A Free West Papua Revolution Resolution

A Continuing Struggle for First Nations People Pussycat Tale

A Pussy Cat Tale

Lady Donga Diaries

Words & Pictures — Lady Donga

Meow 189

Dear Readers — my roving reporter and Human Slave Seaspray D shares herein tales from the island of New Guinea — Indonesia in the West and Papua New Guinea in the East — reportage on the ongoing struggle for independence — where the freedom fighter little fish — fight the colonizer big fish.

The burning pain in the back of my head exposed to the early morning sun meant that I probably should be wearing a hat.

There was no shade, waiting outside the Indonesian Consulate in Vanimo, Papua New Guinea.

Hopefully the consulate would soon approve my visa application so I could slip across the border into Indonesia.

Thankfully, someone beckoned me to the doorway of the Indonesian Consulate.

My travel permission was confirmed and I was soon ready to continue my journey across the border.

Just days before I had flown from Australia to Papua New Guinea’s capital, Port Moresby.

In Port Moresby I met members and supporters of the Free West Papua Movement — those who seek independence from the Indonesian colonizers who had taken over the territory from the Dutch colonizers before them.

The West Papuan freedom movement farewelled me at the airport where I was soon onboard an Air Niugini Fokker aircraft for the north coast town of Wewak.

At a Wewak Hotel I was met by a tall dude that looked like Mike Tyson.

The Mike Tyson look a like threw a quick fake punch at my face — to test my resolve.

The Mike Tyson twin said “You will be OK — you can do this — we heard you were coming and headed for West Papua — don’t worry — we have people on the other side of the border who will take care of you.”

The next morning I flew to Vanimo where I intended to apply for an Indonesian tourist visa.

Fast forward and with visas in hand I waited at the local bus stop for a lift to the Papua New Guinea (PNG)/Indonesian Border.

Three hours later I was still at the bus stop — so made an executive decision to hitchhike to the border.

Yeeha…not long thereafter a local in a pick-up truck collected me and said he would drop me not too far from the border.

We were soon driving into thick jungle on a dirt track that made our vehicle jump around like a wild horse.

My back ached.

Through the wound down window I thought I could hear a chainsaw — and mentioned it to the driver.

“No, it is actually a bird of paradise that mimics the chainsaws of the Chinese Malaysian Timber cutters who are destroying our environmental landscape along with the corrupt government officials who give them permits to do so,” the driver said.

Soon the driver came to a fork in the road. And after having pointed the way to the border area, he drove off on the other fork in the road.

Here I was alone in the middle of the jungle — just me and that weird bird that imitated chainsaws.

Sweat rolled down my face filling my eyes with salty water that I had to wipe away — to see the way.

After 45 minutes or so I came across a couple of thatched wooden huts with a vague sign that declared: Papua New Guinea — Customs and Immigration.

Some very relaxed men with betel nut-stained red teeth greeted me, stamped my passport, and pointed down the rough track saying “Indonesia.”

At the bottom of the hill I emerged from the dark jungle into a large clearing with a boom gate across the road and a sign above it: Republic of Indonesia.

The immigration official stamped my passport and pointed down the rather sophisticated looking road saying “Jayapura.”

Jayapura is the capital of West Papua (Irian Jaya) and was where I wanted to go.

The road was excellent in comparison to the PNG side — not quite a four-lane expressway — but bitumen sealed all the way.

Still, with no bus I would have to thumb it into town.

There I was, the sunburnt pink Australian standing on the side of the road waving down traffic.

I was in luck — the first kind person picked me up with his tractor and trailer.

He drove the tractor — I was in the trailer — with the pigs.

It was slow going but at least the ride was smooth.

The pig poo was smelly — but after a while you got used to it.

It was late in the afternoon by the time I scored my third lift on the way to Jayapura — in a kind of bemo taxi where passengers sat on two rows of seats in the back.

On the way I marveled at the beautiful rice fields — and that felt like I was in South East Asia again.

Closer to town the farmlands made way for housing estates and then taller buildings as we neared the city limits.

The bemo taxi dropped me off at a hotel where I was happy to take a quick shower before going out to eat some noodles.

As I walked downtown, I was approached by a man who looked like Martin Luther King.

“Resistance — Free West Papua Movement” the MLK look alike whispered — “We have been expecting you Seaspray D — follow me, he said”

Down a series of dark back alleys full of mangy dogs and tossed rubbish — I followed that tall dark kind man.

We were soon met by guards who had been watching out for Indonesian Police or Military — the guards waved us on into the dilapidated building.

Sitting around a table and chairs in the room that was otherwise bare sat a band of tough guys who looked rather important.

“Greetings Seaspray D — we have been waiting for your visit — welcome to our Melanesian nation of West Papua,” said a short stocky mustached man — who I would later learn was Pro Independence West Papua Militia Commander -Alexander Baransano.

“We know you are tired after your journey from PNG, so enjoy some noodles with us before we escort you back to your hotel — you will need a good rest, as tomorrow we have many people for you to meet and interview from our West Papua resistance movement and supporters,” Commander Baransano said.

Commander Baransano filled a shot glass with some kind of alcohol called arak — and made a toast.

“To the revolution — Free West Papua — Papua Medeka -!” everyone declared before sculling the clear potent liquid.

Commander Baransano instructed my MLK man to take me back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel it was twilight when I was arranging the mosquito nets preparing for sleep, then I heard a commotion next door.

I looked out the window and low and behold discovered my hotel was smack bang next door to a military compound.

There were soldiers exercising in the courtyard.

So without thinking I grabbed my camera and starting shooting.

That was until someone in the courtyard spotted me — pointed at the window — and two soldiers were dispatched immediately to seek out the cameraman — me.

My stomach churned — my brain burned — Oh dear I have really stuffed up this time…I thought nervously to myself.

Suddenly I could hear footsteps running up the staircase — and then there was a knock at the door.

My heart was thumping.

To be continued sometime soon dear readers!

MeoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooW for now

Until next time

With Love — Lady Donga Diaries — © Meow 189–2023