I mentioned the other day pren blong miDulcie (my friend with the sweet name), and that there was a story about her. Work today is frustrating; so to avoid it, and thoughts like what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-in-this-office-for-another-14-months, or maybe-I-can-escape-in-July, I will write about this. It’s an average example of the culture here – of daily life of village people – of people in what might be like the working class – of conflict – of value – well, of all of these elements tangled up together, as in any true story.
Dulcie works at a supermarket, 7am-7pm, six days a week. Before she was hired she was asked to sign a contract absolving her employers (Philippinos) of any responsibility for her safety as she makes her way to and from work. Told verbally by the boss that if she didn’t sign then she wouldn’t get work, she signed. Her village is a good one hour’s walk out of town, so she rises and leaves her three kids and her husband before dawn; and she leaves work in the dark and walks back home. Man b’long Dulcie ingot wok (her husband doesn’t work).
In the last couple of months there’s been a reasonable amount of petty crime in town – to me most visible when involving whiteskins, but I’ve heard a number of things involving locals too. I think it feels a bit better now, but I’m just lucky; it’s not improving for some of my friends. And Dulcie’s been worried and warning me about stuff for a while. She doesn’t feel safe walking into work.
And then two weeks ago, at 6.45am, she was grabbed by a man on her way into work. She was almost at work; he was drunk and grabbed her on a hillside and pulled her away with him. She is a tough girly and resisted and shouted. There weren’t many people around to hear, and he pulled out his bush knife, so she stopped resisting and went with him. He gripped her by the arm and led her up into town, to the Genoka settlement. Here he stopped to take a piss – and she grabbed her opportunity and ran. As he bellowed and stumbled after her, she darted towards a cluster of huts, running around and hiding in one. He continued to shout out: “Meri blong mi! Stop that woman, she’s my wife!”.
There was a couple in the haus she ran into first; hearing the guy’s calls and peering out and recognising him, they let her hide only until he went past: then she had to get out. She scrambled to another haus and here was luckier. Two teenage girls hid her under a bed. The man came back, going from haus to haus, seeking her out, telling everyone that she was his wife and threatening them to reveal her hiding spot. But these girls denied seeing her; they hid her well, and after some time had passed and it was safe, she crawled out and went and reported the incident to the police. Then reported it to work, and then went home.
She told her husband, and later that day he and a few others from the village went in search of this guy. The guy had brought shame on Dulcie, and that had to be responded to. Finding him in the settlement, they beat him. One hit his head hard, and blood trickled out of his ear. Then they left him.
The guy gathered some wantoks and went to the local hospital. He got a medical report and was prescribed some medicine – both of which cost money. And several days later he made a claim against Dulcie in his village court (she’s from a different area and has her own village court). He wanted 100kina compensation from her, for her actions had resulted in his injury and medical costs: because of the stories she told her husband, her husband and others beat him up.
So Dulcie was called to appear before village court. She turned up with her wantoks, and he was there with his. But the air was unsettled and they moved to the police station where police were present and could calm things down if necessary. Dulcie submitted her counterclaim – he abducted her and it was clear from her point of view that he wanted to rape her – and demanded her own compensation of 100kina. There was a standoff: the guy raised his claim, he wanted more money from her; and he was incensed at the idea of having to pay compensation to her. But the police sided with Duclie, and warned him that if it went to a higher level court, he’d have to pay a lot, lot more. They suggested that he pay her 50kina. But he was disgusted, and refused to relinquish his own claim: he required compensation.
In the end, with police acting as mediators, it was agreed that Dulcie would pay him 100kina and he would pay her 50kina. They had five days to come up with the money. The guy and his wantoks were very unhappy about having to pay a toya (cent) towards Dulcie. When she and her wantoks left, they walked through the Peace Park (where village court usually takes place, and the place in town that is officially designated – and generally respected – as a peaceful place). Here one of his female wantoks started shouting out at Dulcie and when Dulcie replied, this woman punched Duclie in the face. Dulcie weren’t havin’ n’ne of it, and punched her right back. At this stage people intervened – this was the peace park after all – and they moved off down towards the markets. The fight erupted again – and crowds instantly formed; it’s the same the world over, girl fight girl fight! – but was again interrupted.
And that’s how things stand at the moment. Dulcie doesn’t feel safe going to work, and so never went back. And the police recommended that she stays in her village for a while and doesn’t come into town; it’s not safe for her around here now. So she’s decided to stay at home until early next year, when things will have calmed down. I hope so. It’s a risky situation; here it is seen that the guy has been shamed. And as such he – and his wantoks, in some circumstances – are likely to retaliate, to re-establish position. Violence and more money. If there are rapes or killings, a clan war could start.
And all this I see as a catastrophe and terrible and complex etc. etc. But it matters who’s “seeing”. Dulcie is quite matter of fact about it. No drama about living in the village full time for a while; they will survive off food from the gardens. The physical threat is scary but if she sticks to the rules and doesn’t come into town, this guy should stick to his and she should be safe. Compensation demands and payments might not be ideally awarded but the money will be found somehow, because they are part of life, and indeed make sense of it.
Whilst I see drama, to her it’s daily life. She accepts my concern, but I can see – even as I say “oh be careful”, “sori tru!” – that my reaction in turn seems a bit dramatic to her.
What seems to matter to her, as she tells this to me, is not my reaction. What matters – I think – is the telling of the story, to me. Telling her story to someone like me has a value to her. And of course, being able to listen to someone like her telling her story, has its value to me.
Ah yep; just an average convoluted interaction about the world your correspondent is trying to forge a life in.
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