Werror dreams of home in West Papua

By Patrick Matbob

AS a child, Moses Werror dreamed of seeing the world. On the white sands that fringed his tiny Moor island home in West Papua, he would sketch outlines of ships. He dreamed that a ship would one day take him away to visit other countries.


Werror at his home in Madang.


While Werror was dreaming, the colonial power struggle for the future of his country had already began. This was the aftermath of the second world war. The struggle between his people of West Papua for self rule and other powerful nations and multinationals with vested interest in his country’s rich resources would eventually drive him away from his homeland. His dream, in some ways, would be fulfilled but it would be nothing like he had ever imagined.
Werror is the exiled Chairman of the Oparesi Papua Merdeka (Free Papua Movement). For the last 30 years, he has carried out a peaceful campaign internationally to win support to free his West Papuan home from Indonesian rule. A window of hope has opened. The East Timor independence and the change of leadership in Indonesia have softened the stranglehold Indonesia had over West Papua. Yet the recent death of prominent pro-independent West Papuan leader Theys Eluay who many believed was murdered by Indonesian military, had been a serious set back.
Werror sat near his three bedroom, high covenant home in Madang town. At 65, he is the reincarnation of Ghandi, his balding head sprinkled grey, as he peered through thick lenses.
Under the Dutch, Werror trained as a teacher. However, he knew he wasn’t going to see the world as a teacher.
Thinking he had a better chance as a seaman, he enrolled at a Nautical College in Hollandia (present day Djayapura) in 1956 and graduated as a seaman.
Werror sailed but his ship was only a coastal vessel servicing the local ports. The world stilled remained elusive so Werror decided to jump ship.
In January 1958, after an argument with one of the ship’s officers he left the ship in Sarong. He had decided to go to Indonesia to pursue his education and fulfil his childhood dream. He found a small fishing canoe, and with two other friends, sailed for Indonesia. Hopping from island to island they arrived in on the island of Moluccus. They were intercepted by Dutch intelligence, and because of the differences between the Indonesians and the Dutch, detained for a week. Later they were sent to an island inhabited by the West Papuan people.


Werror with the late Theys Eluay & supporters in 2001.

