Moss Memories 7 – P.N.G 1987
One morning my phone rang and a voice said he was calling from the Finance Department, in Port Moresby.
The Government of Papua New Guinea is running a planning conference and they wanted me to come over and make a presentation. I have never been to PNG, I said.
They wanted me to talk about ways to stimulate agriculture. I was happy to do that. I once prepared a paper on that topic for Guelph University in Canada.
When and where is it being held? It was going to be in four weeks’ time. Yes, I could make that. I asked them to send me the details.
For the next two weeks, I put my head down and worked on my presentation. Two weeks out I realised I hadn’t been sent any more details, so I walked into the city and called on the PNG embassy.
I had a list of questions for them like: Is it still on? Where and when is it being held? Who is paying my expenses?
They knew nothing about it so they phoned PNG and I learned it was still on in two weeks. It was to be held up in the Highlands, in a town called Mount Hagen, and the New Zealand Government was to pay my expenses.
I asked if they had been told that they were paying for me to attend and was told, they will be told tomorrow. Two weeks before the event and they hadn’t raised the issue with the people expected to pay my way.
They asked if I would take over a suitcase full of my books? I was not sure who for, but I was happy to do that. They were written to help people in the Pacific.
I hurried around to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and asked to speak to the person in charge of the PNG desk. I told my story, and Hamish Rennie said, “It will probably be all right. Go immediately and have your medical shots and buy your tickets. I will confirm later on. “ He did that, just a few hours before I was due to fly out.
It took me three flights to reach my destination, Mt Hagen. I was met by the organiser, Bob Kirby. He was a very impressive, and business-like ex-pat Englishman.
As he took me to my accommodation we passed a burnt-out building. He said that was the remains of the Education Department. They had recently sacked a teacher and the villagers had come to town and burnt the Department down.
My accommodation was in a place called the Plumes and Arrows. It had a high wooden fence with sharpened poles. Inside was a series of thatched huts. The huts were comfortable with a bath and a shower.
While having a shower I had a bad fall and cracked some ribs. I had never had such pain, before, or since. It was not a good start as I was expected to chair some sessions and make my presentation to the Prime Minister.
The only way I could get some partial relief was to strap myself up with the large strap attached to my suitcase, I had no pain relief pills. Not a good start! It was a very painful week.
Midway into the meeting selected delegates were flown into an isolated model village, called Jimi Valley. It had only a track and a grass airfield.
We flew in aboard a small Beaver plane by MAF airlines (Missionary Aviation Fellowship). The seats were made of wood, with no padding. The pilot was Australian and demonstrated some brilliant flying as we circled down between mountains.
It was not until Thursday that I was told I was to give my presentation at 9 am the next day. Unfortunately that night a party was put in with plenty to drink and eat. I did not stay and I went to bed early that night.
The next morning I rose early to inspect the place I was to give my presentation. To my horror, it had been decorated for the Prime Minister’s visit. The stage was cluttered with citrus trees covered in fruit and in front of the lectern was a hut full of live ducks – I kid you not!
I disposed of the lectern so I could be seen when making my presentation.
When 9a.m. came no one had arrived. By 9:15 Bob Kirby was getting agitated as he was expecting the Prime Minister and his party. He said I had better start, Weary eyed participants started drifting in as I began my presentation.
Halfway through the presentation, Prime Minister Wingt arrived, with his entourage. Everyone stood up in respect. I stopped talking and he waved me on.
Later I had a talk with him and I gave him a copy of my paper. I was being well paid to make this presentation and I knew my paper was to be published. Were any of my recommendations acted on? I will never know. Some seeds germinate when the time is right, others fall on stony ground.
Another Handful of Tips 