Lohia

By Vyvian Garth

rOM the very first it was a battle be tween the old and the new—between the ancient, native customs, and the strange magic of the white man’s civilisa tion slowly spreading over the land. He had been born to his native background; trained in it during the eleven north west winds that had passed since he first opened his eyes in the village under the coconut palms. It was part of Lohia’s life.

But against that was the pull of the white man’s power; his knowledge, his in ventions, his education. These called him irresistibly, too. He knew all the duties of a small boy in the village, now—how to fetch for tne older boys, how to chop wood, and carry water. He knew all that was expected of him in the native school.

He wanted something fresh, something bigger; something that only the white man could give. The village with its palms, its fishing, its school could hold him no longer.

So at eleven he got his first real job.

He was my house-boy.

His keen little brain absorbed know ledge without any effort. Every day he learnt something new. His questions were continuous. It was not long before we realised this was no ordinary native boy we had with us. Taubada’s long experi ence in the country assured him of that.

It made us realise too, that unless that young brain was given scope for definite self-expression, Lohia would become a menace. If his quickness was not directed into the correct channels it would find ex pression in scheming and cunning. He would become a leader among his com panions, keen enough to outwit even the white man.

It was in tnose first days after the war, and the law that no boy be employed under sixteen was not yet in force. So we kept Lohia, giving him light duties, and teaching him all we could, watching for some opening that would enable him to have proper schooling.

And in this we were not alone. He came in one day shaking a fuzzy head in a worried way. “Sinabada, the teacher be long my village came to see me. Him say, ‘You clever boy, Lohia, You come back school.’ Me say, ‘Me no clever. Me stay job.’ Sinabada, village school him no good. One day me get water. One day me chop wood. One day me go school.

No good. THAT no school!” There was scorn in his young voice.

SUDDENLY the way opened. The Gov ernment had started its post-war education for Papuan natives. Plans had been made and were slowly being carried out. The natives discussed them among themselves. Lohia came to me one day, eyes keen, face alight. “Sinabada, if me go school, me go Sogeri. Them talk English him school. Him very good school.”

The idea was excellent. If he could be got into the Sogeri Training Centre, he could be trained as a native teacher, and his quick mind, with its almost uncanny ability to absorb knowledge, would have all the self-expression it needed.

Taubada lost no time in interviewing the Education Department. They were interested. That was the type of boy they wanted. What grade was he in? We did not know. Well, would we find out?

Give them all the particulars. They would see what could be done. There were still vacancies. If he came in, it would be for three years, of course.

We told Lohia. He listened intently.

Three years seemed an eternity to an eleven-year-old. If it had been one year —but three! He thought it over for days.

Then that intense craving for knowledge pushed all else aside.

He told his people. After Christmas he was to go to Sogeri. It came as a thunderbolt to the village drowsing be neath the palms. Lohia go to Sogeri?

Lohia who was earning one pound a month and his rations! Lohia who was still a small boy, and therefore could have all his money taken from him by the village, and most of his rations, too. Lohia to go to Sogeri? Definitely not!

The undercurrent of village feeling be gan to be felt, even by us, as the weeks passed. Lohia seemed continually conscious of it. One day he waved an expressive hand to the harbour where a village canoe was slowly moving toward the land.

“You see him canoe, Sinabada? Him canoe belong my village. Them Marys they come get my money.” Then the whole story tumbled out. Before he had left the village, the old women had promised him that they would took after him when he was an old man, if he would go to work now and get them money. So he had come to me. The story seemed incredible.

But there they were, ready for their pound of flesh, and Lohia could not say no. But he was rebellious. Small boy or not, he was already fighting the customs of the village. The first joy of independence was his. If he earned money he did not see why the Marys should have the spending of it. Not when the stores were full of attractions.

DECEMBER came, and my house-boy grew quiet and thoughtful. “Sina bada, my old mother she sit in canoe. She cry all day because I go Sogeri.”

I boiled with indignation.

“You have big brother, Lohia,” I said.

“He will help your old mother. You go Sogeri three years. Then you get good job. Plenty money. Then you help old mother.”

He did not answer. There was a funny little smile on his face as if he had seen through his mother’s plans to hold him

by her tears. But there are many things little brown boys do not tell their Sina badas. They do not know native custom.

They would not understand.

Through the last few weeks of that year the battle lasted. We felt that we were standing aside looking on at one of life’s dramas—watching the struggle experi enced the world over by a certain type of native when he feels the first real impact of civilisation on the ancient customs of his people.

Lohia was going home for three days at Christmas. The day before he left he paused in his work as if a great decision had finally been made. Squaring his shoulders he spoke with such decision that I started.

“Sinabada, I MUST go Sogeri.”

“Yes, Lohia,” I answered, “1 think you must go Sogeri too.”

“If God help me go Sogeri,” he said as solemnly as if he was taking a vow, “I will come back and work for you.”

I smiled. When Lohia had been three years at Sogeri he would be qualified for a better job than that of house work.

So he went home, and Christmas came and went. But Lohia did not return at the specified time. “The dances have proved too tempting for a small boy,” I said to Taubada, and waited. Still no Lohia.

Then one evening a boy from his village came to the door. His eyes were down cast. “Sinabada,” he said. “Lohia no more job you. Finish.”

I looked at him in amazement.

Taubada more versed in native ways than I was, came to the door. “Why Lohia no come?” he asked, “Monkey business?”

The boy raised his eyes. He seemed genuinely distressed. “Me sorry, Taubada Monkey business village. Them no want him go Sogeri. Lohia clever. Him learn quick Sogeri. Me think better him go.

Humbug village.” He shook his head dis approvingly.

We went back into the house. The vil lage, seemingly had won. We were de feated. Yet, surely a village could not hold a brilliant boy like that?

Taubada left no stone unturned. He saw the District Officer. He talked things over with the missionaries who visited the village. We got no further.

We were up against a stone wall.

Then out of the blue came a letter from the Education Department. We had for warded them all particulars about Lohia some time before. Now they had written to say it would be impossible to take him He had been only in grade two. They did not take boys at Sogeri till they had passed grade four.

So that was that. We thought of Lohia his passion for knowledge; the fight he had put up against the village; his de termined statement, “I MUST go Sogeri.”

And to us it seemed that the powers of darkness had won, indeed.

But we reckoned without Lohia. So in fact did the village. He had made his decision. Now nothing would turn him back.

The weeks passed. We heard nothing Then I met a boy from his village.

“Where is Lohia?” I asked.

“Lohia gone Sogeri, Sinabada,” he answered.

“Sogeri!” I gasped, “To school? But how?”

“Him go Sogeri, sign police band three years. Him play band morning. Him go school afternoon. Him very good.”

IT was true. Lohia had indeed joined the Papuan Royal Constabulary Band.

Determined not to give in he had left the village, and gone all those miles to Sogeri himself. Whether on arriving there he had discovered his grading was too low for the Training Centre, and joined the band instead, we never found out. But the battle was over. Lohia was attending school each afternoon. His love of music, and craving for knowledge were satisfied at last.