All I want for Christmas is you

By BIGA LEBASI
ALMOST to the day, this time last December we decided to visit Mother buried at our North Wagawaga village family plot, five minutes by car from the Milne Bay capital of Alotau.
Pink was her favourite colour. There were pink blooms around the house I was living in so it really was no problem there about fresh pink flowers. But we needed a vase or a small urn, may be a pink jug or a simple jam jar.
A pink vase? Where is it? And how much would it cost? From Australia or cheapie Asia? We counted our treasured kina and toea and walked in the scorching afternoon sun, crossed Goilanai bridge and entered this second hand shop filled to capacity with clothes, shoes, electrical goods, books, cutlery, pots and pans, curtains, hat’s and odds and ends and dust and shoppers dripping wet with perspiration.
Hah, deodorants should be issued free of charge at Alotau! No aircon. Ayo sinagu! The heat was ummer yes, bloody hot. One by one we checked the shelves. All that dust collected by the winds and breezes off the Bay waters.
Alotau is nestled on Hiwehiwe plateau. Some dumb dumb dimdim twit called it Cameron years ago. The silly name stuck. Alotau is under the remaining last bits of the Owen Stanley range that sinks into the sea off East Cape, where the greedy eyes of the deep see miners are focused on…it is the most eastern part of mainland PNG literally sitting on gold.
No luck in our shopping spree with a budget Mother Theresa would have died for, should we decided to give to her charity at Calcutta. At the dust covered counter we buoyed our cancerous body and soul and stared in disgust at the island lady chewing her cud with tiny streams of red spittle at both corners of her mouth. Ear ringed. Lipstick or beda (Tawala lingo for betel nut).
“Excuse me, you wouldn’t have any pink vases, medium, glass, crystal or plastic, please? ò we pleaded. “Wat?” she replied, chewing her cud spittle. We repeated our querie. “Nating,” she added.
We left the shop with nating. At the bakery next door the midday meat pies were inviting but our budget said nah, they’re not covered in our mini budget. Then a tiny voice came through our communication system linking us to our Creator above.
Never mind our bouts of memory lapses we suffer daily in our journey down to our grave! Memory lapse are part of our daily life today….We rushed. We obeyed the message from …not from the internet but from the Almighty Iehowa Guiau Eaubada. We crossed the street and re-entered the sekon han shop and made a beeline to the vase shelve, picked a brown jar, paid; she wrapped it in The National Weekender paper.
We left the shop. At the entrance to the pedestrian crossing of the Goilanai Bridge, something urged us to stop. The prompt said quite distinctly: “Bubu Biga Lebasi open the parcel.” We duly obeyed. On the side of the brown glass jar we read, holding back tears. The message simply read: “All I want for Christmas is you.” from mum! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to my readers here in PNG and abroad. Thanks for being kind and supportive.