A PAPUAN COURT.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 261, 4 November 1935, Page 6

A PAPUAN COURT.

WILES OF THE NATIVES. "The Court of Petty Sessions is now open!" The stentorian voice of the police sergeant fills the tiny Court of Petty Sessions at Port Moresby as the magistrate takes up his position at the bench. Leaning indolently against verandah posts outside are nine Papuan natives who have been arrested and brought into Port Moresby from various villages near and far. They must face charges of deserting from the rubber plantation where they arc employed, 25 miles inland (says a Melbourne correspondent). Ono of the offenders is brought before the magistrate, who reads the charge, which is interpreted by a native orderly: "That this native wilfully deserted from his work at Koitaki without cause." What has he to say about it ? The defence offered is varied, but usually spiced with unconscious kumour. One native complained that an overseer on the plantation struck him with a canc; he showed a sear 011 his shoulder to prove his statement. But the magistrate decided that the scar had been obtained in some other way in the native's village a long while ago, so he sentenced the native to 14 days' imprisonment. Two other natives who are seasoned deserters gave various reasons for not returning to work upon release from gaol after sentences for desertion.

"Place no good, work no good, 'taubada' (great man) no good." However, these reasons were not accepted by the magistrate, who sentenced these experienced deserters to one month in gaol. Several of the offenders, seemingly by arrangement among themselves, told a pitiful talc of a down-trodden people . . . alas! too illogical to be taken seriously. "'Taubada,' lie wake me up at one o'clock. At two o'clock me have 'kai-kai' (food). At six o'clock me start work." Unfortunately for these delinqueiits, none could give satisfactory answers to the following questions asked by the magistrate:'— (1) How did you know what the time was, not having a clock; and if you had a clock, could you see in the darkness? (2) What did you do between two o'clock and six o'clock? (3) (Sotto voce) What plantation manager rises at 1 a.m.? (4) Look at the clock—what is the time now? Morbid, condemning silence greeted these questions. Each native's head hung down disconsolately, and the toes of his left foot rubbed against the toes of his right foot. One' native attempted to answer the final question, concerning the time of day. He studied the big clock on the wall for fully a minute. The i seconds ticked away, and the Court hung upon his reply. At length he turned his gaze away from the clock and looked up at the magistrate. "Half-past nine," he said softly— doubtfully. The hands of the clock pointed to 10.40. "One month in gaol," the magistrate ordered, "and you are to make good the time lost through deserting."

Lazy, idyllic days are over; idle hours spent drifting through blue waters in canoes, fishing or swimming; or roaming through villages and haunts dear to the native heart—these are finished. Gaol—then back to work, tapping rubber trees. Thus life goes mooching on with tlic erring Papuan native.