Apocalypse When
Sydney Morning Herald
Friday September 15, 1995
VULCAN volcano rises on Simpson Harbour beside a road cut through 15 metres of volcanic ash spewed out a year ago. Rains have cut deep furrows into its steeply-sloping sides and wind spirals dust around the crater's lip. Along the foreshore to the north is a scene reminiscent of Apocalypse Now. The roofs of houses poke through hardened volcanic debris; here the windscreen of a motor vehicle, there a sign swinging from the shell of a trade store.
To the south, and inland, there remains intact a verdant tropical landscape with handsome wooden churches and coconut plantations. But in the shadow of Vulcan, the scorched land is a testament to the awesome power of the furnace of magma two kilometres below the shimmering harbour.
There are no signs of life, save for a narrow plume of smoke floating up from behind a small rise. Investigation finds an old man slowly shovelling away grey dust that has piled up against a modest fibro house. He explains in Pidgin that he had been living here when Vulcan erupted in 1937, killing more than 500 people.
Manuel Barip recalls the terror of how, as a youth, he watched as his bush-material house was crushed. There is a saying that the folk of this region each witness such a disaster in their lifetime. Barip, however, has twice experienced major eruptions.
On the morning of September 19 last year, Vulcan sent a plume of smoke, which was photographed by the space shuttle, 20,000 metres into the air. Barip and his wife, Gesepa, were trapped for five days, surviving on a single coconut. Millions of tonnes of material which rocketed from the bowels of the earth became highly charged, creating a terrifying electrical storm. Lightning tore through Barip's home, burning the lap lap (sarong) he was wearing.
Several months ago, Barip felt an irresistible urge to return to his charred birthright. He and Gesepa were the last to leave and were the first to return. "Mi bikpela worri, village i buggerap. Mi sorri tumas. (I am very concerned, the village is ruined. I'm very sad)" said Barip, leaning against a house he built in 1979. Barip, who expects to die before Vulcan erupts again, is planting food crops which struggle to survive in the salty, sulphurous ground.
In Rabaul, eight kilometres further around the bay, a hardy group of expatriates, including several dozen Australians and New Zealanders, seek to rebuild what was one of the most beautiful and bountiful ports in the South Pacific. Two hotels, the Hammamas and the Kaivuna, have reopened, swimming pools and transplanted palms contrasting vividly with a surrounding landscape of shattered dreams.
Hundreds of businesses and official establishments - including retail stores, shipping agencies and takeaway food outlets, the police and fire stations and professional chambers - deteriorate in the tropical humidity. Their roofs collapsed under the weight of a metre or more of ash and grit. Contents of buildings are still carted away by looters who use claw hammers to remove walls, windows and doors.
"It is a supermarket at night - the police are able to do nothing," one expatriate laments.
While Vulcan wiped out Barip's village, it was Tavurvur on the opposite side of Simpson Harbour that squashed Rabaul on the same day. The town, situated at the tip of the Gazelle Peninsula on Papua New Guinea's 600-kilometre long island of New Britain, was a vibrant regional hub, a place for fun as well as work. The eruptions sent tens of thousands of people fleeing and media crews rushing in from around the world to film and report on the catastrophe. The enveloping black smoke and frightening roar have become the stuff of nightmares. Now trade winds whip up choking dust, reducing visibility at times to 100 metres.
Australian Beverley Martin, who owns and runs the Kaivuna Hotel with her husband, Brian, feels that in the wake of the initial fascination with the events of last September, the outside world has largely forgotten Rabaul. "There is life coming back into the town, but everybody thinks it's dead," she said.
Australian-turned-PNG-citizen David Loh, who is the president of the Gazelle Chamber of Commerce, believes that because of its fine natural harbour, Rabaul will stage a comeback. Masses of pumice, which rendered the harbour unnavigable, conveniently floated out to sea and ships are now coming in. Many of the roads have been graded to the point where they are passable in a four-wheel-drive, and water and power have been restored to two of three sectors.
However, sector three, which stretches out to the old airport and golf course as well as covering what was known as Malay Town, has been declared a total write-off. About $180 million made available by the World Bank for resettlement and rebuilding remains largely unspent. The national government this month threatened to sack the Gazelle Rehabilitation Authority unless it starts to get things done.
"I have asked for a timetable for Rabaul town, but they have not got one," Loh complains. He accepts that the first priority had to be resettling an estimated 50,000 displaced people.
However, the fear now is that the World Bank funding might be forfeited unless it is allocated quickly for specific tasks. Loh says there are contractors ready to swing into action once detailed plans are prepared. Telephone links are expected to be restored in the next month or two, hopefully luring back banks and other businesses which moved up the coast to the expanded centre of Kokopo. Most local and foreign property owners are not selling. They are waiting for a clearer picture of the future to emerge so they can decide whether to return.
On Saturdays, a few dozen expatriates, European and Asian, and some PNG nationals, gather at the Hammamas Hotel for film nights. There is hardly a murmur among the audience. The movie - good, bad or indifferent - is a spellbinding distraction from the harshness outside the tidy grounds of the hotel. Deep psychological imprints were left on those traumatised by the eruptions. Conversations, no matter where they start, turn to personal horror stories from last September or the continuing day-to-day struggle to wind back the clock and get businesses operating again.
Rabaul was a Mecca for expatriates as well as foreigners who took up PNG citizenship. Their aim was to build a good life in a romantic garden setting of hibiscus and frangipani, casuarina and mango trees. Instead there were anguish and the threat or realisation of financial ruin. Members of the European community have gained a reputation for being an eccentric, sozzled lot.
The word "feral" is sometimes applied. South Pacific brand beer, along with rum and Coke, is favoured. The excellent food and friendly service at the Kaivuna Hotel mean life is not unbearable. But there is a surreal, manic dimension to life in Rabaul these days. Photographs and video tapes of last year's cataclysmic events are exchanged.
Poolside, tales are repeated for visitors of how people were only able to escape in the clothes they were wearing. "Bullets were fired over our heads to scare off looters, but some of the looting was done by members of the police force," one expatriate woman said. A burly construction supervisor is said to have smashed the knees of an indigenous looter with an axe handle.
"It was like Dodge City, 'cause there weren't no law."
While the official death toll was only three, residents say some bodies were quietly buried without being reported. There are accounts of how the ground rose and fell in waves during earthquakes, knocking people off their feet.
As more beer is ordered, the focus switches to cursing a fellow who has foolishly opened freezers containing meat which had been putrefying for 12 months. A resulting sickening stench at the top end of town intensifies an atmosphere of decay. Nonetheless, a spirit of defiance drives attempts to heal the suffering town's wounds. This weekend, celebrations will mark the anniversary of the Big Blow. Bulldozers and other excavation equipment will join a parade of floats. Nine holes of golf are to be played on the thick dust carpeting once-lush fairways.
An earthquake measuring 7.8 on the Richter scale a few weeks ago gave people a fright and sparked local volcanic activity. But the abiding hope is that underground pressures won't build to another major eruption until well into next century. A bid to secure foreign aid to kick off a disaster fund may prove crucial to Rabaul's future because insurance firms refuse cover for volcanic damage.
Rebuilding port facilities offers the best chance of viability for a town that saw German colonisers and Japanese military occupiers come and go.
Manuel Barip has not been back to Rabaul. He will be satisfied if the gardens he and Gesepa planted prosper and produce food for their grandchildren.
© 1995 Sydney Morning Herald