Werror did not stay there. He made his way to Ambon city and enrolled at a national high school. Being so far away from home, with no money, and having to live with friends, life was hard.
“I had only one meal a day of rice and fish,” he recalled.
His other problem was that he could not speak Bahasa Indonesia and that made schooling difficult.
In 1961 he sat for final exams with about 3,000 other students.
“I came 93 out of 3000,” he recalled. “I was overjoyed.”
Armed with his certificate, he jumped on a cargo ship and headed for the Indonesian capital, Jakarta. He wanted study political science at the University.
“I had no place to stay in Jakarta. I found some West Irian soldiers and stayed with them.”
“I slept on a table outside the house. The stars were my companion. I had no money, no clothes,” Werror recalled.
The West Papuan people were preparing themselves for independence from the Dutch so he joined the West Papuan movement in Jakarta. He became a spokesman and representative for the students for their cause.
“It was the first time for me to see the West Papuan flag,” he said.
The light blue flag with horizontal stripes and a bright red star at one end swelled his heart with pride. “It was a beautiful flag.”
The struggle for the future of resource-rich West Papua was intensifying. Colonisers of West Papua, the Dutch wanted West Papua to be a separate country but the Indonesians wanted it to be a part of their country, together with East Timor. Indonesia had US support.
Before 1960s, relationship between US and Indonesia was deteriorating because of US support for regional rebellions in Sumatra and North Sulawesi - two Indonesian provinces. After John Kennedy became President in 1961, the US made a huge effort to mend relationship with Indonesia. In so doing, it began to favour Indonesia’s ambitions for West Papua to become part of Indonesia. US turned its back on its former war ally and coloniser of West Papua, the Dutch who wanted West Papua to become a separate country. In March 1962, the US brought Dutch and Indonesia together for negotiations that was concluded five months later resulting in the New York Agreement. The agreement called for a self-determination, enacted in a so-called ‘act of free choice’, to be exercised six years after Indonesia took administrative control of West Papua. The agreement was ratified by UN General Assembly and put into motion within six months.
It was during this time, that the Indonesian Government selected a delegation to travel to New York for the UN General Assembly. The 100-member delegation was made up of West Papuan people and Moses, the poor, struggling student was selected. Finally, he was going to see the world.
His eyes lit up as he recalled the experience from impoverishment to sheer luxury. Travelling through Singapore, Japan, Hawaii and on to New York, the delegation was accommodated at the Plaza Hotel, on 5^th Avenue. The delegation was given first class treatment, staying in luxurious hotels and partied every night. Werror visited Holywood, Disneyland and Washington.
Reality soon set in however, when he returned to Jakarta. There was no one to meet him at the airport and no home to go to.
“The trip seemed like a nice dream,” he said.
But things soon changed. The Indonesian government thought Werror was an asset to them and recruited him to train as a diplomat. He was put up in a hotel room with all expenses paid.
This was better than a University education, Werror thought.
In 1962 he was sent to Australia to work at the Indonesian embassy there. His career in the diplomatic service began but it was not without controversy. The Indonesian Government never completely trusted him.
In 1964, Werror married his wife (name to be provided) who was a West Papuan from Biak Island.
After five years in Australia, he was recalled to Djakarta.
As time was drawing near for the ‘act of free choice,’ the West Papuan freedom fighters began intensifying their campaign against the Indonesian military who were in control of West Papua.
In Jakarta Werror began his activities to push for West Papuan Independence. He met American officers in promoting the West Papuan struggle and to seek help and support from US. This was to be his major work - to use his diplomatic training to campaign and promote his country’s struggle for independence internationally.
However, after a while things began to get too hot and Werror and his family headed home for Nabire. Their stay at Nabire was short however, when he was recalled to Jakarta by the Indonesian military. Suspicious about their intentions, Werror headed instead for Djayapura giving the excuse that he still had incomplete business to attend there.
It was 1969 and the date for the Act of free choice approached. Major demonstrations were planned in Jayapura for the lead up to the occasion and Werror was involved. Meantime, the military intelligence was looking for him. Werror said he kept himself carefully hidden.
However, during the major demonstration in Djayapura, he was asked to speak. Werror said he told the demonstrators to be strong and united, to resist violence yet to be firm on their demand for independence. As he was addressing the demonstration, the Indonesian military arrested him. Together with other leaders, they had their arms and legs chained and were thrown into prison in Djayapura. They went through military court. As a diplomat, Werror had the advantage of knowing many Indonesian Government officials, and a sympathiser slipped him a note in jail warning him not to go when the military came to pick him up.
When the military truck came to pick him and others, he refused. Later he found out that the others were killed.
After a week he was released but Werror was suspicious that he was being set up. He went to the police chief whom he knew personally to get some guarantee for his safety.
Then the United Nations stepped in and recruited him on their staff in Djayapura. He was given a good job, and a home. His wife wanted them to settle down. However, Werror never felt safe and decided they must leave Djayapura.
On August 1971, in the cover of darkness, he and his family crossed by boat into Papua New Guinea arriving at Vanimo.
After staying at refugee camps, he eventually moved to Madang.
As Werror sat near his house in Madang, he is dreaming again. This time it is about his beloved West Papua and the white sands of Moor Island.
Werror has seen the world. Now he just wants to go home again...

Dancing the eagle dance

By Patrick Matbob
Singsing Taragau, (eagle dance) of the Manam Islanders of Madang is a dance rarely performed outside of the island. The dance belongs exclusively to the kukurai or chiefs of the island who decide when it can be performed. The kukurai also participate in the dance and take the lead parts. A great number of pigs are slaughtered for the feast that is held to accompany the performance.

DWU students performing singsing Taragau.

