Manus Island's Grand Graduation Gala

Ms. Polu in the forefront heading the decoration team in interior face-lifting of the mess hall

Oh, jubilation echoed through the corridors of Christ the King Papitalai Secondary School as the eagerly awaited graduation day unfolded like a well-scripted play, only with a sprinkle of chaos and a dash of comedy. The stage was set, quite literally, after countless man-hours, sleepless nights, and meals reluctantly skipped, as the school staff transformed the mundane into a spectacle worthy of celebration.

The day kickstarted with the Papsec coming alive, spurred by the rhythmic beating of the Chauka call, courtesy of friends from the Kari mountains, who apparently have an innate talent for timekeeping. The garamut drums joined in, creating a symphony that reverberated not just within the school grounds but spilled over into Lorengau town, marking the grand arrival of graduation day. It was like the universe itself was donning a party hat and blowing a kazoo to announce the festivities.

Enter the Manus traditional dancers, bedecked in costumes so vibrant they could put a rainbow to shame. Each dancer, I was told, was a walking canvas of their clan's history, adorned with feathers, shells, and headdresses that would make a peacock envious. As the dancers moved with the grace of swans and the agility of caffeinated cats, the beat of the garamut drums added a pulse to the performance, creating an infectious rhythm that even the grumpiest of teachers couldn't resist tapping their feet to.

These weren't just mere dances; they were living, breathing representations of ancient myths and cultural traditions. The synchronized movements, the symbolic patterns woven into their skirts, and the beats of the garamut drums told stories that transcended generations. The atmosphere crackled with energy, joy, and laughter, as if the very air was infused with Manus Island's cultural pride.

And oh, nature itself seemed to conspire to create the perfect backdrop for this graduation fiesta. The sun painted Manus Island with golden kisses, the sky stretched out in an endless sea of blue, and the seas mirrored the calmness of a Zen master in meditation. Even the lawns, meticulously mowed by the humble DT (who deserves a raise, by the way), added to the welcoming spectacle.

As the day unfolded, the sun turned into a show-stealer, casting a warm glow on everything in its path. Coconut trees played host to rays of light, seagulls pirouetted in the sky, and the ocean played its part as a serene supporting actor, acknowledging the graduation day as its own. It was a nature-backed extravaganza that would put any Hollywood production to shame.

Families and friends streamed in, riding on boats that seemed to be synchronized with the melodious songs of seagulls. Laughter, excitement, and a hint of nostalgia wafted through the air as small children added their own symphony to the mix, playing with boundless energy. The school grounds brimmed with a unique concoction of excitement, anticipation, and a dash of sadness as students prepared to bid adieu to one chapter and greet the unknown realms of the future.

Then, like a grand finale to a spectacular show, the graduation ceremony took centre stage. The mess hall, decked out in Papsec's green and yellow theme, resembled a festive carnival. Ms. Polu, leading the decoration team like a seasoned general, added her touch to the interior face-lifting of the mess hall, turning it into a visual feast.

As the ceremony unfolded, the crowded hall became a cauldron of emotions. Opening prayers, inspiring speeches, and the much-anticipated certificate distribution unfolded with the precision of a Shakespearean play. Graduates took their final steps as students, transitioning into the esteemed realm of alumni. Applause, cheers, and a sprinkle of tears filled the air, echoing the pride and admiration of their loved ones.

As the day drew to a close, a bittersweet sentiment lingered. The teaching staff, who had forged a parent-child relationship with their students, now faced the profound loss of parting ways. The male teachers sought refuge at the officers' club for some stress relief, leaving the female colleagues to drown their sorrows in nostalgia. For those of us with unfinished books, the staffroom suddenly felt like a prison, and the freedom to escape for some self-time was the sweetest reward for all the preparation that went into this grand graduation spectacle.

And so, with a mixture of laughter, tears, and a hint of relief, the curtain fell on the 17th graduation day at Christ the King Papitalai Secondary School, leaving behind memories as vivid as the colors of Manus traditional dancers and as timeless as the beat of the garamut drums.

Graduation hall with the seats lined up for the graduates.

Helping hands: Evella So-on, Joyleen Tumudy  & Ipau Poweseu

Ms Floretta Suvavita & Elphie Sireh with post-graduation meal

Echoes of Farewell: A Symphony of Transition at Papitalai

Last sunset from Papsec for the Grade 12s of 2014

In the resplendent aftermath of the Papsec clap, a symphony of triumph reverberated through the mess hall, its echoes cascading like a torrential burst from a pressurized tank. The rhythmic applause and table-thumping reached a crescendo, marking the grand finale of the Grade 12 National Examination. As the month-long gauntlet of rigorous testing concluded, an undeniable hush descended upon the campus, shrouding it in complete silence.

