Unfortunately, Port Moresby Residents Have To Defend Their Property
The vast majority of Papua New Guineans are lovely, kind people. However, in cities and the few larger towns, a disproportionate number of people, mainly males in their late teens and twenties, tend to engage in unlawful activities. The main cause of this is probably the high unemployment rate and the disproportionate pay rates between Papua New Guineans, who are often referred to as “Nationals”, and expatriates like me.
Expatriates and better-off Papua New Guineans tend to live in either apartment blocks, with 24/7 security at the front door, or in detached houses with gardens, surrounded by high fences topped with barbed wire. Despite these precautions, I came to know a large number of people who had suffered break-ins and lost personal property. Few items were ever recovered.
The perpetrators of these crimes were euphemistically known by both Pidgin and English speakers as “Rascals”. As the word “Rascal” could refer to a kid who nicked a chocolate bar from a small shop, colloquially known as a “trade store”, to someone who robbed a bank armed with a gun, I always thought that it wasn’t the most appropriate word to use in most circumstances.
Appropriate Affiliate Marketing Lessons
Affiliate Marketers, just like all other Internet users, as well as residents of Port Moresby, must defend their property. If they are not securely defended, hackers can access internet sites as easily as a rascal can cut through a wire fence with an appropriate tool, even if a roll of barbed wire is above his head.
- Use well-known anti-virus software, preferably paid for, although I have only read good reviews of the free system built into Windows 11.
- If you have a website, ensure its URL is secured. You can determine its secure state by ensuring that it can be accessed by typing “https://” instead of “www” before the main URL. If the site can be accessed by typing only “http://” with no “s”, it is not secure. An icon of a padlock is displayed to the left of a secure URL in your browser.
- Only pay, or receive money, if the site is secure and only do so, in either direction, using “Paypal”, or other well-known software as an intermediary.
- “WordPress” is well-known for being easily hackable. Change your login name from “admin” to something else and install an appropriate plugin to add an extra layer of login security.
The Story Of How My Car Was Stolen When I was Driving It
It was a Saturday afternoon, about six weeks after I had first arrived in P.N.G. I was alone in the duplex, known in the firm as “The Mess”, where 6 of us relative newcomers lived. Three girls in one side and three boys in the other. I’ve no idea why I wasn’t playing golf. I can only assume that a serious competition was being played, and I didn’t yet have an official handicap.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I was startled, but I stopped whatever I was doing, rose, and opened the front door, leaving the wire mesh door, which kept out insects when the main door was open, locked.
A well-dressed Papua New Guinean stood outside.
“What do you want?” I asked. “How did you get into the garden?”
“The gate was open,” he replied in perfect English. Bugger whoever was last to leave, I thought to myself. “What do you want?” I repeated.
“You know your house help?” The stranger asked.
“Yes, of course, Jimmi.” I answered, not realizing that I had just made my first 2 mistakes. Home helps, who kept expatriates’ homes clean, were never called ‘house helps’, they were either known as ‘haus bois’ or ‘haus merris’, so my visitor did not know the gender of our helper. More importantly, I had given away our helper’s name.
The stranger, not believing his luck, continued without hesitation. “I’m sorry to tell you, but Jimmi drank beer for the first time in his life last night, had too many, got into a fight, and ended up being locked up by the police. We need Twenty Kina to bail him out, but I’ve only got Ten Kina. I’m Jimmi’s older brother. Could you please lend me Ten Kina, so I can bail out my brother? I’ll refund you after my next payday.”
As far as my visitor was concerned, that should have been the end of the story. I was supposed to give him Ten Kina, he would leave and walk down the street looking for the next house with an open gate and repeat his story, never to be seen by me or any of his other gullible victims again. Jimmi would, of course, turn up for work on Monday morning, never having seen the inside of a police cell.
Unfortunately, my naivety ruined my visitor’s business plans, as I made my third mistake by saying, “Come on, I’ll drive us to the police station, to rescue poor Jimmi. Where is he? Boroko?”
There was a thoughtful delay before I heard the reply, delivered with a slight stammer, “Yes, Boroko.” Boroko is a nearby suburb of Port Moresby.
I went back into our living room, took about a hundred Kina from my wallet, which I put in the back pocket of my Jeans, and grabbed my keys. I went outside, locking the door behind me. My visitor was leaning on our balcony rail, seemingly deep in thought. He followed me down the outside stairs and, somewhat reluctantly, climbed into my car’s passenger seat after I had opened the passenger door for him. The car was parked under the duplex, which was on stilts.
After I had driven out the gate, I stopped, got out, locked the garden gate in the high fence surrounding our garden, before returning to the car to start driving in the direction of Boroko.
Just before we got to the junction where I had intended to turn right towards Boroko and Port Moresby, when my visitor blurted out that he didn’t actually have the Ten Kina that he told me he had, but his wife in his village did.
“Where is your village?” I asked.
