Bilums by Our Sides

The story was told of a young medical student who walked into the Curriculum Office of the Medical Education Unit at the Medical Faculty. Hanging under his arms was a bilum, whose handle extended across his chest, around his neck, over the opposite shoulder, across his spine at his back and attaching again to the bilum. The Director of the MEU noticed him, and his bilum, but ignored it and continued working, leaving him to be attended to by the secretary. Five years passed and the student was about to graduate with a Bachelor in Medicine and Surgery. The same director had one confession to make. Tapping him on the shoulder, he said: “You were the one student who walked into medical school with a bilum by your side, spend the years in the school with bilums by your side, and now you will be leaving the faculty with the same old practice.”

   The student smiled with pride. I was born and bred in that practice, he thought to himself.

Another tale was about two lovers who were chatting over a meal of fried chicken and chips in the Big Rooster outlet at Malaoro in Port Moresby. The girl was from Alotau, and the boy from rainy Lae. As they ate, a hugely built highlander walked in, and went over to the counter. He placed his order, and took a seat at the far right corner. “I bet that guy is from Hagen, judging from his goliathic built,” said the girl.

   “No, he’s from Goroka,” judged her lover with such confident that his lover was prompted to ask, “How can you be so sure?”

   “Because of the wool cap on his head and the bilum by his side, I am a hundred and one percent sure that he is from Goroka.”

   The girl was still not convinced. “I’ll make you a bet. He is from Hagen.”

   “And what is your bet?” asked the boy.

   “You’ll have me tonight, if you are right!”

   That night was one to be remembered because it turned out that he was right!

And then, there is this story about the security guard at Papindo in Lae, who was searching the bags of suspecting customers as they leave the shop. One particular male came out, and stretched his arms wide to allow the guard to check him. Failing to find anything in the pockets, the guard peeped into his bilum and saw that it was completely empty.

   “Why in the whole wide world would you be carrying an empty bilum around!?” asked the guard.

   “Because it’s part of my dressing!” answered the young man bluntly, as he walked out of the store, and rushed for a PMV bus that was heading for Yonki. The guard just shook his head in wonder, and went on searching the other customers.

There was a concert at the Ullie Bier building, and the music students of UPNG were performing a song that tempoed like rock music. All eyes were on the lead singer, as their bodies moved to the rhythm. They shake-it-to-the-beat, as the drums rolled on. But only one person was watching, and wondering why the drummer had a bilum on his side, with its handle around his neck.

   When the concert ended, he confronted the drummer, with just one simple question: “Why were you carrying your bilum on stage while you were rolling the drums?”

   The answer he received was simple, yet, shocked him. “I wasn’t carrying it. I was wearing it!”

Everywhere you go, you won’t mistake them. Bilums will be by their sides when they go to the field to proudly support Lahanis. From the dorm to the mess, the distance may be short, but they must always carry, or correctly said, wear their bilums. They attend meetings with bilums worn on their sides, and while they remove their hats to give a speech, they allow the bilums to remain by their sides!  

   Apo, Apa, Ambo, Akoe, Nenfu, Deve, or whatever name you may call us by. The typical Gorokas, or the typical GKAs, you may say. But we have one thing in common: Bilums by our sides.

   That’s our identity, and we are proud of it!

Men in Blue

Two men dressed in blue were sitting in the front cab of a Mazda dyna, parked along the Boroko Drive. The truck was painted white, and on the bonnet in front was printed a six-lettered word in dark blue. Dusk was falling and the men were chatting away, and chewing some buai they had just obtained from some street vendors. It was one of those Sunday’s where buai was relatively scarce.

   A few meters away, four boys walked along the footpath. What could be seen in their hands were white cans, with a drawing of the Bird of Paradise on it. They were drinking from it, and walking with unsteady gaits. What could not be noticed, however, was a brown bottle of the same content, placed in the back pockets of two of them, and a short Tramontina bush knife tucked into the belt of one of the boys. As the men in blue watched, these hidden items became visible.

