A man child he is!

There’s a guy, son of a man
Not yet a man, but a man child
Yet to walk the world’s paths
Nonetheless, a man he is

He now talks bout ice cream, lollies,
canoes, bicycles, and a chance
To fly with the clouds, and watch
The World from his perspective

Not yet a man, this son of a man
Yet to know this majestic world’s
Grace, splendour, and wrinkles of love,
Perhaps hisses of storms will do him well

And he is already on the roll;
Fluent with his tongue cheeky,
A way with words – his beauty,
And with a voice mighty golden

He isn’t much of a man, nor a boy,
Oh a guy he is nevertheless,
And a bloody good one at it
He is a man child, indeed!

And does what a son of a man does
Dance his way around – not once
His muscles small but active
The stamina, perseverance; name it!

His beauty, not much of an angle’s
But he is an angle without wings
With dream better than an angle’s
And a hallo to be reckoned with

He isn’t much of a gentleman
Nor much of a mighty man
But he’s gentle as gentle can ever be
And mighty as mighty can ever be

There’s a guy, son of a man
Not yet a man, but a man child
He is a guy nonetheless and
He is my dearest son!

Jeff  Febi

For my son Nalepa Diou Febi

The curse of the ‘Tiger Economy’

PNG’s economy has been growing at an average 8% per year for a decade – supported mostly by increased demand for raw materials and their high market prices. The immediate future appears certain to experience further growth albeit at a forecasted slightly lower growth level until 2014.

Of late some commentators have found it fitting to brand the PNG economy a ‘tiger economy’; once a brand that the PNG nation could only wish for. And many citizens might have smiled and of course bragged a bit about how we’ve grown and how good future prospects seem.

PNG has to a certain degree, succeeded in changing perceptions and now appears to be romancing (apart from traditional partners) new big players in the Asia-Pacific region. How long this continues on for is anyone’s guess, but one thing’s for certain: there’s virtually almost nothing tangible on the ground to show for as evidence for a decade of economic growth. So the question that begs to be answered is: Is PNG really a tiger economy?

The phrase ‘tiger economy’ is used to define any economy that has continually experienced economic growth through its trade and industry sectors and as well as improvements in living standards of a country’s citizens.

PNG has experienced economic growth but has growth been experienced in other sectors such as education, health, infrastructure and manufacturing – the very sectors that enables her citizens to improve their living standards? Isn’t the elementary reason for a country seeking economic growth the ‘improvement of living standards and prosperity’ for its citizens? How could PNG be a tiger economy when its citizens are still living on the edges?

This branding (tiger economy) may invoke images of improving education and health services, a burgeoning manufacturing (downstream processing) sector, and etc. These aren’t happening in PNG and we have succeeded in fooling people outside and even ourselves. It is highly likely PNG citizens will have developed illusions as to true state of the economy thus allowing the government and its thinkers to take a bit more laidback approach towards fixing PNG’s many problems.

PNG hasn’t reached that stage yet, although it has achieved sustained economic growth for a decade, to be called a tiger economy. Some other name, maybe, ‘pussycat economy’ might fit well.

Remember the Asian economic meltdown; where the Asian tiger economies were brought to their knees. They however, were able to quickly bounce back, due partly to their solid manufacturing, education and health sectors which they’ve developed during happier days.

If PNG is to experience a meltdown or slowing down due to downturn in demand for our raw materials, huge dept-servicing expenses and an inequitable distribution of wealth; what sector is there to aid PNG’s speedy recovery?

PNG needs to first build, re-build and strengthen its appalling self.

Upheaval in a garden

In a distant barren garden,

Slight winds glide in straight lines,

Then in circles like in a circus.

Leaves curling; uncurl while sway,

Rustling and rustle in the wind.

Worms under burrow louder, and

Crickets rise and creep willy-nilly;

Bleep! Bleep! Then chirping a chirp.

Night’s sun rush to beam a gleam,

And a portrait rays form.

Thoughts flip through pages of a life:

Tallying all achievements in flashes.

No man who was human,

No mammal that’s an animal,

Bother to wander there.

A man, he and himself,

And worms, crickets and leaves.

Breaths burst into steam

And gleam in passing rays.

As perspiration disperses

And gather on the ground

A glittering puddle forms

In which a journey thence previews.

Winds stumble then leaves rumble

Like angry waves breaking pebbles,

Troubled thoughts did more breaking.

Emotions! Seep thru’ gentle eyes.

Blood bleeds!

Night’s eyes shut!

Wind’s hiss recedes!

Who'd have courage to watch?

But when t’was time,

A gentle calm settles over Peter

And presides at the Skull Mountain rituals.

By: Jeffrey Febi                    07 Apr 2010 edited 21 Sept 2012

Nomination day was challenging

The picture shows part of the crowd that accompanied me.

(Jeffrey Mane Febi – candidate for the Lufa Open Electorate Seat, 2012 Nat elections)

Something heavy had settled on my head, I thought I felt my brain inflate and deflate rapidly, I didn’t know I wasn’t thinking, then I heard a sweet voice that cuts through this wall of dense confusion; “Mane!”. I turned and saw my concerned mother. The wrinkles around her eye have grown, her hair more grey, and in her frail extended arm, a kaukau clutched firmly in her palm. “You must eat”; her concerned voice sounded more alarming.

