I WAS BORN IN GOGLME, Upper Simbu, and grew up there, and then lived with family at Banz and later Kundiawa. I think I was born around 1970, but cannot be sure.
My father - Peter Daka - was a good man. A devout Catholic and a carpenter by trade. He helped build three Catholic churches in Simbu, which are still there.
When I was a small girl I became very sick, and my mother left for another husband leaving me in the care of relatives. They said I would not live and told my father he should leave in the bush to die, as I would only be a burden on him.
He refused. "This is the daughter of my blood, so I will take care of her."
I was covered in sores (my husband says this might have been a bad case of psoriasis caused by not enough vitamins) and I did not have enough food to eat or milk to drink.
So my father took me in and looked after me. As he was a working man on his own, there was no one else for me. He put me in his bilum and placed me on his back while he worked on the churches and houses he was building.
I still know how to hang a door and make a carpentry joint after being with him as a child for so long.
He fed me on tinpis juice and coconut milk until I was well enough to eat solid foods. Then I gradually got better.
Later he became ill and had no one to help look after him in hospital. So I left school in Grade 10 and looked after him, bringing him food and singing to him while he lay in the bed.
He died when I was about 15. After that I was taken in by a family at Banz, later moving to a foster family in Kundiawa, where I worked in the garden, helped with their kids and became part of their family.
So I have several families now and many bad and good memories.
As a teenager (for me that was around 15 upwards), I was in Banz, then Kundiawa.
In Banz my uncle taught me about bus kaikai. He used to catch green tree snakes.
"These are the tasty ones," he said, and we roasted them. They did taste good.
When I moved to Kundiawa I was taken to the Goroka show once to wear Simbu bilas (see top picture). This tradition is still very important to me.
But I also had my first taste of womanhood - the "coming of age" ceremony (ambai ingugl panga). This taught me a lot about Simbu tradition and culture, and the importance of womenfolk in society.
And I had my first (and last) tainim lek ceremony. I don't believe this is practiced any more, which is a pity.
It is wonderful - basically a big party with music and feasting, and boys and girls sitting opposite each other on benches, supervised by the aunties and showing their interest in who they fancy. (Nothing as degenerate as a modern rave party.)
For those who get lucky, the tainim lek is followed by strictly controlled courtship rituals.
I didn't get lucky. My father was dead so I had little value.
My adoptee parents decided to send me to Port Moresby to get a job as a baby-sitter.
Maybe it was time I saw something of the world around me. So Daddy flew me down to meet some relatives who had need of someone to look after their kids. Plus it got me out of their hair.
I was around 18, and had the shock of my life - I discovered Port Moresby. And wait men.
When I moved to Moresby, I found out how hard it is for women.
I was looking after my cousin-uncle’s kids and living at Bomana, but could get time off at weekends so partied a bit, as all young people do.
Unfortunately my place in the family made some of the neighbours jealous. "She has AIDS! She is a two kina meri!" some of them claimed when I caught the flu.
But I was neither, and my family stood up for me. "You go back to your huts yu bus-kanakas! Rose is a good girl and does not have anything except flu!"
I managed to get through that, but the mauswara became so bad I moved to my Auntie's house at Gerehu and got a job at the Country Club.
I worked hard and did well, first as a waitress, later as a supervisor.
Then it happened. The worst thing in my life.
I worked late shifts and was walking home one night around midnight when my cousin met me. I knew him well - he lived in the same house, and I thought he had come to take me home safely (Gerehu is not always safe at night).
But he grabbed me and threw me to the ground and tied my hands behind me. You can probably imagine what the next two hours were like - most PNG women have experienced something like this.
Eventually I managed to get back to the house battered and bleeding and asked for the police. Auntie said "You can't do that! This is just a family matter!"
But I insisted and after taking two days to recover went to the police and a doctor.
The case came to court and the bastard was sentenced. A few years later he died in prison - I don't know how.
I said I wouldn't go even to spit on his grave, maybe to piss on it.
Well that's in the past now. Since then I have met Peter and have a new life. I have put it all behind me, but I can't say it has been easy, or hasn't left its scars.
I am telling this story because I think it is important for people to know. And I hope some good people will do something about this.
To my PNG family and friends I just stay - be Christians for God's sake!