On Bougainville

Bougainville is the big island at the northern end of the Solomons chain.

It was made part of Papua New Guinea ('PNG' or 'Niugini' in the region) during the colonial partition period despite its affinities with the Solomon Islands .

Bougainvilleans resent being governed from far-off Port Moresby and by Highlanders with whom they have little in common and whom they rightly believe take their island's wealth for little return.

This wealth is derived largely from the Panguna copper mine which did indeed contribute very, very  significantly to Papua New Guinea's economy.

The Bougainvilleans, as part of a secession drive, closed the mine down. They felt the Australian mining company, Conzinc Rio Tinto, was contributing to their exploitation and to the environmental degradation of the land (not hard to believe).

After a series of grotesque military and diplomatic blunders (including the hiring of international mercenaries) Port Moresby took note and agreed to a referendum on the question of independence for Bougainville some time during the current decade (2010).

'On Bougainville' was written in a period when Australian troops supported Niuginian troops against the Bougainville Rebels.

The island from which the botanist is kidnapped is Taro, capital of Choiseul Province, Solomon Islands.

ON BOUGAINVILLE

`There,` he pointed, ‘you can see but not today. Too much weather.'

He looked and thought he could discern, nevertheless. `How long in kanoe?'

`Four, maybe six hours.'

This was such a coarse approximation the fellow must be lying.

`Very dangerous.'

`Patrol boats?'

`Yes.'

`PNG or Solomons?'

`PNG.'

`Any helicopters?'

`Yes. Australian. Australia supports PNG. We are Bougainville. See?' His companion was wearing a black t-shirt with a crude design and `Free Bougainville'.

He stared balefully at the crudeness.

`Solomons lets us stay here. Some Australians help us. You in far house?'

`Yes.'

`I will come tomorrow and we will talk. I will tell you about Bougainville.'

`Don't bother,' he thought and said, ‘What's your friend's name?'

`Isiah. My name is Abel.'

Isiah was a stunner. His tawny hair was rolled and beaded, some of the rolls jutting fetchingly over his forehead. His magnificent teeth gleamed in contrast to his blue-black skin.

He persuaded Abel to take his camera and snap him with Isiah but Isiah resisted the arm around the shoulder. Isiah, in fact, had avoided eye contact.

He noted this as an example of real Bush Man, afraid to look a white man in the eye.

`Isiah doesn't speak?'

`No. He comes from far way Bougainville - different language. I come tomorrow at ten.'

He watched as they moved off down the beach and as another group moved from under some palms to join them. He saw they were now discussing the encounter with the white man. He stared across the bay at the logging ship anchored off the other shore and felt queasy. There, behind it, near the very top of those hills was what he was after - an orchid.

Species of Paphiopedilum were found from India, Myanmar, Thailand, down through the Philippines ... several had been found in Niugini, one in Bougainville - Paphiopedilum bougainvilleanum. This island, Choiseul, was the next in the chain. There could be a species here too. He had to get to it before the loggers. If he was lucky it would be a new species but even if it was just another population of Paphiopedilum bougainvilleanum, to have extended its known location would justify this hellish trip.

Field work had never been one of his joys. He was happier far sorting through ancient sheets with crumbling dried specimens attached, noting this detail to be measured against that, scoring points off the old authorities. One of his triumphs had been to have a well established species renamed because he had discovered it had in fact been described and named earlier by an obscured authority.

`From now on they're going to have to call it Dendrobium hopkinsonianum instead of Dendrobium suave,' he'd announced to Mum.

`It must be hard to keep up with all that,' she'd said.

The little crowd down the beach turned and stared at him. He thought he'd better get going and pack while there was still light. Early in the morning a man was coming to take him across for his attempt on the hill across the bay. He waved in irony at the crowd down the beach. They fell still and then one slowly raised an arm, waved and the arm was gone.

He turned to walk back along the beach to the government rest house where he was staying. He frowned at the yellow flickerings in the current. At first he had thought they were fish, `Aha,Chaetodon citrinellis, mature individuals, running with the tide,' he'd said to himself and been furious when he saw they were actually leaves. Thank god there had been no-one with him, for he would have felt the obligation, as an academic, to pronounce.

