SIUKE observed several youths in school uniform crossing the field and thought to himself – they are certainly from the school up the road and heading home after a hard day at school.
He imagined each of them looking forward to a well-deserved shower, a hot meal and a well-earned rest.
In his mind, he commended their parents for forking out thousands of kina willingly – at most times at great sacrifices – to ensure their children get the best of education their pockets could afford.
There was nothing extraordinary about that, Siuke thought and looked away, thinking nothing further about it, except to mumble under his breadth – “at least they could be a bit more disciplined in their dressing”.
John, one of the youths in the group happened to look in Siuke’s direction and saw a group of four men all holding what appeared to be white cans.
One of them was talking and they seemed to be in a merry mood, all except one who was looking in their direction.
He knew that this oval was a popular drinking spot and right now all around the field, there were a number of parked vehicles and groups of men (and women) huddled under the shades of trees partaking of a common amber fluid.
He observed a car or two that definitely appeared to be Government vehicles but they were way off so he could not recognize any ‘Z’ number plates. Either that or the vehicles were deliberately parked as to ensure no one could see or make out the number plates.
He saw a couple of men close by who resembled police officers but he was not sure. Perhaps the brand new Mazda they were milling around was an unmarked police vehicle. They were really in a jolly mood that their voices and laughter carried quite loud and clear across the field.
There were other cars all over the paddock – some were fancy cars indicating their owners were well-off and/or well-placed in the private or public sector.
There were the odd bus, van and truck indicating their occupants to be private sector employees indulging in a pastime that was not in the best interest of their employers.
That thought prompted him to stop and observe a van in close proximity with six people around it.
There was definitely a female among the group and John noticed that there was a miserable attempt to hide the company logo on the side of the cab door behind some hastily constructed veil of clothing.
He looked at his watch – just after 3.30 on a Friday afternoon. Many of the tippers were enjoying themselves in their employers’ time – that is – if they were employed, he thought. He smiled when the question popped up in his mind – so what else is new – and rushed off to join his colleagues who had by now turned off the beaten track and headed in the direction of their regular rendezvous.
They’d been taking a regular shortcut through the field over the last two years and the sight of vehicles and people around the sports field was not unusual – except that they were not there to watch games, that’s for sure.
Siuke inhaled deeply on his Spear and sputtered. Quickly, he lifted his can to his lips and took a long swig. He was gulping down the lees when the sounds of commotion reached his ears.
His mates were already responding, turning their sights towards the direction of the commotion.
What he saw took a moment to register in his brain.
Several youths were in motion – a couple were locked in what appeared to be a wrestle while others were trying to separate them. Then, the mediators seemed to turn on each other and a free-for-all was in progress.
It was their uniforms, or more precisely the tearing of their uniforms during the free-for-all that jolted Siuke’s mind. These were the same youths who passed through the field at least an hour earlier.
And they were fighting among themselves, of all people. How, when, what, where and why, he thought aloud. The question as to who was obvious to him.
By now, the fight had obviously developed into a chase with one youth making a beeline for Boroko with others in hot pursuit.
Siuke’s group stood there, each lost in his thought.
“So what else is new?” That from Soare, the “leader” of Siuke’s group. He’s the guy who ‘shouted’ the rest of the gang and seemed a regular on this field, by his matter-of-fact utterance.
All eyes were on Soare, who shrugged his shoulders and continued: “They’re drug bodies, you know. They pass through this field every Friday, sit in the corner of the other field and smoke and drink and end up fighting each other …”
“You mean, they do that week in week out?” Siuke said in disbelief.
“Yeah,” Soare said. “If you happen to check their schoolbags when they pass through here, you’re sure to find a couple of hardies, which I’m sure they buy during lunch or after school which they bring with them here.”
There was silence again before Siuke broke the thought bubble.
“And to think their parents are paying their school fees believing in their discipline on and off the school grounds. Young boy goes off to school and mum and dad think he is studying hard. But no; on a Friday, he’s thinking about joining his mates at the oval for a smoke and drink and ends up in a fight ...”
Sari decided to join the debate: “You start to wonder what they teach in schools these days. There’s certainly no discipline enforced in school if these kids can come out and indulge in drugs and alcohol abuse. And that’s not to mention the new trend of graffiti on uniforms.
“Parents spent a pretty penny buying those uniforms in a belief that the kids will pride themselves on something akin to their Sunday best. Obviously, the trend is to get as many signatures from their schoolmates on their uniforms as they can. The wearer then wears it around like an advertising board of graffiti.”
“What about discipline at home?” Siuke interrupted. “Surely, the parents can see the condition of their kids when they get home if they happened to indulge in drug and alcohol abuse regularly. They must be stupid not to note the bloodshot eyes, the smell of stale smoke, their erratic behaviour, not to mention the blood and bruises from their fights and their torn uniforms.
“Surely, they are blind not to notice the graffiti on their children’s school uniforms. Why, in my days, mum would jump up and down, scream ‘what am I going to do about this’ and show me the uniform …”
Tupiri, the fourth member of the group had either been all ears during the entire conversation or relishing his amber fluid.
“Maybe they are emulating what we are doing here,” the quietly spoken Tupiri asserted.
“They pass through here regularly and after several weeks, months, perhaps years, they decide to join the party; you know, ‘if you can’t lick them, join them’.”
I recall the Wise Counsellor putting it another way: ‘No one is so insignificant as to be sure his example can do no harm …’

 

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