BY JO CHANDLER
''YOU KNOW THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A FREE BILUM,'' the crusty old kiap - a patrol officer, one of the legion who never made it back to Australia after independence in 1975 - explained to this wide-eyed ''white meri'' on her first foray into Papua New Guinea.
''If you are presented with a spear, the expectation is clear - you should bring back something from the hunt.'' A bilum is used to carry garden vegetables and fruits from the forest. ''It must also come back, bearing gifts.'' A string bag with strings attached.
In PNG the cargo ferried in bilums along the nation's fractured roads sustains families. While bilums are carried by men and women alike, they are powerfully symbolic of the burdens of women in a nation where the state provides them with little or nothing.
Indeed, the crisis teams installed by Medecins Sans Frontieres to help women brutalised by violence in the highlands hot spots of Tari and Lae use a ''bilum scale'' to measure their patients' distress - at one extreme a grim-faced, wretched woman is bent double under her heavy load; at the other end her bag swings lightly from her shoulder as she stands up straight and smiling.
My most prized bilum is a riotous rainbow of yellow, green, red and orange. It was given to me by Mary Kini and Agnes Sil, ''peacewomen'' activists from the highlands village of Kup.
Together with their friend Angela Apa, they brought about a social revolution in their community, where 18,000 people had endured 30 bloody years of tribal war. Teachers and health workers fled, buildings burnt, girls could not collect water without risk of rape, families went hungry because women could not work in their gardens for fear of attack, mothers buried broken sons.
Then Agnes, Mary and Angela began to meet secretly, and at great risk. ''Women were women, just women - for the kitchen and the house, to look after the animals.
They were not allowed to talk in public,'' Agnes explained. Nonetheless, they colluded behind racks of second-hand clothes in the market stalls. They began an underground movement to end the violence.
''What was the fighting about?'' I asked. Power. Prestige. Pigs. Compensation. The settling of old scores. Their men had fought about such things forever - with bows and arrows and then, devastatingly, with guns. Communities were held hostage by paradigms of grief and violence. ''Enough was enough,'' Agnes declared.
They rallied hundreds of women into a march - they wailed and sang behind banners declaring ''No more tribal fights'' and ''Tears and love''. They told the stunned men to shut up and listen.
They gave harrowing testimony to the pain of raising children only to have them slaughtered. ''Our houses are burnt down, and the kids are with no food - we have had enough.''
When the Kup women finished speaking, one of the chief men stood up and declared himself ashamed. Agnes says: ''He said, 'From now on, I am finished with tribal fights. From right now, I am wearing a skirt. I no more wear trousers that say I am a man - I want to become a woman','' He gave the women precious gifts: power and authority. The women used them to broker peace on the battlefields, planting themselves between the warriors.
They brought back the teachers, police, nurses. Aid agencies came in to support them. Programs evolved - law and justice, youth mentoring, agriculture, maternal and infant health, water and sanitation.
After years of progress, the fairytale in recent times has ruptured and endured setbacks from renewed skirmishes. Nonetheless, momentum is sustained by the knowledge that dramatic change can be achieved.
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