I TRIED A BIT OF GERMAN YESTERDAY EVENING

I WALKED down to the supermarket to pick up batteries for my camera and a loaf of bread for breakfast.

It was a nice walk in that part of the city, through the Gordon industrial area where there were few vehicles and some employees here and there were walking to the nearest bus stops to catch a bus home.

I enjoyed the open space and nicely paved sidewalk.

When I entered the shop, I saw the red, black, gold and white colours displayed in different ways.

While waiting to pay for the bread at the cashier, I noticed the screen on the cash register also had the PNG colours with the words “Happy Independence Day” - each word in gold, white and red respectively on a black background.

Small triangular material with the colours showed from a garland taped to the ceiling. The festivity was starting, so it seems.  

Photo: A flag hung inside a pre-school in Port Moresby as part of the 41st Independence Anniversary celebrations.

After I paid for the stuff, I walked towards the kai area for a pack of beef stew and rice. I was there waiting to be served behind a group of young men in T-shirts and shorts.  Then one of them turned to me and said: “Hellow Mr!”

It was then that I noticed him. He is Walter, one of the young boys who lived down the road from the village I grew up in.

I had last met him in 2014, when he, as a young police officer, was in charge of a group providing security during the Melanesian Arts Festival at the Sir John Guise Stadium.

I did not recognise him then – he called to me and I only need to look at him once to realise that he was one of those little boys who ran around the neighbourhood in their games (often with some relatives of mine) when I was teaching in my hometown.

Today, Walter said: “We are taking our young German friend around. He will be leaving tomorrow!”

I turned to the right where the others were and saw three other young PNG men and a slim white young guy, who was very quiet – as if he was uncomfortable.

I thought about greeting the German with the only two phrases that I know – the only phrases that my poor memory could muster to bring up from the depths of my mind.

But I hesitated.

“Sorry, I did not recognise you,” I said to Walter. “I was busy looking at the food.”

Walter smiled and said they were having something to eat and then they would leave.

I got myself the rice and beef stew with a soft drink and sat a few metres from where they were.

I could hear the PNG men talking excitedly in Tok Pisin (PNG Pidgin). When I looked over, I saw their German pal quietly munching his food – in silence.

That was when I decided I would go and say something to him in German before I left – hopefully to make him feel welcome in my land.

When I was done eating, I walked up to the group and shook hands with Walter, saying I was leaving for work.

He introduced me to the others using my surname. At least one other guy recognised the name and reached out his hand.

“Gutpela abinun (Good afternoon),” I said in Tok Pisin and shook each of the PNG men’s hands.

Then I turned to their German pal, who was busy with the food in front of him and put out a hand to shake his hand. He looked up to clasp my hand with his right hand and I said: “Guten aben. Wie geht es dir (Good evening. How are you)?”

Those were the only two phrases I could remember at that time. If it was French, it would be a bit different.

“Guten aben,” the German replied with a beaming smile.

And he added: “Mir geht es gut (I am well).”

I then told him in English, and help up my right hand with the thumb and pointer almost touching: “That is the only German I know for now. I do not know anymore.”

And I smiled.

Everyone started laughing.

The white man had a big smile on his face.

I was happy and I knew he was happy and so were his PNG pals.

I bid them all farewell and walked out with my loaf of bread and batteries.

In my mind, I was telling myself: “There, there. Start working on your German now!”