The island he was staying on lay off the much larger one on which he was convinced he would take his prize. He would photograph it, locate it on maps - detailed survey maps prepared by mining companies. Part of his long preparation for this trip had been garnering them after having learnt to read them. He had forced himself to undergo some Adult Education courses - `Advanced Map Reading for Bush Walkers' and `Photographing Botanical Subjects' - for which he had sustained a contempt while gaining much.

He would leave the rest of his gear at the rest house, he did not intend staying overnight on that hill. About two hours to get up there, an hour to find it, for the photography and the placing of discreet site markers ... He handled a special canister in which he just might smuggle a living specimen back. And there were other canisters, one just in case there was a seed pod.

He felt quite sure he would find it, find it easily ... he could see it - growing in limestone above a stream. He felt sure it would be in flower, now at the end of the Dry was the right time. And despite his Science, he allowed himself fantasies: it was spectacular, it was sensational, collectors would pay anything for it. It would immediately go to the top of the Convention on Trade in Endangered Species List. It would revolutionise Paphiopedilum breeding and he with True Science would name it not for himself or Mum (Paphiopedilum glennysianum) but after its salient feature  - Paphiopedilum magnificum. He rehearsed his interviews ...`The Latin epithet sprang to my lips as I first laid eyes upon it.' He sobered himself by selecting from the articles now scattered around him then by preparing his awful meal on the kerosene stove.

His eyes were quickly fatigued reading by the torch and his very superior Walkman, a blurred vacuity by day, was now flooded with sound - two talk-back radio programs and a Country and Western program, all from North Queensland. He went to bed.

The heat and his excitement reduced sleep to a simmering delirium. He kept waking. A wind sprang up, it shrilled through the palms. He got up to check the door which had no lock. He sipped some of the water he'd boiled, went back to bed. Was that voices? The wind, he reassured himself, blowing through the low shrubs which had sprung up on the land cleared for the rest house.

Somebody was shaking him by the shoulder, it must be time, the fellow with the ... the room seemed full of figures. He sat up.

`Get dressed.'

He did.

Then he found his voice,`What do you want?' He despised the frail sound as it issued from his mouth.

`You come with us.'

They began to bundle him out of the room. One of them had a rifle. His thoughts turned to the few Solomons soldiers he had seen patrolling the island. A wild desperation leapt through him.

`What's going on here?' he struggled for a commanding tone.

An enormous dry-skinned hand fell across his mouth.

He was pushed outside and along. He stumbled over reef rocks and found himself at the lagoon. Then he was in a canoe being paddled. He saw that someone was remaining on shore. They would tell the soldiers. In a few minutes the man would be caught returning and then this would be over. He would be able to return to the rest house, give his report, forgive them all and in half an hour be asleep, sleeping ready for tomorrow's great venture.

He was drenched as they crossed the reef. Thank god they hadn't made him bring his camera.

An outboard roared and the canoe sprang away. It was obvious they were heading for Bougainville. He would be back tomorrow. The day after ... he would explain to the man with the boat and he would take him across to his hill, the day after. They hadn't touched his equipment but what about that one who had not come with them ... what if he went back to the rest house and ...?

`That man him leave he better not steal anything.'

He felt relieved that the wind had snatched his absurd words away. In any case no-one heeded him.

A various time he thought they must capsize and all drown or be taken by sharks, that the outboard must break down from the strain of this endless journey and they would be strafed by mad PNG troops from the Highlands in their Australian Iroquois helicopters - he would stand and wave and then leap overboard. They would not shoot at a white man. A rope would be lowered with a soldier on the end and he would be hauled aloft and he would be unable to stop them strafing these bastards ...

He was drenched again and again by the slaps and lunges of the sea.

They would break down and the sun would slowly broil them but a patrol boat ...

He awakened, some of them were asleep, the man at the tiller was set. The canoe dashed on and on.

Land. It loomed. They headed along a coast and then up a small river. Land on both sides. He was saved.

Everyone was awake, eager.

Suddenly they swerved into shore and the engine was cut. He was bundled forward in spite of locked knees and back. They pushed and pulled him over the side and shoved him up a bank.

He let his knees buckle while he watched them hauling the canoe up and onto the bank. The outboard looked huge. There were only four of them.

`We walk.'

`Where are you taking me?'

They walked.

He felt life flowing again through his deadened limbs. He began to ache and ache.

`Why are you doing this?'

