Wilson Turkai, As Told to Fred Lubang
PORT MORESBY, Papua New Guinea (MindaNews/ 8 June) — Let’s crack a story on areca nuts.
In other parts of the Philippines, you told me that people still chew betel nut, or nga nga or mama, as you call it. And that in Mindanao and in the Cordillera, people chew it with pride. It is part of their daily rhythm. A habit passed down through generations. A piece of the past still alive in the mouth.
In Papua New Guinea, it is the same. We call it buai, or areca nut. Around the city, signs say “No Chewing Areca Nut” in large bold letters. It reminds me of what you said about hotels in Mindanao that post signs saying “Durian Not Allowed.”They say the smell stays too long. Here, signs banning areca nut are posted in government offices, hospitals, schools, and other public places. But just outside, you will still find someone spitting red juice on the pavement. Or you might see a mother sitting under a tree, quietly selling nuts, mustard, and lime. I always keep some in my bilum, my traditional bag. People chew. That is the truth.
I have been chewing areca nut since I was in primary school. No one told us when we could start. There was no law. It just became part of our lives. It gave us energy. It helped us stay awake, especially during long days. Even now, when I feel tired or sleepy, I look for that familiar taste.
There are risks. We hear about oral cancers. Doctors show pictures. But the practice continues. Because for many of us, chewing is not just about the nut. It is part of our culture. It is also a source of income. Many women selling it at markets, bus stops, and roadside stalls. It helps put food on the table. It pays for school supplies. It is one of the few things that still moves money from hand to hand in many communities.
If you ever visit my home in East New Britain, the first thing people will offer you is buai. It is a quiet but powerful way of saying, “You are welcome here.” That one small gesture speaks more than any words.
They can put up signs. They can try to stop it. But as long as life is hard and the days are long, people will chew. Because sometimes, what we chew helps us carry what we cannot speak.
* Wilson Turkai is a quiet man from East New Britain, Papua New Guinea. He works as a driver for one of the country’s government agencies, navigating roads with the same steady patience he brings to conversation. He doesn’t say much at first—but over time, and many shared journeys, his stories begin to flow. Memories of his youth, reflections on change, and quiet observations about life all come through, not loudly, but with the kind of clarity that stays with you. It is in the quiet moments—on long drives, under trees, beside roadside markets or between grocery shelves—that Wilson’s voice carries the weight of lived history. This year 2025 marks the 50th Anniversary of PNG’s Independence.
(Fred Lubang, a listener from Surigao del Sur, gathers stories told to him in quiet corners, walks, over shared meals, and spends time in many communities. In this space, he shares the voices of others—memories, laughter, lessons— as they were told to him, across islands and generations. Fred is a PhD candidate at the Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, in partnership with Paññāsāstra University of Cambodia, where he is developing a decoloniality framework for humanitarian disarmament. In 2022, Fred was awarded the Sean MacBride Peace Prize in recognition of his “unwavering work and commitment toward peace, disarmament, common security, and nonviolence. He is now in Papua New Guinea for a short visit).
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