   Walking towards the group of boys was a young man, Leo. He was on his way to the store to buy Ox & Palm canned meat, for him to have with rice at home. Unsuspectingly he walked up to the boys, only to be surprisingly greeted with a boot-kick to his right leg. He staggered, and almost lost his balance, but managed to steady his gait as he noticed the Tramontina being pulled out of the belt. As the glittery blade came swinging towards him, he dodged. It was a successful move.

   Instantly, he spotted the white dyna with the two men in blue inside. There was a flicker of hope in his heart, as he looked to them with pleading eyes. But the flame of hope disappeared when he felt a sharp pain at the back of head, and heard the sound of glass breaking on the concrete path near his leg. He could feel that something wet was dripping down the back of his neck. He wiped it off with his hand, but it continued dripping. In no time, the collar of his shirt was soaked in blood mixed with sweat and beer.

   All the while, the two men in blue just sat and watched, with no inclination to intervene to protect the poor victim. When the attackers finally left, the men in blue got out and summoned Leo over to them, and offered to help him locate the attackers. If that is the intervention they had been trained to provide, it was rubbish to Leo, fit to be fed to the pigs. Rejecting the offer, he went home, and notified his family who took him to hospital for medical attention.

   A year passed, and Leo lived on. Apart from the visible scar at the back of his head, there was one hidden deep in his heart. He immediately remembered that scar one Sabbath afternoon as he was returning from church. A bus half-filled with passengers was driving slowly down from Tokarara to Waigani, and went passed him as he was walking up. Behind it was a smaller bus, painted white with a six-lettered word printed in dark blue on the bonnet. In the bus, he counted three men, in civilian clothing. He ignored them and continued walking.

   Then he heard a shout. He turned around just in time to see three men, armed with home-made rifles and bush knifes, forcing the driver of the PMV to pull over. They then went inside the bus, held the passengers up and forcefully search them.

   As Leo watched in horror, he witnessed another pathetic scene. The smaller white bus, with the six-lettered dark blue print on its bonnet and trailing behind the held-up bus, quickly put on the brakes and speedily reversed. It was a fight-or-flight response, and the three men chose the latter. Running away from the thieves will get them to safety, they must have thought. But they were wrong.

   Waiting behind them was Leo, with a stone firmly held in his grasp, and ready to be hurled at the bus. Had it continued reversing, it would have met its fate: a shattered glass or a bent side metal panel. But fortune met the men when they stopped, turned into another feeder road and disappeared!

   His attention turned back to the victimized bus. There was nothing he could do as he watched the three men escaped into a feeder road. Helpless and frustrated, the passengers also watched as the thieves disappeared, with all their valuables in their bags.

   Leo walked home exasperated. If only I had stoned that Police vehicle, He thought, I’d be satisfied. Instead of preventing crime, they watched it happen. What a shame!

  

Just a Cleaner

By Hogande Kiafuli

The tiled floor was still wet, as it has just been mopped. It was the corridor along the Radiology department of Port Moresby General Hospital, which is also used as waiting room by the patients waiting to get x-rays and ultrasound scans. At one end of the corridor was a yellow portable signboard, placed on the floor. On it was written, ‘Wet Floor: Do Not Step!’ The floor was half-mopped to allow people to walk on the other half which was dry, and yet to be mopped.

   At the opposite end of the corridor, an elderly man stood watching (Let’s call him Mopa for now). The handle of the mop in his hand extended past his short stature. He rested his chin on his hand that was firmly clutched to the mop handle. He was waiting for the wet part of the floor to dry first before he can continue mopping the other half. It was simple logic. The wet floor will become dirty again if someone steps on it!

   As Mopa watched, a man from Tari, about a decade younger than him, walked in through the other end. He looked down on the yellow signboard, and walked straight onto the wet floor. It was as if he was water-blind, and cannot see anything that is wet! Three, four, and five dirty shoeprints were left behind on the floor. And it would have continued had he not heard a loud “HEY! Are you blind and cannot see that the floor is wet?” He stepped away from the wet floor and onto the dry part, with no word or gesture of apology. “Take it easy,” he shouted back.

