The Native Iowan

While the plague raged violently at Marseilles, every link of affection was broken, the father turned from the child, the child from the father; cowardice and ingratitude no longer excited indignation. Misery is at its height when it thus destroys every generous feeling, thus dissolves every tie of humanity! the city became a desert, grass grew in the streets; a funeral met you at every step.

Swedish man found alive after snow buries him in car for two months

Quoted from a short biography of

MAJOR-GENERAL HENRY RONALD DOUGLAS MACIVER

“Here is one story, as told by the scrap-book, of an expedition that failed. That it failed was due to a British Cabinet Minister; for had Lord Derby possessed the imagination of the Soldier of Fortune, his Majesty’s dominions might now be the richer by many thousands of square miles and many thousands of black subjects.

On October 29, 1883, the following appeared in the London Standard: “The New Guinea Exploration and Colonization Company is already chartered, and the first expedition expects to leave before Christmas.” “The prospectus states settlers intending to join the first party must contribute one hundred pounds toward the company. This subscription will include all expenses for passage money. Six months’ provisions will be provided, together with tents and arms for protection. Each subscriber of one hundred pounds is to obtain a certificate entitling him to one thousand acres.”

The view of the colonization scheme taken by the Times of London, of the same date, is less complaisant. “The latest commercial sensation is a proposed company for the seizure of New Guinea. Certain adventurous gentlemen are looking out for one hundred others who have money and a taste for buccaneering. When the company has been completed, its share-holders are to place themselves under military regulations, sail in a body for New Guinea, and without asking anybody’s leave, seize upon the island and at once, in some unspecified way, proceed to realize large profits. If the idea does not suggest comparisons with the large designs of Sir Francis Drake, it is at least not unworthy of Captain Kidd.”

When we remember the manner in which some of the colonies of Great Britain were acquired, the Times seems almost squeamish.

In a Melbourne paper, June, 1884, is the following paragraph:

“Toward the latter part of 1883 the Government of Queensland planted the flag of Great Britain on the shores of New Guinea. When the news reached England it created a sensation. The Earl of Derby, Secretary for the Colonies, refused, however, to sanction the annexation of New Guinea, and in so doing acted contrary to the sincere wish of every right-thinking Anglo-Saxon under the Southern Cross.

“While the subsequent correspondence between the Home and Queensland governments was going on, Brigadier-General H. R. MacIver originated and organized the New Guinea Exploration and Colonization Company in London, with a view to establishing settlements on the island. The company, presided over by General Beresford of the British Army, and having an eminently representative and influential board of directors, had a capital of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, and placed the supreme command of the expedition in the hands of General MacIver. Notwithstanding the character of the gentlemen composing the board of directors, and the truly peaceful nature of the expedition, his Lordship informed General MacIver that in the event of the latter’s attempting to land on New Guinea, instructions would be sent to the officer in command of her Majesty’s fleet in the Western Pacific to fire upon the company’s vessel. This meant that the expedition would be dealt with as a filibustering one.”

In Judy, September 21, 1887, appears:

“We all recollect the treatment received by Brigadier-General MacI. in the action he took with respect to the annexation of New Guinea. The General, who is a sort of Pizarro, with a dash of D’Artagnan, was treated in a most scurvy manner by Lord Derby. Had MacIver not been thwarted in his enterprise, the whole of New Guinea would now have been under the British flag, and we should not be cheek-by-jowl with the Germans, as we are in too many places.”

Society, September 3, 1887, says:

“The New Guinea expedition proved abortive, owing to the blundering shortsightedness of the then Government, for which Lord Derby was chiefly responsible, but what little foothold we possess in New Guinea, is certainly due to General MacIver’s gallant effort.”