He stumbled and fought his way through branches. This was mad.

`Where are we going?'

`Soon we rest.'

He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the ground.

They were nudging him and the mad stumble continued. They climbed. It was light, ahead was a hill - vertiginous. They climbed, clawing their way up the slippery rocks of a small stream. He scooped water up with his hands.

`Soon we eat.'

After a while he scooped up handfuls of cold rice with the same avidity as they did. It was dry, some of it was burnt. He could have gone on eating more.

`We rest for a bit.'

The one with the rifle seemed to be sulking, he noted with hope.

The others sprawled about. There was the one from the beach - Abel - and the stunning one with the rolled and beaded hair - Isiah. He didn't recognise the other two.

Abel rose and came across to him after a while. `I come to tell you about crisis in Bougainville now. I'm sick of it. No medicine, no schools. Australia supports PNG.'

`Not all Australians,' he began almost hysterically and remembering the cut and thrust of his Student Union days hauled himself back. `As a matter of fact we have some very distinguished supporters of your cause. There's that woman lawyer ...' He couldn't for the life of him remember her name. `From Bondi. We're all worried about Bougainville. Not everyone supports the government you know, it's a democracy.'

They were all staring at him. Something like relief ran over him.

`I know,' Abel said and turned away.

`I ...' but he stopped. What was the use of saying,`I support Bougainville'? `I have very important work to do, you know.'

They stiffened. Abel said,`What work you?'

`I'm a botanist - a plant scientist. I'm looking for plants with medicinal qualities that save lives. Medicine.'

There was a silence and then something was said in a native tongue. Then there was talk and he recognised a few words - so they were using Pijin to talk to one another - but he couldn't follow.

The one with the rifle wasn't being much of a guard he noted, perhaps he could exploit the dissent. He gazed at the others. Beaded beauty hastily looked away, as did the others, though Abel tried not to.

Soon they were on the move again - upwards. The heat was impossible. But he was glad he had had the sense to dress in the very expensive walking boots he had bought with an eye to the style he would cut in them when not slugging through the bush.

He began to notice plants - some palms he was convinced were unknown, or at least very rare. He tried to take his bearings - they had come north ... the sun was ... follow the stream back down, then ... plunge through the jungle to the shore. The sea was crawling with patrol boats, there must be friendly natives.

The vegetation was changing; it was getting cooler. They stopped and started and made a camp for the night.

A handful of rice and there was nothing left.

It was dark and he felt cold. The night was interminable. He thrashed and slept, wild thoughts racing through his head, his nightmares were his thoughts and then he was being shaken from a profound slumber. He resisted, struggling to get back down to sleep but the shaking was insistent.

When they were ready he said,`Water.'

Abel pointed to the stream.

`Is it fit to drink?'

Abel translated for the others, forcing them to laugh.

He went off to the stream and took tentative handfuls to his mouth. The last thing he needed was some damned dysentery, he had been expecting it all night from that filthy rice.

He must stink. He took his magnificent bush shirt off and splashed at his torso, his armpits. He was proud of his chest - the shirt did it justice. He thought he'd carry the shirt for a while then of leeches. He wondered if any had slid into his socks. He rolled one down but decided against taking his boots off. Those bastards with their huge flat black feet might decide to try to wear them, perhaps they might fight over them and ...

`We go now.'

And they went for another day. At first it was vilely hot but got cooler and cooler. The night would be freezing.

`Must rest,' he said.

They waited either patiently or with relief. And then there was a forced march.

The night froze him and there was not even the comfort of his nightmares. He lay awake, his mind an engine endlessly turning to no end.

The beauty of the dawn revived him a little. Surely they would be caught up with today - god knows the way they were blundering left a clear enough trail. They would be spotted from the air ... parachutists ... they would surrender immediately, they were amateurs.

In the middle of the afternoon they made camp. A fire was lit - with a Bic lighter, he noted with disgust. Two of them went off - for food, he hoped. He was starving.

The remaining two slashed at the ground with their machetes. He lay down in the cleared space and slept. Voices woke him. The others were returning with the rice bag. Something was in it. He watched as they spilled out the most repulsive collection of reptiles and amphibians. They were thrown on the fire.

`I can't eat that.'

Abel examined his face then shrugged.

He noted they didn't eat much either.