   A few minutes later, a newly graduated consultant (specialist medical officer) in Medicine appeared. He wore a clean white shirt that was neatly tucked into his wrinkle-less trousers, and a Littman stethoscope was placed around his neck, resting nicely on the shoulders. He walked in and straight onto the wet floor, though he noticed that the floor was wet. Mopa watched in silence as the doctor walked past him, without even recognizing his presence. “Em bikpla man tumas na mi hat lo tokim em lo wokabaut lo narapla sait ya,” He muttered to himself as he bowed his head. “I’m probably invisible!” he wondered.

   Then he realized that somebody was standing behind him. He turned around and saw a very senior consultant gazing into the corridor. He stood there silently, as if waiting for something. “Are you waiting for someone, boss?” asked the cleaner in Pidgin.

   “No, Mopa. I’m just waiting for the floor to dry before I go across,” replied the doctor.

   “It’s ok, you can go across. It’s almost dry now.’ There was a tone of respect in his voice. Here was a senior, well respected doctor who called him by his name.

   “No, not yet,” said the doctor. “If I were you, I will be furiously mad to see people walking ignorantly on a floor I just mopped. Also, if this was my house, I would wait for it to dry first before I walk across!”

“He not only called me by my name, but placed himself in my shoe,” Mopa thought as he retired to his changing room when the hours neared 4:06 pm. He took out the uniform he was wearing, changed into his own clothes and walked out. After he shared a cigarette with a junior doctor, he headed for the bus stop.

   Bus was scarce, but he managed to catch a Bus 10 to Sabama, where his crude shanty home is located. As he placed his billum around his neck, he thought of the doctor with his stethoscope around his neck who paid no attention to him. He compared him to the senior consultant who knew his name, and noticed the marked difference in their attitude towards him. “I was told that the stethoscope is a symbol of his noble profession,” he mumbled to himself.  “Well, maybe he should start putting his stethoscope around his foot, so he can get into my shoes!”

   Every day I sweep dusty offices so my boss can sit in a clean environment, he let his thought flow. I try to make sure that everyone who comes to see my boss will have a good impression of a neat and tidy workplace. I sweep and mop dirty corridors so people can enjoy walking on. I dump stinky rubbish bins and mop floors stained with blood, urine, and buai so workers can enjoy working.

   Na tenkyu ya, see what I get in return! His thoughts continued. My bosses act as if I don’t exist or am invisible. Other workers in my workplace know me by the name ‘cleaner’. People who come to see my boss, whether they are patients or friends, seem to be ignorant of my effort to keep the place clean. When I try to remind them of something that is simple logic, they tell me that “Em wok blo yu ya, passim maus na wokim tasol.”Oh my goodness! If only people can recognize and appreciate me, and my efforts.

   “Maybe they are right,” he sighed as he stepped off the bus. “After all, I’m just a cleaner…”

Man's Best Friend

Everyone turned to the screeching sound of the tyres as the driver stepped hard on the brakes, and swerved the car skidding into the middle of the road.  Many held their breaths, and for a moment, forgot all about breathing. If the heart was voluntarily controlled, they would have pause their hearts’ beat too! Their jaws dropped as the mouth widened, and though there wasn’t much light, one could see wrinkles on their forehead as the brows were raised, and the eyes opened wide. Instead of closing their mouth again, some placed their hands over their mouth to contained the wave of screams that was about to be discharged. One particular lady had to let go her shopping plastic just to get the other hand to cover her eyes, so that she will not see the car crashing into the poor lad scurrying across the road. Yet, her ears failed to hear the thump of the crash, or the cry of the lad! By inches, the car missed the young boy.

   When she finally allowed her eyes to see again, she noticed a wobbly kid on the sidewalk. He stood in shock and fast breathing as he looked back at the road. Now was his turn to hold his breath and open his eyes wide. His mouth, however, was narrowed so that he can form one single word.

