submergedwith the canoe.Hoiri cursed his father. Why hadn't he notedthis phenomenon and acted quickly and wisely?If he had given his mother the correct juice ofherbs, barks and roots to drink, they mighthave counteracted the force of sorcery. Butmaybe his being a deacon of the L.M.S.Church prevented him from taking suchtraditional measures.During the third week of mourning, SeveseOvou, Hoiri's father, suddenly walked intohis sister-in-law's house. He looked a differentman. His clothes were black, a scraggy beardcovered his face. He looked miserable. Obviously he had not been eating much.Hoiri had a lot of things on his mind that he
wanted to clear up with his father. But hisaunt would not let him bother his father yet.He had to eat first.In the end Hoiri burst out straight with thequestion: "Did someone really cause mymother's death?" His father looked surprisedand uneasy. His son should not have beentold this, at least not at his age. He made Hoiritell him all he already knew about this matter.When he realised how much Hoiri had alreadybeen told and how eager he was to know everything he reluctantly agreed to pursue thesubject."When your mother died, her body wasburied. Her spirit did not leave us. She hasbeen visiting the places where she went fishingand gardening. Every evening, as the sun setsbehind the tree tops, she changes to her humanform and weeps for us. It is at one of thesetimes that we the living can find out from thedead the cause of their death.""So that's why you have been away for twoweeks?" Hoiri asked. And he now recalledthat ever since his mother had died a separatefood dish had been set aside in a special roomat every meal time. His father now confinnedthat this food was for his mother's spirit."And did you see her after all?" Hoiriasked again, most anxious for his father tocontinue."You see, son," his father explained, "I wasfacing the setting sun near our cemetery, alone.I felt the back of my neck become cold, all of asudden. The cicadas seemed to screech louderthan ever. Night was already falling and nowhere and there were real pockets of darknesswhere a tall tree obscured the quickly fadingsunlight. I found it difficult to focus my eyes onany one subject. Images became blurred. Treeswhich had been victims of grass fires held outtheir massive black arms as if to strike. I feltchilly though there wasn't a breath of wind.Then my feet became weak. There was athumping in my chest. A nearby tree seemed tobend down towards me. My legs gave way andeverything became blank for a moment.Then your mother's familiar voice came to myears."In a low voice Sevese Ovou told his son thecause of his mother's death. He also mentionedthe names of the "mesir" men who were involved. He ended on a note of warning to hisson to keep well away from the evil men.Hoiri also learned from his father; that hismother's spirit would still be with them untilthe day a feast was made to forget her. It wasvitally important that this feast to release herbe not delayed any longer than necessary. Theearlier she arrived in the place of the dead thebetter for her. Besides it was not fair to keep thewhole village in a state of mourning. Theymust be freed to beat the drum again. Thechildren too must be freed to cheer and laughagain at nights, the men must be allowed toshave their beard and the women to take offtheir black grass skirts and black armbands.The great day came at last. Smoke fromnumerous cooking fires made the village lookas if it was on fire. It was a day of manyactivities. The whole village was awakenedafter three Sundays of inactivity.The squeaking of pigs being slaughteredrang from one end of the village to the other.The long silenced drums boomed. Theirthunderous notes were carried high above thetops of the sago palms. The nearby villages ofHeatoare and Savaiviri were warned of thefeast.The women and girls had put on their bestgrass skirts. Only the close relatives of thedead woman were not yet allowed to dress inbright colours.By late afternoon all the food had beenassembled. School children had depleted themeagre supply of chalk in their classrooms sothat their mothers could mark their pots.At a signal from Hoiri's uncle the crowdsettled down. The food was already placed intoheaps, one for each clan. With a youngcoconut shoot in hand, the uncle went fromheap to heap naming the clans for whom thefood was intended.By night time all the food had been eaten orremoved. From now on, any reference toHoiri's mother would be made in the pasttense.
