Signs of hope amid Papua New Guinea's need

Former "raskol" gangster Magalu Danagi now helps other young men learn useful skills. Picture / Steven Nowakowski

Magalu Danagi, 28, lives at the Port Moresby City Mission New Life Farm, a lush 16 hectares about 45 minutes of rough roads from the city.

The softly spoken Danagi spent his late teens in a "raskol" gang. His dream he says, was to become a gang leader and make a mint from gun-smuggling.

One night, Danagi narrowly escaped being shot by police. Not long afterwards he "heard the message. God came to my life". A City Mission staffer suggested he try life on the farm.

Danagi is now a staff member, overseeing 90-odd young men aged 14 to 25, all of whom have been in trouble with the law but have made a commitment to change.

Many of his charges "have the potential but not the skills". So they are taught to raise chickens and rabbits and grow everything from taro to rice, beans to tomatoes to feed themselves, with the surplus sold. They sleep in a crammed dormitory, whose corrugated iron roof raises the temperature to sweltering - and the latrines to stinking.

The farm receives aid through the New Zealand High Commission, whose head, Laurie Markes, has $150,000 a year to spend on development. The last donation bought the farm a tractor.

The farm requires the young men to accept religion: "We believe that God can change a person," says Danagi. Rules are strict, among them: "I will strive to be obedient and lead a Christ-like life."

Christianity is just as strong outside the farm - 90 per cent of PNG's 5.9m population, according to a 2000 census, are church-attending Christians.

People are only half-joking when they say the Catholic church is the biggest non-governmental organisation (NGO) in the country.

Faith-based organisations, says doctor and cabinet minister Puka Temu, himself a lay preacher, also provide "49 per cent of the country's health services and much of the education as well".

But relations have become strained. In April, Temu called for churches to set aside "religious and moral biases" and promote 100 per cent condom use to combat HIV.

The Anglicans support condoms, but the Catholic church was outraged and ran advertisements denouncing the call.

But, says Temu: "There are enormous numbers of people who can't remain faithful and who can't abstain."

At Port Moresby General Hospital, the Herald broaches the issue with Franciscan priest Jude Ronayne-Forde, who wears a long habit despite the heat. He says condoms encourage promiscuity.

"We don't preach no condoms," he says, "but we don't promote condoms. The most important prevention programme is to give people information [about HIV to encourage abstinence]. Giving them condoms is not giving them information."

So what about a woman whose promiscuous husband is infecting her? Ronayne: "If we meet a situation where, say, a lady was in danger, we can counsel and people [can] make decisions."

The picture gets further confused when evangelical churches claim a cure, says Zambian doctor Agatha Lloyd, a World Health Organisation staffer who introduced antiretroviral (ARV) treatment to PNG last year.

"When the new churches say they have a cure, that is very sad for us," says Lloyd, whose work is backed by a $37.3m grant from the Global Fund for Aids, TB and malaria. "That person stops treatment because they are convinced, and there is nothing we can do."

Still, she has 330 people on ARV drugs, and 700 waiting to start. The drugs have dramatically improved survival rates, but are a drop in the bucket.

But PNG's people are slowly starting to discuss HIV, says Lloyd.

Overcoming the stigma is crucial. Commissioner Markes has given $5000 to the Port Moresby project Anglicare Stop AIDS, to run their education dramas.

In PNG, anything remotely unusual draws attentive crowds in a flash. The dramas, "conversations" between, say, roadside betel-nut sellers and their customers, appear effective tools.

PNG would struggle without donors: 95 per cent of the work on HIV/Aids is funded by NGOs. The country will rely on donors for years, primarily Australia, which is giving $409m this year, New Zealand, Japan, China and Germany.

There is plenty of evidence that donor money is being used well. In the tidy village of Bumange, outside Port Moresby, the Herald meets Trose Mati. She can't tell you how old she is - her parents were illiterate and never able to tell her how many Christmases she'd had.

She guesses she is in her late 50s. And thanks to a microfinance scheme brought to her village by the Adventist Development Relief Agency, she has become not only self-reliant, but well-off.

Mati started small, selling scallops at the side of the road. Then she took a 500 kina ($264) loan from her group's pooled finances to buy a big bowl to cook the shellfish and an umbrella to shade them.

Mati, a married mother of four girls, progressed to a roadside purpose-built wooden hut selling everything from rice and ice cream to tinned fish and frozen meat. From an impressive 5000 kina ($2645) turnover a week, she saves 1500 kina. Other women in the project sell baking, sewing, craftwork and chickens.

"The project has given me savvy", says Mati, "and has helped me to realise that I can employ my children and family members and pay school fees. God has blessed we women with talents.

"I don't allow my husband to touch my paperwork. We women look after money better than the men - the men go out to drink and sometimes they have so many wives.

"I am going to put it [the money] in interest-bearing deposits for when we get old - there is no pension here."

Another project, which New Zealand is considering funding, has increased the HIV-awareness and safety of Port Moresby sex workers. Peer Sapot [Tok Pisin for 'peer support'] is a Save the Children project which offers prostitutes a place to sleep, wash and cook, as well as safe sex education, condom supplies, and advice on negotiating with clients.

Kori Walo, 30, started as a sex worker last August after her abusive husband threw her out. She trawls the streets from 5pm to daybreak: "If you are lucky you can make 100 kina a night. But clients tend to like younger girls. All of last week I didn't earn any money."

No condom, no sex, she says, although men will offer 500 to 1000 kina to try to change her mind.

"It's a very good project," she says. "This is the only place we can do laundry and cooking and use the toilets."

The other part of the project is "sensitising" police - teaching them about HIV and human rights. Liaison officers Roselyn Roberts, 26, and Veronica Ericho, 34, target police stations and police barracks; they are having some success changing attitudes among the lower ranks but admit it's harder reaching the upper echelons.

Social change is slow in PNG, says Andrea Fairbairn, NZAID's PNG manager. "There are a lot of issues - but there is a lot of effort going in. I can see there are a lot of really good initiatives and a lot of PNG people are very motivated."

She see "pockets of inspiration ... there are some remarkable people doing remarkable things."

Alphonse Tay, head of the overburdened Port Moresby General Hospital, admits it can be a struggle to stay optimistic. But he is staying put: "I like Papua New Guinea. We come from a society where we support each other," he says. "If we can make a priority of education, we will know how to look after ourselves."


* Julie Middleton travelled to PNG courtesy of the Asia Pacific Alliance, a development network.