   “No!” he cried, as he watched the tyres rolled over his beloved pup that has been following him from behind! A second ago, he would have been the one being rolled over. Now, in his place, was his little pup, sprawled on the sealed road. Its white fur was stained with its own blood. Its tongue was hanging out its mouth, and its intestines were scattered all around it. It wasn’t breathing, nor was his heart beating.

   Apparently, it was the driver’s choice of a man’s life over an animal’s. Had he steered to the left, the poor boy would be the casualty sprawled on the road. In the split of a second, He decided to manoeuvre instead, to the right, to spare the life of the lad, but end the life of his best friend.

Numerous stories have being told, songs being sung and movies been filmed, all featuring dogs to show that dog’s are truly man’s best friend. Bobby the dog waited to his death at the train station for his master who never returned. White Fang dug his master out of the mine tunnel, exposing lots of gold in the process. Lassie the dog barked to scare the ‘tevel man’ away. One poor dog was killed by his master because it intentionally spilled his last, and only glass of wine, but later found out that the wine contained lethal poison. One dog hid his masters purse and passport, causing him to miss out on a plane that later crashed. No one survived that plane crash.

   It is amazing how dogs behave to save man, or act in the best interest of their masters. Come to think of it, one could see a supernatural power behind their behaviours, which qualify them as man’s best friends. It is fascinating how God uses dogs to relay certain messages to humans, their best friend!

   Nevertheless, only a few humans, if not, none ever refer to their best human friends as dogs, let alone compare them with dogs. ‘You are like a dog.’ When such is said, it is usually carries a negative connotation. It might mean that you are greedy, an understanding which stemmed from the practice of dogs staring at you while you eat, especially meat. Or it may mean that one is too explicit and promiscuous in sexual matters, like dogs mating in the public, and with multiple mates. A dog is said to be man’s best friend, yet, not much is said about a friend being like a dog!

   Yet, dogs have many inspiring traits that are worth learning, and even better, adopting. They lay down their lives for you out of love, because greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. They still chase burglars on the night you poured hot water on them, because of their unwavering and steadfast loyalty to you. They welcome you at the gate, and play with and try to cheer you up after a hard day of stressful work, because being cheerful works like a medicine. They display affection when they lick your legs and hands while your spouse kisses you on the cheeks and lips, to remind that you are liked. When friends forsake and enemies attack, they stand beside or in front, but never behind you. They are true companions of faithfulness, and champions of courage. They take their lowly place during mealtime, and are content with whatever you feed them. And if you haven’t noticed, they even weep with you when you weep, and rejoice when you rejoice! They have sympathy, and if you like, empathy.

   What inspiring example of moral personalities for intelligent humans to learn from! An unread page in nature’s great book to reveal the Designers traits! Unsung notes on nature’s great hymnal about the Creator! Undiscovered room of treasures in nature’s storehouse for characters! Wrapped gift of traits in nature’s gift shop! The ultimate purpose, as it should be with humans, is to reveal the Love of God!

Man’s best friend is also a storehouse of traits to be desired!

But there is a Friend that sticks closer than a brother.

By and of His traits, many are inspired!

He is the One who was in the beginning with the Father.

Oh taste and see that the Lord is good!

Sweeter than honey, more to be desired is He, than gold.

He loves and cherishes, and washes us with His blood.

Whoever wishes, He invites with outstretched arms into His fold.

So come unto Him, all who are weary and heavy laden

And He will give you adequate rest.

Take His yoke upon you, and cast upon Him your burden

For He cares for you, and wants you to be, and have the best!

Our best friend can be our dog, but our best and closest is our God! Oh, what a Friend we have in Jesus!

By DeKiafuli

Slowing Down Time

It didn’t decelerate to a stop. It just stopped, period. Since the time it came into being, it never did. But on that very day, it ceased spinning for one complete axial rotation. Immediately, Sun sent rays of messengers to the east to notify Dusk that he must delay his appearing for twenty-four hours, and Dusk in turn sent beams of darkness to Moon, notifying her to cease spinning on its own axis. Moon slumped back onto her chair with a relieving sigh, and mirrored a few of Sun’s ray of messengers to Dawn in the far west. “Rest a while,” was the message, “for Earth has ceased spinning altogether, and it won’t be until twenty-four hours later that we will continue our motions. It seems that one of Earth’s inhabitants, somebody called Joshua, has asked our Creator to give him more daylight to continue his battle to victory!”