Copy of statement made by J. Rintoul Mitchell, June 2, 1887:

“About the latter end of the year 1883, when I was editor-in-chief of the Englishman in Calcutta, I was told by Captain de Deaux, assistant secretary in the Foreign Office of the Indian Government, that he had received a telegram from Lord Derby to the effect that if General MacIver ventured to land upon the coast of New Guinea it would become the duty of Lord Ripon, Viceroy, to use the naval forces at his command for the purpose of deporting General MacI. Sir Aucland Calvin can certify to this, as it was discussed in the Viceregal Council.”

Just after our Civil War MacIver was interested in another expedition which also failed. Its members called themselves the Knights of Arabia, and their object was to colonize an island much nearer to our shores than New Guinea. MacIver, saying that his oath prevented, would never tell me which island this was, but the reader can choose from among Cuba, Haiti, and the Hawaiian group. To have taken Cuba, the “colonizers” would have had to fight not only Spain, but the Cubans themselves, on whose side they were soon fighting in the Ten Years’ War; so Cuba may be eliminated. And as the expedition was to sail from the Atlantic side, and not from San Francisco, the island would appear to be the Black Republic. From the records of the times it would seem that the greater number of the Knights of Arabia were veterans of the Confederate army, and there is no question but that they intended to subjugate the blacks of Haiti and form a republic for white men in which slavery would be recognized. As one of the leaders of this filibustering expedition, MacIver was arrested by General Phil Sheridan and for a short time cast into jail.”

Last day in Gizo. Has been grand on all fronts…

One might find a least developed country experience to be confusing at best. While walking down the hill today I was ruminating on the amount of refuse I was walking over and around. It was noticeable. And I was forming a negative opinion.

Then I turned a little corner and heard the voices…

A group of little kids, I mean babies, the oldest 4 or 5 yrs old. I counted 5. An older girl was under the tree a ways away (playing with a cell phone) as the babies sang.

In harmony, they were singing lotu (church) songs. It was gorgeous. Singing for the joy of singing and all equal and all participating. Babies yet without competitive natures or alterior motive. Innocents. Singing as I tramped down the red clay goat track.

I hollered “morne” and they all made noise less beautiful than the lotu tune. We hollered “helloooo”, morninggggggg”, “howwwdie”, and “bye-bye” back and forth. What ever I hollered they chanted back.

But I was moving quickly. Walking, trucking down the red-clay goat track that passes for a road in this LDC.

Radio “hapi lagoon” plays on my tinnie little radio. I’m listening to the noise and the news. Hard to tell the difference between the static, the white noise and the newz.

Mosquitoes are fierce right now. I am assailed on all fronts. They’ll only be here for a bit at dusk and dawn but, golly-gee, they sure are a nuisance.

The frogs are doing their vibratory chorus. A gecko joins in. The eve is quite still. In a noisy way. Has been sweltering all day and we’ve seen two good tropic down pours. And it still humidiates….

The tropics… 3 meters of rain per annum. I used to get ear infections from sweating too much. I have lived with rot of hoof and loin more than not for 30 years. It took me a long time to learn to live here.

And it is a glorious land. Not to be judged harshly.

A glorious land.

Off and scooting to Liapari this morning. A quick run, in and out, to sort a spare-part problem with the Alcol.

The weather lately has been quite rough. The pacific convergence zone has been sitting heavy on the Solomon’s shoulders. We just had a few days of decent weather. The roads have dried up. And the seas have come good.

The market today was great. Overstocked and very cheap. For the past week or more the weather has kept the market producers on their home islands of Kolombangara, Vela, Ronongga, or Simbo. So the pickings  were slim and high priced.

So, at 10am, I scooted over to Liapari. Kolombangara was cloudless. A rare event and one worth savoring. The seas were deep blue and the reefs were sparkling turquoise. The islands, pieces of jade afloat in the sea of blue.

The clouds were scattered, not gone. All low leveled and hunkering. Gleaming white under the morning sun, but heavy and ponderous.

While at Liapari the winds came up. It’s Nor’Westerly season. The Nor’West wind stirs the sea on the east side of Vela. It funnels down the Vela Gulf. The currents off shore of Liapari turn into a “rip” when they meet the tide and the wind.

