That Friday afternoon, we walked together through the markets and streets of the Koki area, at the eastern end of Ela Beach. I had never seen a paved road like this, almost without cars, but full of people.
By
Agustinus Wibowo
·4 minutes read
AGUSTINUS WIBOWO
A number of children cross the road leading to a village in the Koki area, Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea.
For one week, I lived in the Indonesian Embassy because security protocols prevented me from setting foot in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea. I could only watch the hustle and bustle of the streets from behind the car window.
I needed an “entrance” to recognize this city. The Indonesian Embassy introduced me to Rawa, a local middle-aged woman who works at the Indonesian Ambassador\'s guesthouse. She said I could stay at her relative\'s house in the village.
That Friday afternoon, we walked together through the markets and streets of the Koki area, at the eastern end of Ela Beach. I had never seen a paved road like this, almost without cars, but full of people.
Men sat in a circle on a field while playing cards with pennies. Women sat on the side of the road, gossiping and laughing. Children dominated the scene, reflecting the fact that over 40 percent of the country\'s population is under the age of 14. The children were either barefoot or bare-chested. They were climbing over posts and fences, jumping up and down, fighting.
As soon as they saw me carrying a camera, people gathered around me holding up their fingers in a V with both hands. The crowd was getting bigger, thereby, shrinking my nerve. A red-eyed man approached, offering me marijuana.
Rawa immediately gave the signal for me to leave quickly.
"It\'s too dangerous," she said.
AGUSTINUS WIBOWO
Portrait of residents in the Koki area, Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea.
At the corner of the field, we walked onto a bridge made of wooden beams that extends toward the beach.
This bridge is a like a highway in Kampung Koki. Houses on stilts are built on the left and right sides of the bridge, on the support of wooden poles fastened up to the shallow sea. The bridge has branches, forming a network of roads.
From a distance, the houses on stilts above the water certainly presented an amazing view. But up close, it was clear that the waters under the houses have turned into a sea of garbage with a pungent smell.
My host was Helen, Rawa\'s 49-year-old sister-in-law. Inside her cramped wood and tin house there were a microwave oven, three old television sets and a hanging fan. On the wall, there also hung a pair of boar tusks that her father had shot, which she said were only used for decoration, not for magic. Helen lives with her three children, one daughter-in-law, as well as her younger sister’s family. A total of nine people live here.
We just like living on the water. At night when the tide is high, sleeping indoors feels like being on a rocking boat.
Since marrying her husband (now deceased) who was a resident of this village, Helen has lived a life on water. For Helen, living on the sea is just a “lifestyle.” Most of the people who live here are not fishermen. Helen herself is an office worker.
“We just like living on the water. At night when the tide is high, sleeping indoors feels like being on a rocking boat,” she said.
AGUSTINUS WIBOWO
Rows of houses built over the water in a village in the Koki area, Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea.
Building houses on the water takes hard work. The men have to bring logs to be penetrated into the water, then level the surface and build the houses on them.
Eroded by sea water, the supporting wood is easily worn out, and the part that is submerged in water will thin out. The wood has to be replaced frequently, at least every two or three years. Once there was a house whose wooden supports were too thin and broken, so the house fell into the sea and the occupants died.
The wooden bridges in this village are also very narrow, with no protection on either side. People frequently fall into the sea (which is full of garbage and black mud). The victims are mostly drunk, people fighting or children.
Houses in this water village also do not receive full services from the government. Clean water must be shared with several families from one tap and pipe. The toilet is just a hole in the floor; all the calls of nature are immediately thrown into the sea.
***
The electricity suddenly went out. In the dark, we talked without being able to see each other\'s faces.
"Do you know why Rawa was in such a hurry to drag you into the house?" asked Helen. “Soon, the streets will be full of people. And they will go crazy. Just wait for a few more minutes. Listen carefully."
In the silence, I heard gunshots. Once. Twice. Three times.
The gunshots were heard so close, making me shudder in horror in the dark.