Hoiri was sad to think that his dear mother'sspirit was to be leaving forever early nextmorning. Once she had passed the villages inwhich people, had known her during her lifetime, her body and spirit would be reunited.Hoiri was comforted by the knowledge that hismother lacked nothing to enable her to makeher trip comfortably. His father had providedher with everything at the funeral. Before shewas lowered into her grave she had been givena string bag full of roasted balls of sago andcoconuts, a lamp and a knife to defend herselfwith. The more Hoiri thought about the dangersthat lay in wait for her in this journey the morehe wished he could accompany her.From his father he had learned about thecunning ferrymen and dishonest guest-houseproprietors she was likely to meet on her way,who were only too ready to deceive and rob theunwary. But if she survived the journey, shewould shed her dark skin and become aEuropean. She would be in a land of plentyand one day she would send gifts to them.From then on Hoiri kept trying to visualisethis land of plenty his mother had gone to.Did she ever arrive there? And if she did, hadshe forgotten to send the goods to the lovedones she had left behind? Or were they intercepted before they reached their rightfulowners? One day, he was sure, she would sendthese gifts.K U M A N (Chimbu)BOASTING SONGBlack bird of paradise is my bird,red bird of paradise is theirs.Red shell is my shell,white shell is their shell.Pig is my pig,dog is their dog.I clear the foresta large patch of landsee how strong I amI am a manbut they are women.Translated by Herman Ulua
A NEW GUINEA BESTIARYTHE EAGLEI am king of the earth,I am king of the air,I am king of the ocean.Everything is around my throneUnder my powerful wings.Sunrise' to sunsetI look over the worldAs a tiny coconut fruitFloating on a silvery sea.I know the spirit of the air,I know the spirit of the earth,I know the spirit of the ocean.Everything is beneath my wingsUnder my powerful tail.George TukeSHARKYour skin is as rough as sand,Your teeth sharper than razor blades.Your eyes scan the blue oceanLike the seagull in the sky.You are searching, scenting, feelingWith those radar like gills.When you spot your preyYou pounce swiftly like the dog on the wallabyMerciless hunter, contemptuous of man,You destroy anything to please your appetite.You show off your strength, when you destroyManmade nets and lines.But when you are caught at last,How ridiculous you look:With your bulging eyes and jagged teeth.Rei Miria
LOST FRIGATE BIRDHe was visible above the oceanCarried in the grip of the merciless galeFar from the flock.He searched for the land of his birthHe searched for his companionsIn vain.The gale swept him far into the unknown.His beautiful wings, his coloured breast,Turned grey against the clouded sky.His powerful claws folded back helplessly.His cries were mocked by the angry sea.Then the darkness of night fell upon the skyWith black clouds and forceful wind.The giant waves broke below.Still he struggled on hopelessly.Slowly the urge to live grew weak.He looked to the east, to the west, with one last cryAnd dropped unresisting,Tossed about like driftwood by the raging ocean.Wilson ZfunaoaTHE BLACK KITETh
A JOURNAL OF NEW GUINEA LITERATURE - KOVAVE: A MAGAZINE OF NEW GUINEA LITERATURE The editor is grateful to the pu lishers whose . wanted to learn the white man's language. Not because he wanted to get a well-paid job-for there weren't any such jobs for Papuans
A guinea hen, the female adult guinea, makes a two-syllable sound, "buck-wheat, buck-wheat." She can also imitate the call of the male guinea cock's one syllable sound, "chi-chi-chi." However, a guinea cock cannot imitate a guinea hen. This is the easiest way to identify if a guinea is male or female. Adults
local guinea fowl was also cited as one of the challenges in guinea fowl production [7]. Gono et al. (2013) [13] reported that an inadequate feed supply was another challenge to Guinea fowl production. Inadequate feed supplies gives rise to poor growth rates, low egg production of guinea fowl and elevated mortalities.
feed. Feed and fresh, clean water should be available 24/7 inside their poultry house—guinea fowl will not overeat. Eggs, keets and older guinea fowl can be ordered from Guinea Farm, the world's largest guinea fowl hatchery (www.guineafarm.com). 30 keets per order is the minimum order so the keets will stay warm during shipment.
PAPUA NEW GUINEA country report 6 CHAPTER 1 Papua New Guinea and its Agricultural Economy 1.1 INTRODUCTION The island of New Guinea is the second largest in the world. It lies between 3.5 and 12 degrees south of the equator in the region referred to as equatorial or the hot-wet tr
Constitution of the Independent State of Papua New Guinea. ARRANGEMENT OF SECTIONS. PREAMBLE PART I - INTRODUCTORY. Division 1 - The Nation. 1. The Independent State of Papua New Guinea. 2. The area of Papua New Guinea. 3. National symbols. 4. National Capital District. 5. Provinces. 6. Declaration of Loyalty. 7. Oath of Allegiance.
worm control. The goals of the workshop are to: * Describe the causes, prevention, and treatment of guinea worm disease. o Discuss the appropriateness of water supply as an intervention for. guinea worm control and the key factors in achieving that intervention. * Communicate the causes and prevention of guinea worm disease in a way
The major hindrances to Guinea fowl production in Ghana are seasonal changes, nutrition, poor reproductive performance, and lack of proper management practices for efficient production [4]. Guinea fowls are known to be seasonal breeders and therefore, Guinea hens do not lay eggs at certain times of the year due to variation in day length .
the standard three-rail shear test, as described in ‘‘ASTM D 4255/D 4255M The standard test method for in-plane shear properties of polymer matrix composite materials by the rail shear method’’. This setup, however, requires drilling holes through the specimen. In this study, a new design based on friction and geometrical gripping, without the need of drilling holes through the .
