Tanya Day, killed for own good by Victoria’s finest.
WE the editorial staff at pcbycp would like to extend our heartfelt thanks to the anonyous donor who got us out of the Port Headland detention centre. Though in hindsight our reprieve from the long-hand of the law was brief it gave us a sense of hope. The Tuvalu expedition had been a dismal failure. And though we saved Australia’s bacon, we felt a little “Vietnam Veteran”. Rather than being saluted as homecoming hero’s we were imprisoned without trial for breaching section 34 B of the “White persons who may be considered black statute”. Its akin to being locked up for being drunk on a train in Central Victoria and killed for your own good. To be quite frank we were just a little bit worried. After being declared ‘non-persons’ by Border Force, we were slated for detention on Manaus Island and then the prospect loomed of being released as newly minted citizens of PNG onto the streets of Port Moresby.
They’re friendly folk on Port Moresby. Waiting at the airport for our arrival.
That was the bit we didn’t mind so much. We quite like a tropical climate,and Clarrie, who’s getting on a bit had fond memories of performing there with the ‘Crazy Gang’ in 42. But we were worried about systemic corruption. After all, Transurban who runs the detention facility has a head office on Port Moresby, and after being fleeced by the Tuvaluans, we ‘d ran outta cash. We were told we ‘d be retrained as part of the settlement package, but as we only have basic clerical skills we knew we weren’t up to scratch in starting a dynamic new enterprise. And besides, though the training staff at Port Headland instructed us in the rudiments of fish and chip making, and we’d acquired quite exceptional skill in hamburger tossing, deep frying and Calimari pairing, we didn’t have the neccessary funds to buy a suitable shop or at the very least equip it with a deep fryer and hot plate.
I don’t know what your knowledge of these things are, but since the Apec forum in PNG, we could get our hands on a newly minted Maserati, a Lamborghini testa-roneo, but not a cent for business startups or investment on training up locals to find gainful employment in the aforementioned tasks. WE even went along to the PNG embassy in Melbourne, (we were medi-vacked prior to internment at Manaus), as Clarries kidney had given out on him. He’s now permanently in the iron lung and has failed the re-entrance test for all prospective migrants and will be deported with the rest of us, iron lung, (he lost one of those as well) dialysis and all.
Even the new (stand-in) Cardinal ignored us. Too busy “Having a Pell of a Time” on God’s telephone
So things were looking slightly on the shit-house side, if you excuse our French.
WE spent a week on Manaus to be greeted by that bloke Behrouz Boochani, who frankly depressed us. He couldn’t see the lighter side of things, and kept texting away on his mobile. In his cell he displayed the award he won for his book. We’d like to have read it but books are not allowed in Manaus. Cos they can be used to start fires, or if held incorrectly will block either the CCTV in every room, or coverage of the Third Test. . So we just read the reviews in the Catholic Boys Daily (the Australian) which he’d cut out and pinned to the wall. Gotta say they weren’t all that favourable. In the end we agreed Bahrouz, was ungrateful, just like the aborigines. Ungrateful for all the help we’d given him. No wonder why he wasnt allowed to settle in OZ. Not only was he an Iranian but he was 100 percent un-Australian.
Raskols, very difficult to train as Uber or Fish and Chip shop workers. Very adept at slicing and dicing onions though.
We thought with Clarrie being in an iron lung and on dialysis, he’d be a shoe-in to stay on Manaus. But sooner than you could say 457 we were on a Dakota bound for Port Moresby. Our plea to the highest authority in the land had failed. Rupert would not open our letters. We were bound for Port Moresby… and there was nothing, (even if they tried) that anyone could do about it..
In short, as the headhunter said to the missionary; ” we were about to be cooked, eaten and well and truly stuffed”!
Why were we being treated as such? Was it a monumental blunder? A clerical error? Or had we done real wrong, for trying to protect Australia from Chinas insidious grip? We were a Ouija board short of an answer, and the sand was running through the conch shell.
And we know dear reader? We ask ourselves; Will we survive? Will we be a headhunter short of the anthropologist? Will we be a Prince Andrew short of the statutory rape charge?…
Will we be converted to a lifetime fo rascol gangery??
Stay tuned to our next installment..
Inmates on Manaus, Ungrateful, bereft of a sense of humour. And a D minus for spelling and grammar. Un- Australian!!!
“Mission to Manaus”,
Or…. “An abridged, asylum seekers cry for help too far”…