Were there better opportunities then?

This is Part 2 of an article on co-operative societies in Gulf. Despite the lack of education, our forefathers had opportunities we don’t seem to have.

By MARTIN LIRI
Two weeks ago we told a story that ended up with an array of feedbacks.
For those that missed out on that piece, it touched many topics. A relative of ours who is based in Lae gave us his take when we were visiting there for the PNG Kumuls versus England Knights game last Saturday.
Eugene Oraka, now in his 50s, recounted his opinion on how the story should have been told.
“The story was about your father (making reference to Raymond Liri, who has passed on) and many of students would have been reminded of him.”
We had to agree with him. But the story diverted a bit and covered one of the alternate transportation that was quite popular in the 1960s and 1970s.
In our Toaripi language this transportation was referred to as the sariva oroti. Translated to English it means “travel canoe”.
Oraka, whose family lived in Lese Kavora where I hail from before moving inland to Lese Oalai, recounted his own family’s own version of the sariva ororti which was known as the Hora Iri Mori. Our family’s sariva oroti which our article covered last week was known as the Lauaripota.
From Kavora was another one which we remember as Morea. These were large huge hulled canoes that were powered by outboard motors that serviced the people of Gulf, covering the open seas between Port Moresby and their respective villages. The Toaripi people (we are known as the Moripi) and other people further down the Gulf of Papua, had their own versions as well.
What is so interesting about this is that these were powered by large outboard motors. For the Lauaripota, it was powered by two 40-horsepower motors and guided by a large steel-built rudder that controlled the direction of the vessel.
These would have cost a fair amount of money to purchase. So how did the people manage to save enough money to afford such expensive purchases? I was a small boy aged about 12 years old or thereabouts but I can clearly remember that copra was the main cash crop that provided the locals with the capacity to earn an income.
As I transfer my vivid memories into perspective – obviously after having been exposed to education and some basic knowledge of business, the local economy was thriving, compared to present day.
The cooperative society business model that was in existence was quite vibrant. As a small boy it was part of our everyday tasks when I would go home for holidays to attend to the copra that my grandfathers had.
Almost each household had a copra drier. It was our task at the end of each day to turn the coconuts face down so they were not exposed to rain or the dew overnight.
Then in the morning we would be up to turn them face them up so that these could be exposed to the sun.
These were later transferred to the copra drier as the next stage of the production. A furnace that was built using a combination of used 44-gallon drums, a platform where the copra was stored, provided the heat that in more cases than not-gave the copra the final touches it needed to pass the tests of being a marketable commodity.
These were then put into large copra bags and using canoes transported to the nearby village of Lese Aviahara. Modern ships known as the mv Bereina and mv Rabaul would dock at a wharf that was built to berth large boats, to pick up the copra bags as cargo. How the transactions happened for the cash to get between the parties involved our little brains knew little about.
But what I do remember is the cooperative store that was quite popular with the nearby villages. You could walk in there and buy almost anything that you needed from bush knives, to Coleman pressure lamps, hurricane lamps, mosquito nets, clothes, tinned food, Rouna cordial, Big Sister cake rolls, Kraft cheese – Australian made products that are off the shelves now. Big Sister cake rolls were my grandfather Robert Ekari Sareako’s favorites and I used to tend his copra, with that cheeky little knowledge that staying in his good books, would earn me what were quite enjoyable rewards of sharing this popular snack with him.
Many other people will have their own stories to tell. But the interesting thing about this whole experience is that the ordinary villagers had the capacity to earn an income through the cooperative society business model. As I mentioned before in this article, I was a small boy and didn’t understand the mechanics of how this business model functioned.
However, what is clear in comparison to modern day is our people do not have the capacity to earn an income. The copra industry is non-existent these days in my province and seems to have been replaced by betel nut as a commodity to generate income – at least for those that grow betel nuts. The rest of my people live on small income generating practices like selling fish, crabs, fresh water prawns, sago, to make some money for themselves.
Cash from these unfortunately is not sufficient to help them buy the big outboard motors that our forefathers managed to buy.
Many of our people have copies of the certificates that their fathers or grandfathers passed on, which they had obtained as proof of the shares that they had purchased through the cooperative societies.
What has become of those shares is subject to investigation with Gulf Governor Chris Haiveta even raising the issue on the floor of Parliament. How that pans out remains to be seen.
But the glaring question that come to mind is, how come our forefathers – despite their limited exposure to education, or rather no formal education – managed to be empowered to be able to own assets like 40-horse power motors, which our present day people cannot even afford to buy?
Why can’t we provide opportunities for our people, empower them to be able to be self-sustaining – not just to get a decent day’s meal but be able to have surpluses that they can use to generate tangible incomes they can use to do a little bit more than just staying alive?

• Martin Liri is a freelance journalist.