The thunderous resonance proved so formidable that even the diligent occupants of grade nine and eleven classrooms, entrenched in their period four studies, found concentration elusive. The tangible energy of achievement filled the air, momentarily disrupting the academic routine and casting a spell of celebration, forever etched in the memory of that hallowed institution.

Amidst the buzzing distractions, anticipation had been brewing since the crack of dawn. Today marked the poignant farewell of the senior comrades from the venerable grounds of Papitalai Secondary School—a day etched with bittersweet emotions of parting from the well-worn corridors and classrooms that had been witnesses to countless memories.

Just as the collective restlessness threatened to breach the dam of patience, a divine intervention manifested in the form of the recess chime. Like trumpets signaling a grand exit, it serenaded the air with its melodic proclamation, releasing the younger students from the confines of their classrooms. With infectious enthusiasm, they surged forward, abandoning their instructors and cascading into the jubilant farewell procession that awaited the departing seniors.

The atmosphere crackled with intense energy as the vibrant procession weaved through the school grounds—a display of emotions echoing in laughter, shared secrets, and lingering glances. It was a moment suspended in time, a mosaic of farewells painted against the backdrop of a school's legacy. In that fleeting expanse, the students found themselves entangled in the magic of transition, bidding goodbye to the past and embracing the unknown future that beckoned beyond the familiar walls of Papitalai Secondary School.

The air crackled with a symphony of feelings, a tangible energy enveloping the surroundings. Tears flowed freely from the eyes of the female students, their sobs composing a heart-wrenching melody that echoed through the classrooms like a poignant soundtrack. On the flip side, the mischievous boys, having abandoned their mundane morning classes, let loose unrestrained shouts. A torrent of tears painted their faces as they offered heartfelt farewells to the departing final-year students. It was a scene painted in vivid emotions, a canvas where the bittersweet dance of goodbyes played out in the most unforgettable hues.

In the sacred corridors of Papitalai Secondary School, bidding farewell was no mere formality for those who had immersed themselves in its embrace for the past four years. Saying adieu meant parting ways not just with classmates but with confidantes, comrades in courses, and companions in the dormitory. The separation stirred a poignant ache, a testament to the profound connections forged in the crucible of time.

Although my tenure at the institution was a mere blip in comparison, the graduating seniors had enveloped me in their camaraderie, seamlessly bridging the temporal divide. I became an integral part of the tapestry, a thread woven into the fabric of shared experiences. They lovingly bestowed upon me the title of 'kande,' a term of endearment that transcended linguistic bounds, cementing our connection in the heart's registry.

As I ventured beyond the school gates, the echoes of "Manus tokpilai" lingered in the air, an anthem of shared memories and the infectious symphony of laughter. The bond we created became a living entity, breathing life into the corridors and resonating in the hearts of those who dared to call Papitalai home.

In a world where teachers typically wield their influence within the confines of a classroom, my home emerged as an unexpected sanctuary for young minds in search of a refreshing gulp of cold water or a hastily grabbed snack. Amidst the everlasting whirlwind of eager students, I couldn't help but ponder the imaginary scenario of a wife, someone accustomed to the serenity of solitude. How, I wondered, would she navigate the ceaseless ebb and flow of activity that animated our home? Would she, in attempting to stifle the excitement of my passions, strain the delicate fabric of our relationship, or perhaps, choose to embark on a departure from the lively symphony of my domestic haven?

As the curtain fell on the last day, a departure from the ordinary unfolded, heralded by the whimsical spectacle known as the 'dawn service.' In stark contrast to its solemn name, this tradition saw the seasoned seniors happily orchestrating a waterlogged symphony upon their unsuspecting junior counterparts at the break of day. A cacophony of laughter and splashes disrupted the tranquility, a boisterous affair that even the tolerant teachers in proximity had no choice but to endure, reluctantly embracing the lively disruption of dawn.

As the sun rose, I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for missing the early morning spectacle. Imagining the chaos that unfolded, I pictured students abruptly awakened by splashes of cold water, followed by a cacophony of laughter and shouts. The vivid scene of final-year students rallying their peers for breakfast and concluding exams lingered in my mind.

The determination and vibrant energy radiating from the seniors as they adorned their yellow-green outfits for the last time were unmistakable. Instead of visible plans for celebration, what caught my eye were students meticulously checking and rechecking their calculators in preparation for the final Mathematics Paper 2. A departure from the notorious exam-period problems of previous years.