“It’s about 5 Kilometers along a track on the far side of the airport,” he answered.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go and visit her,” I continued, making my fourth error. I had a hundred Kina in my back pocket and, if the story had been true, I could have easily paid the bail money on my own. However, I had this naive idea in my mind that I had to allow my visitor to hold up his side of the bargain. Unknown to me, at the time, he had Fifty Kina in his pocket, stolen from people who had fallen for his trickery before he visited me.
Instead of turning right at the upcoming junction, I turned left towards the airport. We carried on past the departures and arrivals building, past the end of the runway, and turned right up a rough, but well-defined track with the fence of the far side of the airport away from the buildings on our right. It had rained heavily over the previous night, and about a kilometer along the track, water was gushing from a pipe leading from the airport’s drainage system across the track, into a deep hollow in the ground that the flow of water had created over the years. There was a deep rut in the road where the water flowed across it, and I slowed to a crawl as we navigated what was almost a stream.
Suddenly, when we were virtually at a standstill, my passenger jumped on me and sank his teeth into my left arm. Screaming with pain, I managed to open the driver’s door before grabbing the keys in the ignition. Because of the angle I was at, there was no way I could have pulled out the car key, but luckily, the skimpy key ring bent open, leaving my house, gate, and office keys safely in my clenched fist. I managed to fall out of the car into the shallow, but fast-flowing water streaming across the track. While all this was going on, the only thing in my mind was the fact that this was the first serious fight I had ever been involved in. Not that I was doing much fighting, as I was doing everything I could to scramble away.
By the time I managed to stand up and step out of the water, my newly purchased car was being reversed at speed, back down the track. I watched as the car was turned by reversing into a narrow side-track before it sped at greater speed towards the main road, partly hidden by dust billowing from the rear wheels.
I was soaking wet, and my gym shoes squelched with every step. But the hot sun helped and I was almost dry by the time I reached the main road fifteen minutes later. I may have been almost dry, but I was filthy dirty, and the bite marks were beginning to ache. Apart from my car key, I had all my other keys, and my money, though wet, was still safely in my back pocket. My luck changed very quickly, as only five minutes after I arrived back at the main road, the first vehicle to arrive going in the direction of Port Moresby, was a police van.
I flagged down the van, which stopped. Although I had only been in the country for six weeks, and my knowledge of pidgin was virtually nil, I managed to convince the two policemen in the van that my car had been stolen. I was helped into the back of the van and transported like a criminal to Boroko police station.
The next six hours were a nightmare, as I was transferred from one office to another, speaking to countless officers, most of whom didn’t understand a word I was saying. Finally, however, I was introduced to someone whose English was good. He got me to write out a statement, which was difficult as I am left-handed and my bitten left arm was getting sorer by the hour. The officer, who must have been pretty senior, summoned a female typist, and he slowly verbally translated my written statement into pidgin, which the typist set out on an official form. I was asked to sign both copies of my statement, adding my printed name and work and home telephone numbers. The officer then gave me his business card with a crime number scribbled on the back, before I asked if I could use the telephone.
I called my side of the house, but there was no reply. One of the girls answered, though when I dialed their number, and Helen agreed to come immediately to pick me up. I warned her that she may be a bit shocked when she first saw me, but rest assured, I was okay and not in any trouble. When she arrived on the steps of the police station, less than ten minutes later, she laughed when she saw my filthy state. “What the hell have you been up to?” she asked.
“I need a drink,” I replied. “Let’s go to ‘The Aviat club’, and I’ll tell you the story over a beer or two.” Five minutes later, we were sipping beers by the pool at ‘The Aviat Club’, and I was relating the story to Helen, starting from when I had heard the knock on the door that morning. Since Helen had arrived, I had been careful not to let her see the bite marks on my left arm, but I forgot when I reached up to pay for my second beer. Helen was happy with one, but she screamed at the sight of my arm.
“When did that happen?” Helen shouted.
“I haven’t got to that bit yet,” I replied.
“You’ve two minutes to finish your beer, after which I’m rushing you to hospital, Ramage,” Helen yelled. “You may slightly outrank me in the office, but I’m the boss for the rest of the day, so do as I say.”
That was me told, and after quickly finishing my beer, I felt my right hand being grabbed before Helen almost dragged me downstairs and into her car. I quickly finished my story as Helen sped to the hospital in downtown Port Moresby. I paid a little extra money to be seen privately, and I was seen after only a ten-minute wait. We left the hospital about an hour later. My wound had been cleaned and dressed. I was told that the dressing could come off in two days, after which I should apply cream that they gave me. Most importantly, I was given a tetanus injection and a blood test to check for AIDS and HIV. I was told that, if the area was still painful in a week, to go back for a check-up.
I took the other 5 residents out to our favorite Chinese restaurant that evening, and I told the whole story again, this time in more detail than I had told Helen when she was rushing me to hospital. As I told the story, the six of us not only ate well, but managed to scoff three bottles of wine as well. The wine, preceded by a few beers, and followed by a spirit, created a jovial atmosphere, and everybody at the table, including me, was giggling and laughing, listening to or, in my case, relating what, at the time, was a scary story.