   Twelve hours of darkness were miraculously prevented, as time came to a pause to last ‘about a whole day’ (Joshua 10:12-14). That day became a 48-hour day, as the earth missed one complete rotation. Wow, what a phenomenon! But such marvels are only possible at the command of the One Creator who spoke the planets into rotation.

   Today, we are twenty-four hours behind time, because of that celestial event in history. Today would have been tomorrow, if that event hadn’t happened. A birthday on the 13^th of June this year would have been celebrated on the 14^th if it wasn’t for that event! This is funny, and maybe hard to understand, but it happened. Time ceased to continue, or actually slowed down, over twenty four hours!

Time slowed down? That’s a weird perception, but possibly possible. Simply get a watch or clock to the manufacturer, who can reconfigure the electronics and re-program the software within to make the second hand move slower. That will definitely slow down the time on the watch, but will fail to cease the earth’s rotational movements!

   Apart from a faith that is huge enough to arrest the earth’s motions, there is one other possibility…I think.

   Notice the simple physics formula: speed or velocity = distance travelled divided by the time taken to travel that distance or v = d/t. If the formula is re-arranged to put time on the left hand side of the equation, t = d/v, is obtained. This new equation, t = d/v, essentially means that for a fixed distance, less time is taken to cover that distance when speed is increased, or more time is taken to cover that same distance when the speed is reduced.

   Take for instance, a typical journey from home to work. It takes 40 minutes to walk to work, or 10 minutes to drive to work over the same distance. The former is a slower speed with more time taken, while the latter is a faster speed with less time taken. This simple arithmetic can be interpreted in many different, crazy and fancy ways. Unscientific, if that pleases you. It’s purely abstract thinking

-          Thirty minutes are created by driving. These created minutes can be added to the 24 hours to give a total hour of twenty four hours and 30 minutes for the day, in light of the time needed to do a particular job! While the average slow person has 8 hours to work with for the day, the fast person has 8 hours and thirty minutes!

-          The driver travelled 30 minutes ahead of time and into the future, when compared with the walker. Don’t you think this could be some kind of time travel!? Of two people travelling to a same but new destination, the one who speeds will know certain things about that destination which the one who slows is yet to know. It is like knowing the future of the one who is slow!

-          Time slows down when speed is increased! At the normal rate, a work is expected to be completed in 30 minutes. But with speed, it is completed in 15 minutes! You can look at time and say, “You are too slow, mate!”

So here’s a simple lesson. Speed up to create more time, slow down time or go ahead of time!

By DeKiafuli

A True Love

By Hogande Kiafuli

Any moment from now, she will die. There’s no doubt about it. Death was already hovering around her, slowly creeping in like the approaching dusk. There was a gloomy ambiance all around her, and the air reeked of death. Today or tomorrow, any moment, she would breathe her last. The beat of her heart will slowly tempo to a halt, and she would cease to exist.

   Her stature heralded impending death. Her bones gained prominence amidst the wasting muscles and fat tissues. Her strength faded so badly that even her once so soft and curly hair, failed to stand firm on her rather thin scalp. The ears looked as if they were withered by the sun, and the eyes sunk deep into the skull. As if afraid to look into the face of death, the eyeballs turned upwards, such that only the white sclera was visible. Her mouth and tongue were flaked with white stuff that easily bled when tried to be removed. Water could not be sipped, and food cannot be chewed because the flakes were very painful. She can talk no more, for her voice was suppressed by the terrible infection.

   The bones of her limbs were clearly visible. Her arm bones were so visible that they looked like baseball bats stuck in the sides of her chest. The ribs stood out distinctly from the rib cage, as she struggled to breathe. Her abdomen looked as though it had been emptied of its contents. Urine flowed out unrestrained, as she failed to muster up strength to contain them. The odour of urine, and faeces, were all around her.