Amidst the crowd, I traversed, offering handshakes and silent prayers for the seniors' success and a safe journey home. As I took final snapshots and exchanged heartfelt goodbyes, tears welled up in their eyes, revealing the emotional undercurrent. Sensing the intensity, I swiftly moved to the assembly area.

The once bustling court, witness to five batches of nines and tens and three batches of elevens and twelves, now stood almost empty. Grade nines and elevens remained, continuing their academic journey until December. Every moment with my 'kandes' overflowed with joy, excitement, and laughter, etched in my memory. The realization hit that today marked our parting, and I fervently wished this day had never arrived, knowing I would deeply miss them. As they closed one chapter and opened another, I wished them the very best and saluted them for making 2014 a year of remarkable change. Apo kile! Adios! Sayonara!

     Grade 12 boys pose before the last examination:

     Back L-R: Christhoper Lami, Mathew Bensley, Richmond Zoppy, Paul Mohe, Kauyap Kauyap, Jacob Itariri, 

     Mr. Kapial, Joe Pomatou, Watah Wallen, Selarn Kisokau; Front L-R: Mathew Sale, Graham Kuop, John Mathew, Charles            Mangeu, Chauka Mespal, Michael Perikei

The Chauka's Crescendo: A Symphony of Term 3's Awakening

Crimson red sky over Pak island painted the Papitalai waters crimson red

In the whimsical realm where the "fire of anger" meets the "hammer of productivity," my journey into the term's adventures began with an obnoxious alarm clock of the avian variety. The Manusian bird, proudly donning its crowing crown, played the role of the local rockstar, waking not only the living but also the dearly departed in Papitalai bay.

This winged celebrity, the Chauka, wasn't your typical early bird with polite chirps. No, it cranked up the volume, blasting its monotonous tunes like a rebellious teenager with no regard for anyone's beauty sleep. And there I was, tangled in a wrestling match with my pillows, trying to dodge the sonic assault.

Living on the outskirts of a tree-dominated metropolis, my humble abode transformed into a nature-inspired concert hall. Each day unfolded with a symphony of the wild, an auditory spectacle featuring the entire animal kingdom from the buzzing insects to the cooing cuscus. But the star of the show? Undoubtedly, the notorious Chauka.

As the grand theatre of nature opened its curtains, the birds took center stage, feathers shimmering like a rainbow on a bird runway. The avian ensemble prepared for a vocal extravaganza, a showcase of their lyrical prowess.

The soloist, the Chauka, stood at attention, ready to unleash a crowing symphony that could wake the spirits of the Papitalai bay. The parrots joined in with sweet soprano warbles, the alto added depth, and the tenor injected excitement. It was an avian orchestra, and we, the unwitting audience, listened with both fascination and frustration.

But amidst the cacophony, a thought struck me – what if the Chauka was a school prefect? A feathered disciplinarian ensuring everyone was up on time. The mental image brought a smile to my face, a comedic twist to the early morning chaos.

As I stumbled towards the bathroom, the morning took an unexpected turn. Silence enveloped the room, and my eyes caught a glimpse of something moving. Following the spectacle, I traced the scene from the floor to the windowsills, where the dawn painted the sky in hues of crimson red.

Wiping my face dry, I was greeted by the breathtaking sight outside. The world was bathed in a warm glow, the tranquil stillness of Papitalai reflecting the promise of a new beginning. The birds, now in harmonious unity, serenaded the day with joyous melodies, heralding the start of term 3.

Nature, in a synchronized dance with my calendar, unfolded its magical display. Dewdrops sparkled on vibrant crotons, leaves swayed in the seafront breeze, and fragrant scents embraced the salty air. It was as if the universe joined me in celebrating the return to the classroom after a week's hiatus.

In this surreal moment, time seemed suspended, allowing me to soak in the wonders of the world. The fiery red light symbolized passion and endless possibilities for the term ahead, a reminder to seize each day's opportunities.

As the sun rose higher, the crimson red evolved into a golden glow, signalling the arrival of a new day brimming with promise. The Chauka, despite its disruptive antics, had inadvertently become the herald of a fresh academic journey. Term 3 had begun, and with the avian symphony as my soundtrack, I embraced the boundless potential that nature whispered in every rustling leaf and melodic birdcall.

Chauka-the Manus icon perched on tree branch enjoying the 'bikpla-mangi-tumas' feeling

 

Waterfront at Christ the King Papitalai Secondary School

A Sepik Tale of Unlikely Seafarers

The old washed-up dugout canoe at Papitalai's North Point

Some thousand days past in the yesteryears, a group of unlikely seafarers from Oksapmin, Yangoru, Wasara and Nuku traversed the Los Negros seas from Mokoreng point to Lombrum, braving the North winds and the restless waters that spread between the points. Who would have imagined that these "stones" could float but they did and so the story of seafarers was born.