I was woken up mid-morning the next day by one of my flatmates knocking on my door. “What’s up?” I shouted.
“Someone from the golf club is on the phone. He wants to speak to you,” was the reply.
What the hell, I thought, as I dragged my body, complete with a hangover, out of bed, out of my room, and over to the phone.
“Phil Ramage speaking.”
“Morning Phil, Jack the golf club manager here. I bet that I know why you are not here this morning.”
“There are many reasons,” I replied. “Why do you think I am not there?”
“I reckon that your car’s been nicked,” Jack replied.
“How the hell do you know that?” I asked with surprise.
“One of our more intelligent and trustworthy caddies asked to talk with me this morning. I’m a fluent Pidgin speaker, and he told me that a car has been driven into a ditch in the middle of his village near the far side of the golf course. He said it looks like your car, a white Mitsubishi.”
Did he say what condition it is in?” I asked.
I was told that the ditch wasn’t very deep, and, apart from the front wheels and, perhaps, the front axle, there doesn’t seem to be very much damage. However, the inside of the car is full of empty beer bottles, some of which are smashed. There are also several empty beer cartons. “The caddie also told me that you could smell human puke as far as five meters from the car,” Jack added..
“You’re right, it is my car,” I continued. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Give me a moment, please,” I said before I returned to my room, where I retrieved the detective’s business card with the crime number scribbled on the back. “Are you still there?” I asked after I picked up the phone again.
“Of course”
I gave Jack the name of the detective inspector I had spoken to the previous day, the phone number, and the crime number scribbled on the back of his card. “Can you call Boroko Police for me, quote my name, the detective’s name, and the crime number? Ask them to go to the village where the caddie lives and do what they need to do. They already have the registration number.”
“Consider it done,” Jack said. “But tell me one more thing. It could be your lucky day. Every Sunday, when there is no important competition on, the four C.E.O.s of the four motor vehicle insurance companies in Port Moresby play golf together. I expect they’ll play today, starting early afternoon. If you give me the name of your insurance company, I’ll let the appropriate C.E.O. know, and if he can’t get things moving today, things should start happening first thing tomorrow.”
“Give me a minute again.” I returned to my room, rustled through a drawer, and soon returned with my car insurance policy. I gave Jack all the details, and he promised to pass them on to the unlucky C.E.O. before he teed off with the other insurance professionals.
Many people, representing many professions, worked on my behalf from late Sunday morning to Friday afternoon. However, my working week was barely affected. I had to attend a “line-up” to identify my attacker on Wednesday, but I wasn’t needed at his trial on Friday morning, as he had pleaded guilty. By Friday afternoon, my attacker was in jail for a year, and I was back driving my car. The car had new front tires and a new front fender, but more importantly, all the seats, front and back, had been replaced with new ones. The floor coverings, including behind the rear seat of the hatchback, had also been renewed. Despite being in a developing country, the situation I found myself in on Saturday was completely resolved within a week. Even my injury was healing nicely, and I played golf twice over the weekend following my “adventure”, using the boy who had reported seeing my car to the club manager as my caddie. He remained my regular caddie for the next 4 years, and, when I left, I paid for him to join the club, and bought him a 2nd hand set of golf clubs.
Appropriate Affiliate Marketing Lessons
It isn’t easy to draw an exact comparison between my story and any particular piece of advice that I can pass on to wannabe Affiliate Marketers. The nearest I can come to one is, Make Sure You Know Who You Are Talking To.. When I say that, I’m not talking about their name. If, when my attacker first knocked on my door, I had asked him our haus boi’s name, instead of me telling him, he would have run away, never to be seen again. However, if I had known my attacker’s name, it would have made no difference.
Obviously, if you, as a newbie Affiliate Marketer, are approached by a self-proclaimed guru, whether the approach is made using email, social media, or any other internet avenue, you will immediately learn his or her name, but what you won’t learn immediately is whether he or she has your best interests at heart.
This is what I mean by “making sure that you know who you are talking to”. Before you buy anything from a so-called guru, or put anything they say into practice, make sure that you have enough experience of their output that you have confidence that you are in a beneficial relationship. Especially as I had money in my pocket, there is no way I should have started to drive towards my attacker’s so-called village. I should have driven straight to the Boroko police station, before watching my attacker disappear like a scalded cat, as soon as I stopped the car.
Apart from the private hospital costs, I didn’t lose much money by not “knowing” who I was dealing with that fateful day. But I was lucky. From memory, my assailant was more like the chap in the image at the top of the blog. If he was more like the cartoon villain at the foot of the blog, I could have found myself in real physical danger. In addition, the bite could have proved to be a bigger danger to me than it was. Okay, your physical health might not be in danger if you hook up with a rogue “guru”, but your bank balance could well be in danger, and hence your mental health could suffer. Please don’t be as naive as I was that day. Take care when choosing a mentor.
Click the link below to meet a mentor I can truly recommend:
Cheers
Phil