So it was considered a special honor when the kukurai of Dugulaba village on Manam Island Teddy Wandama gave permission for the Taragau dance to be taught to a group of Divine Word University (DWU) students for the school’s annual culture day. The permission was granted following a request from a student, Albert Sika, who is a descendant of the kukurai clan at Dugulaba.
Kukurai Wandama commissioned five dance instructors representing the five ‘bet’ (platforms) that represent the clans at Dugulaba to travel to DWU to teach the students. The act stirred interest amongst the Manam Islanders in town. It was unusual for a kukurai to allow such a dance to be performed by outsiders. However, for the group of 18 Madang, East and West Sepik students, and Manam islanders living in Madang, it was an opportunity not to be missed.
The practice began towards the end of the third term, a period of exams and assessments, and only two weeks before the show. While the dance had various patterns, three of the basic ones were selected and taught to the students.
Imitating the graceful and majestic taragau (eagle), as it soared and circled then swooped in attack, was not easy. But the instructors were masters of their craft. They demonstrated the movements with grace and ease and made it look easy. Time and time again, the students were told to bend their knees, keep their backs straight and chins up, to soar from left to right by moving just the upper part of their body gracefully and co-ordinate the movements of their feet.
“Imagine the eagle. It is graceful, yet a majestic bird; the king of the sky,” the students were told.

To prepare for the performance also required observance of certain taboos, which included one week of going into the banis or seclusion. Allowances had to be made for the students because one week in the banis would have adversely affected their studies. A period of two nights from Thursday to Friday was agreed upon and the students camped out at Albert Sika’s family residence in town. During that time the dancers were advised to ‘abstain from drinking water’ which worried the students until it was explained that this meant sex was taboo. At 4am each morning the boys bathed in the sea as part of the ‘cleansing’ ritual. They were however, spared drinking a specially prepared salt water concoction which would have literally cleaned out their system and made them ‘lighter’ for the dance.
The day came and the dance instructors worked hard in ensuring that all the bilas (costumes) needed was available. The bilas included bird of paradise feathers, head bands made of dog’s teeth, armlets, sea shell ornaments for the dancers to grip in their mouth, red laplaps in place of loin cloths which were in short supply, cassowary feathers and fresh coconut shoots for the ‘wings’ of the taragau. Some substitutes had to be made such as plastic for shells and woven coconut leaf for dog’s teeth.
It was a 15-minute performance at DWU and as the crowd surged around to see this rare dance, the students found very little room to move. It was a pity. For just as the eagle had the sky to display its skills, the dancers needed space to perform the elaborate movements. A crowded arena was not the place for the dance. It was one performance only and as the students were leaving the grounds, many people expressed disappointment at not being able to see the dance.
The dance to rausim bilas (remove the costumes) marked the finale of the performance at Sika’s residence. As the last beat of the kundu drums died away that evening, emotions reached their peak. The darkness did well to hide many tear-filled eyes as the students sat in silence packing away their costumes and contemplating the end of a wonderful experience.
In two weeks, the taragau dance had forged a bond of friendship amongst the students and the Manam islanders. The moments of practicing together, camping out under the stars, sharing betel nut, food, bilas and endless hours of humor was an experience of a lifetime. One emotional student summed it up for them.
"Until my dying day, I will be proud of one thing. I danced the taragau dance,” he said.
A month later, the Sika family arranged for a student delegation to travel to Manam to officially thank kukurai Wandama for the permission to perform the dance. A pig donated by the Sikas was given to him together with some foodstuff. In return he gave the students a pig and the islanders showered them with gifts of galip nuts.
As the boat inched away from the imposing peak of the Manam volcano, it was a moment of sadness for the students. Yet they felt a sense of fulfillment. The taragau had returned to its roost and it was time to move on.

Tidal wave hits Madang coast in 1930

By Patrick Matbob

ON Christmas eve  82 years ago and the people of Sapara village along the North coast of Madang were preparing for a major celebration for the festive season. The occasion was also special because of the opening of a new church building for which many of the surrounding villagers were to attend. The celebrations never happened. A huge tidal wave hit Sapara coast the day before Christmas destroying the new church, the station, the villages and killing many people. One of the survivors of that tidal wave disaster was the late Rev Engel Mundus van Baar, a Catholic priest at the mission station at Sapara. This story is based on his autobiography, which tells of this tragedy.

Children playing peacefully today on Sapra beach.

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 FR van Baar had finished hearing confessions and was waiting outside near the church in case there was anyone else who wanted to go to confessions. It was Christmas eve, 1930, and there was an atmosphere of great expectation for the Christmas mass celebration as well as the opening of the new church. The Church was magnificently decorated and people had been preparing for a big feast and singsing.