Armed with an old battered dugout canoe that got washed up outside the beachfront that faced the male quarters at Papitalai, these Sepik men taught themselves to become seafarers. The old canoe served the purpose of ferrying these bushmen across the bay or just taking them for an aimless floating trip into the open end of the sea to catch the last rays of the sun reaching out from Kali Bay in the west. When the Sepiks first encountered her, the canoe bore the scars of a tumultuous history, battered and blistered from the relentless sea. The wild Manus weather had treated her harshly, pushing her to an unrecoverable state. To make matters worse, her previous owner had seemingly given up on her, evident in the unrepairable crack that rendered her wrecked, destroyed, and seemingly beyond all hope of restoration. Yet, as the Sepiks set their eyes on this old lady of the sea, a new chapter in her life was about to unfold.

In an unexpected twist, this fearless band of men from the Sepik's remote hinterlands breathed vitality into a weathered relic, defying convention by not having any ties to the seafaring Titan tribe or coastal heritage. Disregarding their lack of ancestral connections to the sea, they fearlessly embarked on a mission to rejuvenate the vessel and proudly adopted the mantle of seafarers. Undaunted by skepticism, the resilient inhabitants of Sepik Central dove headlong into the challenge, determined to breathe new life into the aging craft and teach themselves the ways of the sea. Amidst the daunting task, a pivotal figure emerged—a Tolai man, the spouse of a member of the teaching staff. His expertise became the cornerstone in organizing the intricate repair work, playing a pivotal role in the remarkable revival of the weather-beaten vessel.

In a tale of perseverance and ingenuity, the boys dedicated countless hours to meticulously repairing the cracks in the canoe. Armed with melted plastic and sometimes with wood glues blended with sawdust, they engaged in a trial-and-error process to effectively seal the cracks. Throughout this journey of restoration, the boys took turns paddling the canoe around the waterfront, near the male single quarters at Papitalai Secondary School.

As the canoe finally underwent its transformation, the Sepik men skillfully maneuvered it through the waters of Papitalai Bay. In the enchanting evenings, the once-fragile vessel embarked on seamless journeys, exploring the captivating waters between Mokoreng Point and the Lombrum naval base, leaving a trail of awe and admiration in its wake.

In the realm of adventurous spirits, none rivaled the enthusiasm of Youth, our faithful canine companion. Whether the canoe found itself at full capacity or we charted unknown waters, Youth was ever the daredevil, taking to the waves with a spirited swim or asserting his presence in the canoe, serenading our journey with spirited howls.

What made the whole scenario even more amusing was the blind trust these creatures bestowed upon us, despite our lack of seafaring lineage coursing through our veins. Yet, it was the canoe that became the vessel of discovery, ushering us lads on thrilling expeditions across the bay and deeper into the mysterious caves of Papitalai Bay. Not to mention its role in ensuring a bountiful catch of fish to grace our tables.

Embarking on our adventurous journeys, it was Youth, our trusty canine companion, who always added a dash of excitement. Whether gracefully swimming alongside the canoe when space ran out or boldly standing within it, howling as we paddled home, Youth brought a unique charm to our explorations. Despite lacking the seafarers' blood in our veins, these creatures placed unwavering trust in us.

The canoe became the vessel for thrilling escapades, carrying us across the bay and into the mysterious caves of Papitalai Bay. It also proved indispensable for our fishing endeavours. On my final day in Papitalai, memories flooded back as my Nuku and Wasara brothers paddled me to the airport. Playfully remarking on their seemingly ancestral paddling skills, I quipped about the possibility of them finding someone special. Little did I know, my words would ring true as the Nuku brother later tied the knot with a Manus woman, adding a sweet twist to our unforgettable adventures.

A tranquil moment by the waterfront, near the single teachers' quarters, Papsec, Manus Island

Serenity at Papitalai bayWhere tranquillity meets the sea's embrace

Pontoon, one of many WWII relics that litter the Papitalai bay

Troublesome Journey to Bipi Begins

Departing Lorengau for Bipi on a windy afternoon with the onslaught of rough sea 

Today was supposed to be the grand adventure of my lifetime, but even my gut feeling seemed to be on strike against the very idea of stepping outside my solo abode. Picture this: dark clouds looming like ominous curtains blocking out the sunlight, waves crashing against the shoreline with a menacing vibe, and a wind so fierce that it howled like a disgruntled ghost through the gaps in my kitchen window. If Mother Nature was trying to send me a strongly worded invitation to rethink my day trip, she sure nailed it.