The scene was more of a successful gathering than one of failure but I, with less than zero experience in crowd control and management, seeing orderly confusion, was more worried than every other person who approached to greet me.

After I nominated to officially become a candidate to run for the Lufa Open Electorate seat in Eastern Highlands, I met the crowd that accompanied me. They didn’t come in hundreds; there were over a thousand of them. Men, women, boys, girls, children and babies; some have walked hundreds of miles, taking them days to arrive at Lufa government station to witness this event. Others have flown to Goroka then caught rides on Public Motor Vehicles (PMV) to Lufa. They are the people of remote rural Lufa; those who sing: ‘They call use camels; they call us white horses; they call us semi-trailers; …’.

The ensuing excitement and much perceived confusion as I see it and over a thousand voices to listen to or innumerable hands to shake and many more bodies to hug was overwhelming.

I thought there was no order, and something was brewing. Any moment from now it would burst and someone will be hurt. A child, a man, a woman, anyone!

To feed such a crowd was no easy task. A group of men and women in their mid 30s made it seem less arduous. They, young and untested, worked on not without crests and troughs, some of which almost derail their efforts. But at the day’s end, not a single hungry sole was found.

I on the other hand, with less village experience and  knowledge, couldn’t envisioned a successful ending, and this coupled with the day’s heat and smell of the crowd, almost laid the foundations for a brain explosion.

As the election days unravel their latent challenges, I am hoping and praying I’d be able to cope.

The Eastern Highlands: trains, railways and tyranny of terrain

By Jeffrey Mane Febi

They call us camels. They call us white horses. They call us semi-trailers. They call us many names. Names of things we don’t know much about. We’re they who walk with the strength of our grandfathers; those bygone men who tamed angry rivers; appeased bellowing clouds and walked with mists. Our coffee beans shall not go to waste! Our coffee beans shall not go to waste! O no – no – no; shall not go to waste!

This morning a weary traveler, somewhere under a rock shelter, or under a tree’s roots, or from a hastily constructed temporary shelter during yesterday’s twilight, is awaken by a pre-dawn song; an eerie sound made by unseen creepy crawly creatures close by. A loud yawn and a stretch, then a glance at neatly stacked pile of white bags dissipates lingering weariness from a restless night. The journey that started 38 years ago must continue but the destination seemed further still.

On many a rugged hill, where clouds more often than not come to watch and cry over those that rise in any given gloomy morning with sweaty brows, blistered shoulders and burdened hearts; a father, a mother, or a  child moves on under heavy load.

On a rocky ridge where violent winds come to play, a mother firmly cuddles in her weary arms a package from which a pair of sickly eyes peered into hers; though devoid of animation, they manifests life and all its flaws quiet dramatically. It is only a matter of steps before life itself is shut out.

At the foot of this ridge, way down below, over a fast flowing river, a rope bridge swings dangerously to the left then right under a massive load. A stretcher, of wood and reinforced used-rice bags, is being ferried across on shoulders; one step at a time. One wrong step and certain death is inevitable. A skinny arm, like a dried tree branch, reaches out and attempts to grasp a side pole as if to steady the unsteady stretcher.

On a lookout, a resting place where multitudes have paused to gaze and marvel at the beauty of the seemingly unending mountain ranges, waterfalls and the evergreen faces of those ranges; a teenager pulls out a piece of newspaper from a side bag. Before he rolls his dried tobacco leaves, he reads: …the gov…ern...ment… and stops. However the next word is pronounced and whatever the bloody hell it means isn’t going to stress his exhausted mind; not now. Soon he’ll be puffing his exhaustion into tiny circular and skinny columns of drifting mists of vapour.

These typify the struggles of many of our rural Eastern Highlanders. Places like Unavi, Gimi, Marrawaka, Unggai and Wesan, for instance are daily impoverished by the tyranny of our rugged terrain.

Other places in PNG: Teleformin, Menyyama, and Salt-Nomane, to name a few, encounter similarly daunting circumstances.

The prevailing challenge is how to connect these largely organically rich and pristine areas to vital government infrastructure or how to deliver vital government services to them on a daily basis.

Roads seemed to be the answer at the outset but, over time PNG has learned that they become increasingly problematic. Soil type, high tropical rainfall, sheer vastness of these ranges and enormous costs of maintenance, makes building roads to remote places an overwhelming challenge.

This brings to mind railways and trains. Though un-tested technology in the PNG modern situation, it’s worth a try. No need for a province wide railway network. Imagine connecting only rural areas of Eastern Highlands named, to Goroka and Kainantu. Organically grown Coffee and vegetables which grow in abundance would be easily transported to markets. And medicine and school materials would be ferried back. It’s about tapping into the potential of under-utilised fertile rural areas; the opening up of a world of potential and ensuring rural people partake meaningfully in the economy of PNG.

And if all rural areas of PNG are likewise connected to markets, what may become of PNG will truly be unprecedented.

The next face of development and growth envisioned in the PNG Vision 2050 could ride on the back of trains and railways connecting the potentially rich and under-utilised rural Eastern Highlands and other rural areas of PNG.