I finished my work and hot footed it back to the water. I didnt want to wait too long and end up in big seas. So by 1pm I was back on the water. The mouth of the Laipari passage was running high. The winds and currents and tides almost close the passage but, for old salts like me, you just throttle back and mosey up and over, and down, and around the big waves that are funneling into the passage.

I met a pod of bottle-nose dolphins there, today. I fist saw them as I stood up to throttle back and look around. They were right by my boat. I learned from a Tongan fellow to talk with the mammals of the sea so I said, “gday, whatr you all doing”? Just like that, three of the smaller dolphins teamed up, shot around my boat and in a line from left to right, shot under my bow, came up on a nice wave and the trio surfed a fair distance. All three with big grins on their faces.

And another, obviously showing off, catches a wave. Surfs down alongside my boat. A duo do a couple hops out of the water. More surfing, more smiles. I am talking all the time… “thats nice, good one, great, yippeee, can I play, do it again”…

I saw that most were juveniles. There were a couple large mature, matron looking, dolphins around. They maintained position off to the left, in the mouth of the passage. They didnt appear to be surfing. Just the little ones were having a “whale” of a time, surfing on the big breakers in the mouth of Laipari passage.

All I can say is

Yeee Hawww

This came my way today…

Made me smile:

… one of those highly energized cauldrons in the air; where dark clouds swirl and grumble. Cracks of lighting surround where I sit. A mini-little storm brews overhead. Its what I call a Willis storm.

In conversations Willis and I often discussed energy and energy-use. Willis is a climatologist, and I always wondered how one could create a little mega-volt generator out of a storm in a tea cup.

A big long, low grumble… still vibrating on.

Wheres the crack? That gun-shot sound that raises hairs on the back of the neck.

It is fitting that I watch UFC 144. Henderson vs Edgar. Good fight. The weather is playing hell with reception.

And the storm has not hit. No rain yet. No wind. Today was oppressively hot. Temps now have plummeted. Soon the deluge.

There it is… the rains come. And Edgar better tap out before I lose reception all together…

But, for now, the seething, swirling cauldron of energy grumbles and growls…

Evidence confirms the speculation… damn big fish…

The day ends as my favorite little girl dances in front of the TV. Angelina is 6. She and Anna, 4, came over today. Angelina insisted on “sleeping over”.

One of her favorite movies is the production of Mamma Mia. She knows all the songs and steps. Her harmonies are very good. Her moves even better.

So I have company for the night.

Life is guud

Back in Honiara.

Noon on Saturday. I flew in afternoon Thursday. I must say its a fun change from the regulated Land of Oz…

I have written about Oz before. The pros and cons of a life there. My experience is limited but I know Oz to be one of the most regulated lands on the planet… there is a regulation for about everything that moves. Life styles and the social system in Oz rate high everywhere. It is a true “nanny-state”. So regulation makes sense in a regulated way…

Of course, Solomon Islands is a respected member of the “least developed nations” club…

Least developed country (LDC) is the name given to a country which, according to the United Nations, exhibits the lowest indicators of socioeconomic development, with the lowest Human Development Index ratings of all countries in the world. The concept of LDCs originated in the late 1960s and the first group of LDCs was listed by the UN in its resolution 2768 (XXVI) of 18 November 1971.^[1] A country is classified as a Least Developed Country if it meets three criteria^[2][3]:

• low-income (three-year average GNI per capita of less than US $905, which must exceed $1,086 to leave the list)
• human resource weakness (based on indicators of nutrition, health, education and adult literacy) and
• economic vulnerability (based on instability of agricultural production, instability of exports of goods and services, economic importance of non-traditional activities, merchandise export concentration, handicap of economic smallness, and the percentage of population displaced by natural disasters)

A club I enjoy being a member of. There is something about the bad roads, the sporadic if at all social services, a drunken, noisy neighbor… I was just recently writing about the early morning blues syndrome… a nearby neighbor is heading full speed into a sad Sunday morning… They’re just rewinding the tape to play that “one” song, again, and again, and again…

I am soooo hapi to be back in the islands.

