It’s the week of Independence.
A young mother, elegantly attired in her PNG meri-blouse, huddles amongst the murmur of other young parents under a tent at the Gerehu Hospital.
With all her attention, she watches the nurse-meri, her eyes trailing every movement of the nurse as she squeezes two drops of a liquid into the pinched mouth of her four year old son.
She exhales in relief knowing that the monster lurking in the dark won’t take her son. At least, not this one.
AS we settle into the days after our 43rd Independence festivities, we will be confronted with the dawning reality that may haunt us more in weeks to come.
No, it’s not APEC 2018. And it’s not the nervous toea-clanking at the bottom of the governments empty purse.
It is something much, much, worse.