During the night one of them began to groan. The others conferred. Abel crouched beside the boy, settling him down.

A wild hope that they would rise any minute and return sprang up and would not be quelled.

He shook violently, thinking, It can't be malaria it's still three days till I've got to take my tablet.

During the infinities of that night he thought, Another night like this will do for me.

He awoke to yells. Through the mist banded with early morning light the rifleman was returning, with a possum.

He turned away as they went to work on it.

When he looked again there were bloody furred fragments and recognisable organs laid out on broad leaves.

The fire was going and they were breaking sticks up to toast with.

`Eat!' Abel said,`cuscus.' And laughed his joke out at the others but they didn't respond.

He chose a piece and had difficulty piercing it with his stick. He compromised by tying it on with a long strand of grass. They watched admiringly. And imitated.

The charred fragment had almost no flavour. He chewed at it and chewed at it and then gulped it down. He felt it making its way down through his gullet, his stomach jumped and he felt it lying there.

Twice he repeated this process, it exhausted him.

After this meal they were all dazed and lay around in a slumber until what must have been mid morning.

The sun seared through the clouds.

He felt strangely well. He found himself looking at Isiah and saying to himself,`Come on, come here. Fuck the life out of me you black brute while your mates watch and yell.' As his mind switched this off he determined to keep it for later, stealing glances as the light played across Isiah's powdery soft black skin, his musculature, the ridiculous but imposing and so very fetching arrangement of rolled hair and beads.

With the food, pathetic though it had been, the life had gone out of them. They sprawled around silent. Flies guzzled at the bloody remnants of the cuscus.

One of them pointed to them and said something causing Abel to snap, it was clear,`Leave it!' But now he set to, instilling them with what will he had to go on.

They came to a pool and one of the boys began to pick something and eat. The others discussed this among themselves.

He saw it was snails. The boy plucked one from under a tree and holding it by the shell tore the animal out and it was gone down his throat.

He looked for one. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was the same one, the very one that bastard Robinson had got the medal in Biology for finding and studying one long vac in Vanuatu. He had claimed - still claimed - it was only found in one valley there. He'd built his whole bloody career on it. Ho, ho, ho just wait till I get back. His hand reached up and he swallowed. He looked at the shell in his hand, thought for a moment about preserving it as evidence then tossed it into the bush.

Clearly the unity of the party was dissolving. Abel was having trouble keeping them to whatever course he had had in mind. That one was still sick, the rifle man had become silent, stubborn but a wild flash had developed in his eye. Isiah smouldered less.

They stopped for the sick one, made another fire. Surely all these fires ...?

The day passed. He wandered around looking at the plants, some were very remarkable. If only he had his survey maps; the mining companies would have got the place down to the last pebble.

He returned to the camp and went up to Abel,`Well you got us into this now you'd better bloody well get us out of it. I've got important work to do.'

Abel looked up at him in surprise then looked away.

He settled down. Everything was damp.

Just as the afternoon was turning into evening a very remarkable thing happened - a man walked out of the jungle and up to them. He was wearing old jeans and a t-shirt. The party was on its feet and clamouring. With one gesture, the man silenced them. He glanced at the prisoner. He was taken apart and left alone.

A low conversation ensued. Night fell as it continued. He heard `Australian'. And `Hostage'. A dry bark of laugh passed from his lips as he thought of Patty Hearst. Then he heard `Photograph' and `Agent'.

He listened to the cadences of argument build. Then there was shouting, an older voice and a younger. Stones rattled and bracken broke as bodies got to their feet. There was a sound that could have been a scuffle.

Run, run now he thought. And the blackness of that terrible terrain yawned back at him.

Then there was sobbing.

He suddenly realised how young his captors were - mere youths.

Silence.

Towards dawn he woke, terrible with cold.

He strode towards the camp-fire, resolved to make them build it up, big.

A heavy dew made everything wet.

He could smell the smoke but it was coming from everywhere.

He told himself to sit down, wait for light, any rock would do.

During his watch he slid to the ground and sat on the freezing earth, his back against his rock.

At the first hint of light he was awake, stumbling through a mist that threaded impenetrable. But the light grew stronger.

He forced himself to sit down again.

Hours later the sun began to dissipate the mist.

He began a methodical search.

Then he found the camp-site. They were gone and the fire was out.

© Ian MacNeill