It’s a hot, humid day. I sit on the upstairs deck of our Honiara pad. The light outside of the roof’s shade is glaringly bright. My old friend, Chew-Dog, just came up to be with me. (the other dogs are strangely afraid or incapable of the stairs thus Beanie is at the landing crying) A very nice breeze cools the skin and rustles the vegetation. Carol, the gardener, is making noise with a wheel barrow and rake. I am certain though it is for my benefit, not the gardens.

I just got a “yeeeehhhhoooo” outta the neighbors. It’s early still, a long time to go before that Sunday morning day after bluuzz…

I was in town doing some running. Well, indeed, running is the wrong word…

I was stuck crossing the metaniko bridge and for many minutes the guy walking next to my car, heading the same direction, was gaining on me. The recent month or so of heavy rain… I know one day last month Honiara saw 750 mm or 30 inches of rain… has made the roads here go from really bad to frigg’n terrible. I actually took a joy-ride through Ranadi. Very interesting, and the roads there are nothing more than a mention of a track. Not honestly a road at all.

And I like it. I head to Gizo next week and do, do look forward to it all. Call me an old LDC junkie…

So hanging out waiting for my 6 and 4 yr old granddaughters to come over and play. We’ll crank up the bbq, rile the dogs, play in the pool and generally waste the afternoon. It’ll be fun and I will take pictures…

more later

I come in peace. I come from the planet SUBURB.  At times it does feel like another planet. The clean streets. The polite neighbors. The quiet calm that pervades. I blame it on Prozac. High property values and exorbitant taxes contribute. My corner of my planet is kidz Ville. Scooters and skateboards. Bikes and balls. Kidz rule

I think of Gizo on a quiet Sunday morn… Everywhere in the Solomons there is a damn rooster that starts at 4am and cockadoodles, on the hour until 7am. There is a small child that starts about the same time and carries on longer. There is that general bustle of life, fluid, and noisy.

My morn has been productive. And fun. Convinced the boys that sorting their rooms was worth doing. The candy wrappers under the bed. The dirty shirt under the sheets. The clean clothes pushed in the corner. All easy to police-up. A bit of pride in the completion of a job very well done. Well done.

I think the my “home-village”, Susuka. A Sunday morning. Holding numerous agendas… Sunday school for the kids. Big motu started early by the old woman. It’ll be ready to open and eat after church. Children singing. Damn rooster still crowing. A dog involved somewhere. The old woman squawking at some kids. Noisy, lively, and fun.

My planet SUBURB is a free democratic land. But it’s highly regulated. In my corner of my planet we pay more to be regulated more. As an immigrant to SUBURB I still find this perplexing. To pay to be regulated. We pay for “free education”. We pay for good roads. Quiet streets, and cable TV.

I think of modern-day Honiara. The noise started in earnest on Saturday. The loud music. Forced laughter. Same CD being played over and over again. And the one, over-played number (probably red-red-wine) that brings all to voice. By Sunday morn we’d been through it all. We’d been through it all.

The yelling and tears and fighting and fucking and things being broken. The crying children. Then the quite that comes when all pass-out. There is one guy in a pair of dirty jeans passed-out on the road, by the betel-nut stall. That damn roosters is still here. The kids too.  We’d been through it all.

The Suburbian life perplexes. I paid to immigrate here. Chose my corner of my planet well. It still perplexes me. I understand the noise and confusion of life well. It is the quiet I am confused by. Quiet kids don’t make sense. A quiet life? Maybe why I have two fast bikes in the garage?

Sunday afternoon bike ride through the Blackhall range… sounds like a good idea.

scoot’n around on the river-ferry system. Kinda cool…