Ladies and Gents, I have found a bit of time this evening to write a little more on some of my times away from home. Since the fist one was well received by our membership, I will push on with some more time permitting.
My humble appreciation, The Peacekeeper.
Stori Blong Mi Long Taem Mi Stap Long Solomon Aelan
Mid-March 2006, 18.34 hrs and I had pulled together enough rations to make up a beef stew for dinner in the kitchen - come radio room of our Long House. Presently, the aromas from the languid and seemingly constipated bubbling from the pot of 'boeuf de jour' were over powered by the ever more pungent paint fumes from the Dulux 101 Clotted Cream that my two comrades slapped over the Globite school-bag tat of the Masonite walls. The grabbing closeness of the afternoon monsoon conspired with the paint fumes to drive me out onto the back veranda. I needed a breath of air anyway.
Gaz, a tall rangy Queenslander with God Bothering leanings and gangly primate arms that enabled him to reach the ceiling, was slapping away with his brush, steadily leaving a trail of sweat drips from his elongated aquiline nose on to Rose's (our House Mary) immaculate floor. At the same time that Gaz painted over the gloom of the close confining walls that reminded me of the Head Masters Office at Old Bar Public School, with the same bloody colour as my walls at home, which just made me think of my wife and kids even more, each slap of those pig bristles ironically dragged my mood down another notch.
Big Maf, a huge but kindly and gentle Pacific Islander was much like Paddington- a bear of very few words. When Maf wanted to tell you that we were getting low on anti-malarials, he just tilted and motioned his lantern jaw towards the container on the fridge where the doxycycline tablets lived, next to the salt pig and pepper grinder. As with everything he did, Maf was uncomplainingly toiling away with the paint roller, filling in the bulk of the canvass that Gaz fussed over with the cutting in and other brush work. It was times like this that I was glad I enjoyed doing most of the cooking.
The Long House was about 30 meters stem to stern and 8 meters in beam and had been built by Australian Army Engineers. It had an elevated veranda at the rear, some 4 metres wide, that served as our dining room, sleep-out and laundry and the outer walls as well as the roof were made or corrugated iron. The ceiling was an open cavity, except for our secure storeroom come armoury, so there wasnt much to stop the tropical sun from punching through and super heating the place particularly when we were away patrolling and locked the joint up.
The veranda was also the focus of our rest hours as well as a place for meals, meetings, paperwork and discussions because it was generally the coolest place in our compound. This was due to the roof, unlike the rest of our post, being made from leaf-hut panels that were a coconut frond split down its spine and then thatched together by hand to make a roughly 1 metre by 3 metre panel. Cost per panel-$2.00 Sol Dollars or 40cents Aus. Like many variations on natural roofing materials in the Pacific and South-East Asia, the leaf-hut panels when over laid in a thick bank, are all-but waterproof and provided very good insulation from relentless equatorial suns rays.
Despite the isolation from the outside world with sat-phones and Barret HF radios for comms, Provincial Postings in the Solomon Islands were reasonably comfortable. For a start it was good not to have to walk a mile to an SAL (showers and latrines) block when you need a ***** in the middle of the night and it was pissing down outside. Also, not having to share with hundreds of others the shower facilities with manky tinea and wiry pubic-hair clogged drain holes or being condemned to cleaning your teeth as a platoon of wild PNG Infantrymen take their curried-fish morning ablutions just the other side of a thin panel was more than consolation. Those poor toilet cleaners back at the main base on Guadalcanal must have felt like Chewbaccas wifes gynecologist.
After a few days you would acclimatise to the constant heat but it was still difficult getting off to sleep some very hot and humid nights. The technique I developed for a good nights sleep was to physically tire yourself with some sort of hard labour to accompany the mental tiredness that seemed to always find me at the end of the day. I set about making tropical gardens and a vegetable patch in our compound and for this a bought ten truckloads of soil from a local village chief. It was all done by hand, just shovels and a mattock. I had a couple of local lads as helpsters for this but, Melanesians can be a pretty sedentary lot who operate on Island Time and as I soon learned, with this sort of thing, I was on my own. So, shoveling dirt and collecting and transplanting tropical plants to improve the looks of the post was just the ticket for a sound sleep of the dead. It is also worth noting here that the same spade work also served to dig the foundations of good relationships between white officers and the locals, as there were still some residual hang-overs and stigma from the days of British Administration with some older folk. I certainly felt it many times and found myself feeling a degree of shame and embarrassment at what is known in such circumstances as the power imbalance.
Now, the other part of the technique was to shower (we had no hot water) immediately before bed and then without drying off, lay spread-eagle on top of your bed with a pedestal fan turned up to 27 blasting away at you. Big Maf just slept out on the veranda with the geckos and a mozzie coil. No covers, just shorts and sometimes a t-shirt and the mozzie coil between him, malaria, dengue fever and thousands of bloody cane toads!
Our Long House and the few Government buildings were about 200 meters from the ocean and elevated on a slight plateau which helped some days to catch the sea breeze. Directly outside our compound fence was the local sports field where soccer dominated the sporting interests of the local kids and youth. The oval also served as the primary and high school playground, the two story wood and wire windowed buildings of which huddled together within sight of our front door. Maf took it upon himself to keep that oval mowed and must have gone through a whole 44 gallon drum of fuel every few months in doing so, but it was a kind thing to do and I admired Maf for it and the many other selfless things he did for the community.
The villages surrounding Maluu were spread out as there was a reasonable sized coastal plain to the east that permitted a generous interval between each chiefs village limits. Within about half a click of the Government buildings was a cluster of government employee houses. Teachers, Police Officers, Nurses and a few other public officials had called the houses home until the start of the civil war, known locally and understatedly as The Tensions. All bar a few places were uninhabitable due to being shot up, fire bombed, vandalised, stripped and looted by the Malaitan Eagle Force (MEF), the dominant rebel militia group. The MEF just happened to have been based in Maluu and their Head Quarters building was only a hundred metres or so to the west of and at the foot of our plateau. MEF HQ was a regular source of trouble and a focus for civil unrest and criminal activity even though the MEF had been decapitated and largely dismantled by RAMSI Forces (Regional Assistance Mission Solomon Islands).
A good number of local people were still loyal or, ***** scared of the MEF and the few rebels still at large. One particular thorn in our side was the countries most wanted man John Toloi. Toloi was an MEF rebel and had been on the run since a contact and gun battle with a RAMSI patrol one morning when he had been hunted down to a particular house in Maluu. The patrol suffered no casualties in the exchange and Tolois SLR (7.62 mm Self Loading Rifle) Rifle had a stoppage that had saved one particular RAMSI officers life as he stared down the barrel. It is believed that Toloi had taken a 5.56 or 9 mm round through a tricep but he had made good his escape into the Malaitan hinterland jungle.