   As if spelled by the smell, no relative visited her. That terrible day, which turned out to be her last, was the one day that she needed her family the most, particularly her mother. But the mother, who happened to be a health worker, froze her account of tender-loving-care. The one male in the world that she calls Daddy, withheld his loving presence at her dying moment. Her brothers and sisters refused to show that she was their little sister, once so loved and cherished. As her moments ticked away, the memory of her family faded, and she brushed aside all remaining hope of seeing them again.

   Nevertheless, a man sat on the bed by her side. He was the love of her life. Tears freely flowed down his cheeks, as he watched her sick body. He wished he could look into her eyes once more, and see the colour and radiance of life in it. He wished her lips could part again into a smile that once sent chills up his spine. He desired to hear her sweet voice again, which was once and is always like music in his ears. He longed to hold her hand once more, and enjoy their walk along the beach. But he knew that his precious moments with her were soon to be remembered as history.

   He took her right hand into both his hands, and gently squeezed them. Then he took her palm up to his cheeks, and slowly moved it over to his lips. He kissed her palm, as more tears poured down his cheeks. He couldn’t help but wept into her palms.

   He tenderly lowered her hand to her side, and reached for her face. Smoothly he cupped her face in his hand, and affectionately caressed her cheeks and jaw with his hands. His heart ached as though it was dropped in a pot of boiling water. His voice box seemed to have been iced up, and he was rendered speechless. All his words seemed to have turned into fresh tears, streaming down his cheeks and onto his shirt. His mind went blank, as if switched off by remote control. He just didn’t know what to think.

   He learned forward and gently kissed her forehead. “I’ll always love you,” he managed to sob the words out, “and I’ll be here right by your side. In good and bad times, for better or for worse, I’ll be right here with the love that I’ve always had for you. You going to be OK, darling, you gonna be fine.”

   I was stunned. For almost two minutes, I stood there speechless, and motionless. I had gone there to put up an intravenous cannula so we can infuse her with some supportive fluids. Instead, I found myself being infused with inspiration and… sympathy…or maybe something between inspiration and sympathy. It’s probably next door to pity, or sister to compassion. I just cannot describe, but I felt it!

   What a love!

   As I stood watching, I noticed that he was now looking at me, with tears still pouring from his eyes. I realised too that my eyes were wet, but before I could turn around to wipe them, a single drop of tears escaped my right eye and rolled down my cheek.

   “I’m sorry but, the love you have for your wife is a true love, and really inspired me,” I said.

   “She is my wife, and I will love her till death. I understand that she won’t make it, but I want to treasure every moment I can with her, while she is here with me.”

   “God gave her to you to love, and I can see that you truly love her,” I said. “God will reward you because you appropriately loved the wife He gave to you. You loved her just like how God loved sinners, and for that, I am truly inspired!”

   “Thank you, doctor,” He sobbed. “I thank God for you.”

   That night, the deadly HIVs celebrated, because they successfully ended another human life.   

True love flows only from a heart that knows the God of love!

By DeKiafuli

Think and Write!

By Hogande Kiafuli

This poem was written to motivate self, but also to inspire the reader to think and write. The title is the message!

Think, Think, Think!

Surely, anyone can think

Faster than the eyes can blink,

And more than words ever printed with ink.

In the ocean of ideas, let the mind sink,

Or soar the heights higher than Airlink.

Anyone can think, but only smart ones think great!

‘I can and will think!’ just say it.

A will in the mind

Is all that is fine to find

So think, think, think!

Write, Write, Write!

Anyone can write

And that is absolutely right!

Whether of things dull or bright,

Or that which has or has no insight,

Put them all down on pages white.

Anyone can write, but only smart ones write well!

‘I can and will write!’ just tell.

A will in the heart,

Is the vital writing part.

So write, write, write!

