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You knock on the gate, the doorman peeps through a little hole and lets you into the carpark. There are two more checkpoints: one to your immediate left, which leads to a hut full of pokie machines — you can see gamblers getting pat-downs on their way in — and a moat at the other end of the carpark, with yet another gate, another guard post, which takes you to the inner courtyard with the actual motel rooms. Motel owners here stuff their gardens with as many tropical plants, thatched gazeboes and pseudo-Japanese bridges as money can buy. A few fancier places keep hornbills and tree kangaroos in cages; anything to soften the paranoia, pad the cell, keep things looking less fortress-y. Jacob Lawyer? Speaking to Kaiglo Ambane, the Provincial Police Commander for Western Highlands Province which includes Hagen , I learned that about a thousand serious crimes — that is, rapes, murders and armed robberies — are committed within his jurisdiction every year, leading to about three or four hundred arrests. Why does Hagen have such a serious crime problem? According to Ambane, his police force has barely grown since , when PNG gained independence from Australia. Hagen, to many happy evenings pacing around in your own little courtyard of ferns, mantises and privatized safety. If you have some time to waste during the day, though, you might try chewing betel.
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I have two babies, 3 months and 3 years old and I believe they probably think my dr husband is an uncle or a distance relative bc their daddy was away for fellowship for over a yr and now away bc of his job. One of the most well known church prophets stated that he would rather see his own child dead in their coffin than married outside the temple. She went ahead a married a non member. I made the decision not to have those things when I married a non-member. Also, if you have girls, you must realize that they are second class citizens in the church and the church will reinforce this idea. Forget what anyone else says or expects of you. Sunday is considered sacred by Mormons, and they do not undertake any entertaining or outdoor activities that result in spending, on that day. No sex before marriage. It sucks to admit, but I broke up with him after 6 months because I didn't think there was any point if we couldn't be together forever. March 18, Run for the hills.
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You knock on the gate, the doorman peeps through a little hole and lets you into the carpark. There are two more checkpoints: one to your immediate left, which leads to a hut full of pokie machines — you can see gamblers getting pat-downs on their way in — and a moat at the other end of the carpark, with yet another gate, another guard post, which takes you to the inner courtyard with the actual motel rooms.

Motel owners here stuff their gardens with as many tropical plants, thatched gazeboes and pseudo-Japanese bridges as money can buy.

A few fancier places keep hornbills and tree kangaroos in cages; anything to soften the paranoia, pad the cell, keep things looking less fortress-y. Jacob Lawyer? Speaking to Kaiglo Ambane, the Provincial Police Commander for Western Highlands Province which includes Hagen , I learned that about a thousand serious crimes — that is, rapes, murders and armed robberies — are committed within his jurisdiction every year, leading to about three or four hundred arrests. Why does Hagen have such a serious crime problem?

According to Ambane, his police force has barely grown since , when PNG gained independence from Australia. Hagen, to many happy evenings pacing around in your own little courtyard of ferns, mantises and privatized safety. If you have some time to waste during the day, though, you might try chewing betel.

Only, Papuans chew it differently. The lime reacts with the nut and turns it bright red, sort of like the dirt in my old town — seeing betel-cud splattered on a sidewalk always reminds me of Roebourne on a rare, wet, muddy December day — while releasing arecoline, the actual drug behind the betel high.

You can see dried husks by the thousands lying across town, like mini grass skirts for a mountain of Hula Barbies. Red-brown, oxidized-looking nuts are thrown away, replaced by the vendor for no extra charge, since they supposedly smell bad. Betel nut spittoon.

Before plastic bags, Melanesians carried their kambang in the same kind of gourds they used as penis coverings. Cigarettes, betel nuts, nangs: All quick disposable highs, magazine ammunition. As far as other drugs, Papuans have naive, innocent tastes. Booze and weed seem to be it. The Highlands might possibly be a good area to cultivate opium, being cool and mountainous with the same subsistence crops of banana and taro I saw in the Golden Triangle, but none of the Highland clans have anything close to a cartel mentality.

The two sides shouted at each other for hours then settled questions of honor with arrows and axes. Sound money in PNG. Pigs are how you gain status here. Makalus was comically unpunctual. They were the best armed squad in Mt. Hagen involved in regular policing. Still, riding through Hagen at night, all I got to see the Task Force doing was making examples of a few betel vendors, burning the cardboard crates they used to prop up their wares.