To add a theatrical touch to the drama, I gazed out of my window, only to witness Papitalai Bay transformed into a foamy, white water battleground, all courtesy of the southeast wind having a wild party. It was like the ocean was doing the cha-cha, and I was expected to be its reluctant dance partner.

As I sat there contemplating, the weather outside was staging its own rebellion, turning the peaceful shoreline into a tempestuous spectacle. I had to decide: brave the impending storm or snuggle back into the cozy cocoon of my home, where the weather couldn't judge my life choices? And just when I was deep in this existential weather crisis, my phone chimed like a distant drumroll, signaling a new message.

Cue the dramatic reveal—it was none other than Henry Sihamou, my student from the remote Bipi island. We had plotted this grand escape during the school break, and today was the appointed day. Henry's message confirmed the boat was ready, loaded with fuel and enthusiasm, waiting for me. The plot thickened.

Now, I'm usually the kind of guy who loves to embrace the unknown, a self-proclaimed adventurer with a penchant for exploring uncharted territories. But the gloomy sight outside and the wind orchestrating a spooky symphony made my inner "mountain man" question his life choices. I'd never walked on the sea before, and suddenly, the prospect seemed as appealing as wearing a tutu in a lion's den.

However, duty called, and I couldn't bail on my friend who had already spilled the beans to his family about our holiday plans. Plus, there was an uncle's boat involved, and you can't just cancel on family, right? The die was cast.

So, with the weight of an impending storm and my friend's expectations on my shoulders, I decided to take the plunge—literally. But not before the obligatory glance through my window, where the wind howled its approval as if saying, "Welcome to the chaos, buddy!"

Now, the rush to get ready was like a scene from a slapstick comedy. Boxes toppled, clothes flew, and I was a whirlwind of chaos in my own house. As a true single-life believer, my motto was "pack light and travel far," but today, the real concern was battling the elements, not my closet.

Faded army pants, camouflage shirt, sleeveless shirt, and, for the optimistic soul in me, sportswear for potential swims—I chuckled at the absurdity. Me, swimming in the restless sea? Sure, if the sea suddenly turned into a giant, lazy bathtub. I'm no Michael Phelps, and the sea is not my comfort zone.

Finally, packed and ready, I stepped out of my warm haven into the cold morning, muscles already protesting the unexpected exercise. The thought that kept me going? Time and, of course, the impending weather apocalypse.

When I reached the rendezvous point, Henry and his uncle had already turned the boat into a floating pantry, loaded with food and fuel for our epic voyage. A quick detour to the supermarket for my supplies, and I was officially the last one to arrive, earning a not-so-subtle glare from the travel party. The weather wasn't cutting me any slack, either; thunder rolled overhead as if even the skies were questioning my decision.

As I reluctantly hopped onto the boat, sandwiched between two larger-than-life ladies who seemed to have a laugh track of their own, I couldn't help but wonder if I had signed up for a slapstick comedy instead of an adventure. The skipper, unfazed by my silent protests, revved up the engine, and we set sail into the impending storm.

The wind played its symphony, the waves became our dance floor, and with every crest and trough, my mind screamed louder than the thunder above. The two iron ladies flanking me found my distress a source of amusement, laughing like the Greek chorus of my own maritime tragedy.

Making a pitstop at Sori village only added more uncertainty to the mix. Sago exchange, a prolonged departure, and a growing storm—my first-time nerves were reaching their peak. I kept glancing at Henry, my personal reassurance beacon, who assured me that we'd be fine. Meanwhile, I was contemplating how to survive my debut on the open sea amidst a storm.

When the departure call finally echoed over the crashing waves, the wind kicked up a notch, and the waves seemed to grow larger than life. I jumped back onto the boat, flanked by my iron guardian angels, their laughter echoing my inner turmoil. Manus people, experts in sarcastic banter, were clearly enjoying the show. As we made a beeline for Bipi island, Sori vanished behind towering waves, leaving me to question my sanity with every splash.

The journey felt like an eternity, with every wave threatening to be the one that would tip us over. Blind without my glasses, rain and wind pelting my face, my mind fixated on choosing the right container to grab in case of a shipwreck. One of them even had a rope—I wasn't taking any chances.

Finally, after what felt like a never-ending stormy tango, we found refuge in a passage engulfed by reefs, guiding us safely to our destination. I disembarked, exhausted and vowing to Henry that I didn't care if I was late for work; I wasn't leaving Bipi unless the weather played nice. After all, nothing says adventure like a stormy sea and a blindfolded dance with Poseidon.

Beach front near Loli village, one of Bipi islands three main villages