 

The Taxi Driver

By Hogande Kiafuli

Dusk was approaching and people were rushing to board the last of the buses that arrived at the Koki bus stop. Men, women and children all squeezed though the bus door, while desperate males jumped through the windows. All were vying for one of the limited seats. It was the survival of the toughest!

   Left behind was a 20-year old student returning from school. Shy, humble and I-don’t-want-any-trouble kind of guy he was. And he was a stutter too. Poor lad. As he stood by waiting for the next bus to come, he was approached by a group of thug. His money was what they want. If they don’t get what they came for, regardless of whether he has the money or not, he will be assaulted physically. If he resists, he’s likely to be brutally battered.

   As the scene rolled on, the poor lad was stabbed, because the thugs didn’t get what they wanted. He sustained a deep knife wound to the left shoulder, another over the spine at his back and one to the left side of his scalp, just above the left ear. His shirt was removed, his mobile phone picked from his pocket, and he was beaten to semi-consciousness. It was like the story in the Bible, where the thieves “stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.” (Luke 10:30)

   Interestingly, the Biblical similarity continued. A taxi cab driver arrived at the scene a little bit too late to prevent the assault, but early enough to prevent death from claiming the boys life. He picked up the lad, put him in his own vehicle, covered his wounded body with a new shirt he has just bought, and rushed him the Port Moresby General Hospital’s Emergency Department. At the hospital, he found an empty trolley at the gate to the ED, onto which he laid the wounded lad and pushed him in. ‘I found him beaten and left on the road, so I brought him,’ was all he said and left!

   Thirthy-six hours passed when the worried parents later found out about their son’s situation. But what they didn’t find out, though they wish they could, was the identity of the taxi driver. He was to be simply remembered as the good Taxi Driver!

Another such character popped out five days later. He was driving slowly behind a car along the Magi Highway. Suddenly the car in front, while swerving over a bend in the road, overturn, and after three complete revolutions, came to a stop by the roadside. The driver, who happened to be heavily intoxicated with alcohol, was severely injured.

   The cab driver from behind pulled up to the overturned vehicle, got out of his vehicle and ran over to the injured driver. With the help of the not-so-injured victims, he pulled out the injured driver, put him onto his own cab and sped for the hospital. It was the Paradise Private Hospital that they arrived at.

   Anyone who’s been to a private hospital will have a fair idea of how much services there cost. Well, the stranger paid for all the fees, from consultation to CT scanning! When he was told that the patient needs urgent surgery and must be referred to PMGH, he transferred him over in his own cab.

   By that time, the relatives of the injured had already arrived, so the cab driver slowly stepped away and was lost to sight, to be seen no more. Guess how much he spent for someone he didn’t even know? Up to two thousand kina! And all that was known about him was that he was a good Tubuserea man.

What hearts full of Christ-like compassion!  Imagine how the world would be like, if everyone can have the compassionate heart of the Taxi Driver, or the Tubuserea Man! Maybe a little heaven on earth, or a beautiful spot of paradise in the Universe.
   Do to others what you would want others to do to you!

Anyone Can Write

Anyone can write, but only smart ones write well – Jeffery Febi

It took me almost an hour to assimilate and finally appreciate the above statement made to me by my senior. When I understood, I was able to conclude that had he wrote that statement, he would have bolded the italicised phrases.

   Nevertheless, it illuminates a subtle fact: anyone can write. I already knew how to simply write my name before I started school. Now I can write paragraphs, with extensive vocabulary and complex tenses.  It is like a baby who pees in his pants, but as he matures, he pees in the right place.

   So, I have decided to write. And with inspiration from Mr. Febi, I created this blog, BeInspired!, to produce and publish anything that inspire or inspire not!

   Writing is a mode of expression of the writers mind, as a painting is to an artist. It is one mode of communication, in a society where communication is important for survival. I hope to express my mind in this blog, and I welcome new members to my blog. Make any comments, for you have the freedom of speech, but may it be constructive. Attack the ideas, but not the person.

That all readers aspire to inspire before they expire, is the wish of  

DeKiafuli.