Suddenly, Father heard a noise and looked out to sea. He saw a huge wave rush up the shore towards the church and the house. It was unusual. Nothing like this ever happened before.
“I saw the water retreating, but it was more than that; the sea was pulled back with such a noise, with such force as one cannot imagine, the whole harbour was half-empty.
The noise was so terrible; Fr van Baar called the boys who had rushed out to catch the fish, which were being washed on to the reefs, to come back. His voice was however, drowned by the roar of the sea.
“The yellow water churned and boiled through the holes in the reef. I shouted again to the children to come back . . . it was nearly too late! The whole sea turned and with all its strength rushed shorewards.
“Then I saw a gigantic wave crashing into my house and the church, I saw them breaking up - and I ran for my life.”
“I ran and ran towards the road, towards the village Meriman nearby. The village was empty; all had escaped into the bush. Frightened of the thunderous noise and seeing the place full of water, I raced onto the road into the bush; but already I was up to my knees in seawater. Thanks to God, although the whole road was under water, I went in the middle of it and so I just missed a big waterhole were the natives usually fetch their water for cooking.  If I had fallen into the well, I would have drowned.”
Father ran on hoping to find some people but sadly, the only person he met was the dying wife of his catechist Werner, who was in her last days of pregnancy.
“I spoke a few words to her, gave her absolution . . . and she was dead.”
Knowing he could not help her any more, Father dashed back looking for others. However, he was alone.
He made his way back to the coast but heard the sea still pounding and was afraid.
“It could happen again,” he thought, the sea could come back again and the water could sweep still further inland.
Eventually Father located some people and told them to find Werner, the catechist whose wife had died with her baby in her womb. Werner was found and told the sad news. His wife was brought to the village to be buried.
The station was totally destroyed. Not one house or anything on the station was spared, amongst them the new church and the priest house. The pieces were lying everywhere in the garden. The wife of another catechist was carried into the garden where all survivors had gathered. The old school church had fallen on her when she was busy polishing the chalice - there had been no warning. She may have broken her spine as she was in dreadful pain and had no strength in her body. There was no doctor, no hospital, absolutely nothing to help her. Her husband did his best to comfort her.
The search began for survivors and for bodies. A collapsing house killed a boy and a girl. Their bodies were so mutilated they had to be buried at once.
Someone reported a missing baby but the body was never found. A wife of one of the catechist was also missing but the search was abandoned when light failed.
The next morning was Christmas Day. The previous night was spent in the gardens, the villagers too scared to return to the villages. On the Christmas morning the wife of the catechist who had a broken spine was carried to another mission station, four hours walk away. There she died.
“Christmas morning . . . no mass, no people, no Christmas for us . . . there was nothing, only sorrow,” wrote Fr Van Bar.
That morning the search continued. This time the people moved the great piles of debris lying around and under the debris they found the missing wife of the catechist, lying dead covered with blood.
“She had been swept by the debris of the house and smashed against a coconut tree. She must have been killed instantly. Philomena, she was now the third one, the wife of my good catechist, Alois from Tumleo. And one should not weep?” wrote an emotional Fr Van Bar.
“My dearest people had been taken away under such tragic circumstances! And this was Christmas day, when all should feel the greatest joy, but we were clothed in deepest sorrow.”
Two native messengers were dispatched immediately to the Catholic Church headquarters at Alexishafen with the message about the disaster. The messengers arrived at Alexishafen at midday just when the missionaries were preparing to enjoy their Christmas lunch. The boys passed a short note about the disaster to the Bishop. Everyone was deeply shocked.
There had been so many deaths (no figures recorded) because people were taken by surprise and the tidal wave had swept them away with the houses and buried them under the debris.
“I’ll never forget that Christmas,” Fr Van Bar wrote.
Assistance was sent from Alexishafen on the 100 tons mission steamer Stella Maris. A government officer accompanied the missionaries to investigate the disaster.
After the disaster, the mission station was moved from Sapara to Ulingan where it is situated today.
Although, the disaster happened more than 70 years ago, today many old people in the villages along the north coast of Madang still remember the story of the tidal wave that hit Sapara.