|
|
| Day 89 |
04 July 2000 |
| Tual |
| "Migration, migration and migration" |
|
I spend most of the day dealing with the bureaucracies: Harbour
Master, Immigration, and the Navy. I have learned to treat these
visits more as social occasions and less as official ship's
business. The time spent in the offices is less tedious and
there is always the chance of learning something new.
The Harbour Master asks us about the Duyfken and the voyage we
are doing. We explain about the original Duyfken, her first
charting of the Australian coastline, and our re-enactment of
it. He tells us that Australia was originally settled from here.
We ask him to elaborate and he explains that the people of the
Kai Islands have a story that Australia's first inhabitants
migrated from here. Looking at the chart there is certainly only
a small gap between these islands and the continental shelf
joining Northern Australia to West Irian which would have
constituted the land-bridge during the ice-age. In moments like
this, sitting in an office in a foreign land and listening
through an interpreter to the words of a smiling stranger as he
talks about ancient links between his country and my own, I can
feel the earth shrink.
Our next stop is the immigration office that is not the
immigration office. It is a room in a hotel. Here we gain an
insight into the tensions that lurk under the surface right
through Maluku Province. The immigration officials who process
our forms and stamp our documents have moved out of their office
to this hotel room because they say they are safer here in the
Christian part of town. Some formalities are dispensed with
under the circumstances. When the table disappears under the
usual paper-storm, some of our paperwork migrates over the bed.
The three officials process our forms and stamp our crew lists
wearing civilian clothes, their impressive looking caps stashed
neatly on a cupboard where they are in no danger of inciting
resentment, starched uniforms hanging nearby.
Across town we arrive in the spacious, air-conditioned office of
Mr Argus, the Commandant of the Tual navy depot. Mr Argus has a
fine view of the harbour. Smack in the middle of his
picture-windows the Duyfken lies at anchor, looking
anachronistic even among the ancient shipping assembled in the
anchorage. Mr Argus has a special interest in sailing ships. He
has just returned from a voyage to San Francisco in the Dewa
Ruci, one of Indonesia's tall ships.
Without us asking, Mr Argus explains why the navy compound is
full of makeshift huts and shelters. They have been built by
refugees from other parts of the Kai Islands. There are 850
refugees living here, he tells us, and there are both Christians
and Muslims. They left their home villages when confusion turned
dangerous and they no longer knew who were their friends, who
were their enemies. Now the navy provides the most basic of all
human necessities: a place to be. Violence has disrupted so many
lives in this province.
Our cash-box is empty and we need money for fuel and food for
the coming voyage. No problem. We know there are banks in Tual,
so we will simply get some money transferred from Perth.
Not so simple. BNI, the Indonesian national bank, has closed the
doors of its Tual branch until further notice on account of the
troubles. There is another bank here though, a local bank, so we
go there. The bank is full of people, but there is no money
changing hands. Most of the customers seem to have gathered here
to watch TV and the staff seem engrossed in clerical duties. We
ask about a funds transfer. It must be arranged through Jakarta
and we are told it will take several days if all goes well. We
don't have several days. We leave tomorrow. I imagine the crew
wasting away with nothing to eat on our five week voyage. I
imagine mutinies. I am thinking fast.
'Can we change some Australian or US dollars?' I ask. I am told
that is not possible as the bank has no cash. The kindly teller
directs us to several Chinese grocery shops where he assures us
we will be able to change money. Of course, why didn't we go
there first?
I beg and borrow dollars of any description from the crew and we
seek the grocery shops. We change our money and Jane buys bags
of rice and tins of vegies. Images of emaciated mutineers fades
from my mind.
Tomorrow we sail for Australia.
|
Peter Manthorpe
Master
|
| |
|
|
