BUTCHERED like an animal—one of his hands chopped off—in Lae city was my brother, Louis Taneavi, last Monday.
He had recently left our home valley of Tumpusiong in the Panguna District in pursuit of an education so he could go back home and contribute to our troubled island, Bougainville.
Late on Monday afternoon I was in a lecture when the phone rang. I did not answer since the phone was in my school bag.
When I walked home and was a missed call reminder and a text message from the Panguna Upper Tailings Office in Arawa. I felt fear reading the text, ‘Brother, please call back quickly.’
After running around for phone credits, I called home at 7 pm. My cousin, Camillus Kabui, asked me in a heavy and weary voice: ‘Brother, does Louis calls you?’
‘Not really,’ I answered, ‘but last weekend, yes, he gave me a call.’