One of his supporters had done it, a guy named Jerry Kevin, who resisted arrest armed with a. A few of them were arrested as accomplices but later acquitted on lack of hard evidence. Their story? The same thing happened once to Sepik Provincial Headquarters. He was based in Lae, a different city, so he took special leave, went home to Sepik and razed the offices.

Why would anyone earn himself a five-year sentence just to cover up for his brother-in-law? A few days after he told me about the Sepik Provincial HQ case, Tom introduced me to Dokta Kewa, a long-time raskol on the brink of retirement. His leg had according to him been hit in a firefight with cops so he was starting to consider Jesus as a serious possibility now.

A few of his friends had already gotten religion and Dokta was just about ready to join them. Where were we? But, funnily enough, Jesus never does the sensible thing: appear to crims and reform them while their careers are still going good, while they can still exercise freedom to choose. Is it any wonder he finds Jesus? Becomes a preacher? Blames his war crimes on demonic possession?

Goes from victim to victim, begging for forgiveness? It happens in every culture. Monasteries, he recalled, used to be great places to cop smack. The closest thing I could find was an ex- raskol called K.

Dumen who turned to reggae in prison, which won him an early release. Not because of the lyrics, but because, somehow, this piece of tormented rich-kid bathos escaped its small, L. I saw a market stall in Tachileik, Burma that literally played it non-stop, in a continuous loop from opening to closing. It always creeps me out a bit, this tune about fake imprisonment, enviable imprisonment, which keeps appearing near the real circles of Hell. But with raskols , strangely, a kind of pan-Papuan unity does exist. Raskols in his day were more selective, he said.

They targeted banks and other big businesses. They were thinking more about their schooling. The first, and friendliest, case of denial over the raskol issue I saw came from a local headmaster. He was in the hotel bar with a bunch of teachers, having end-of-school-year drinks. That kinda thing. Songs about self-respecting criminals were an alien concept to her.

The headmaster was a whole different breed of denialist. They all come from somewhere else. Later, interviewing Dokta, this Jekyll-and-Hyde scenario became less and less plausible. I had a tenser encounter in the gambling hut. One councillor was unusually swinish, even for a politician. Gray bristly moustache. Millions of chins. Stray tusk poking through his fat lips. This hog-alderman came from a district called Warrakum, built around the Kum river. On both nights, it looked like a rough area. Whole streets full of drunks staggering around, bumping into each other, starting fights.

Homebrew vendors keeping warm around little fires. Muddy streets. Bits of tropical scrub here and there. Lushes hobbling right in front of our Land Cruiser, nearly getting run over — according to Makalus, their wantoks would demand compensation regardless of who was in the wrong.

Councillor Hog said nothing, just glared at me with his bloodshot eyes. Then he furiously denied there was anything rough, even slightly disorderly, about Warrakum and demanded an apology. This is a beautiful town. What you heard is rubbish. You have not been to Warrakum. Even the idea that Warrakum needed defending was too insulting for them to contemplate. Then there was the Hagen Club, the town pub, the last bastion of macho, colonial Australian wankerdom since the lawn-bowls club had fallen to the blacks.

I never realized how much truth there was in outback melodramas like Wake in Fright until I stepped into the Hagen Club and sat down next to a pure, bored-shitless Aussie passive-aggressive. He was a bald, scruffy geezer with bad teeth who seemed to be going through a nasty period of male menopause where he just wanted to pick on someone — someone youngish and literate — and decided I was perfect pub-bait.

So he started haranguing me for not stopping to notice him in the middle of a busy crowd. The subject obsessed him. Even in here. Hard to pick without me noticing. One kina at the very most. Let me tell you about something that happened the other day. They work in groups. Everything changes hands. Just like that. If he could walk through town safely after dark, it was only because he was married to a Papuan woman and had in-laws, wantoks , to protect him. The last time a white guy got killed in Hagen was Not to a white guy. The raskol who fired the shot was quickly arrested.

His accomplice, Samuel Manda, went into hiding for seven years, protected Senior Constable Makalus suspects by wantoks in the Criminal Investigation Division. He fired back with a. His wantoks dragged him away as he bled to death, too slow or frightened to hospitalize him. Manda might be dead, but the mass hysteria he created — by killing one white guy — was enormous.

The people of Hagen erected a memorial to the dead pilot in the middle of their main street.

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