By Wilson Turkai, as told to Fred Lubang
PORT MORESBY, Papua New Guinea (MindaNews / 22 June) — In East New Britain, shells are more than ornaments or souvenirs. They are currency. They are memory. We call them Tabu, strings of sea shells tied together, still used today in trade, ceremonies, and community life.
In local stores, there is often a marked section along the counter or a stand where Tabu is measured. The strings are coiled like wheels and placed along this guide. The storekeeper checks the length and converts its value into Kina. With the right amount, you can buy groceries, household supplies, even a second-hand vehicle. The Kina might be on the books, but trust is carried by the shell.
But Tabu is not just about transactions. It holds cultural weight. It is used in funerals to show grief and honor. Shorter strings are given to children. Longer ones to elders. Each length speaks for a life.
It is also offered during weddings. Families exchange Tabu to mark the union of two people. It symbolizes respect between clans and the start of shared responsibilities. You will see it strung up on walls, gifted, and proudly displayed.
And when conflict breaks out between families or communities, Tabu plays a part in peace. It is brought out in compensation and reconciliation ceremonies. It is not just about the shells themselves, but about restoring relationships and acknowledging harm. In these moments, Tabu becomes a bridge.
We hang it in our homes, looped on the wall or tucked safely in the cabinets. It is handed down from generation to generation. Some families keep Tabu the way others keep savings in a bank. There have even been break-ins where thieves went straight for the shells. They knew what they were worth.
Even today, when so much is changing, the wheel of Tabu still turns. It is a connection to our past and a tool for the present. It helps us buy, but more importantly, it helps us belong. It helps us say sorry. It helps us begin again.
The world may run on coins, cards, and codes, but here, the shell still speaks. And what it says is never small.
* Wilson Turkai is a quiet man from East New Britain, Papua New Guinea. He works as a driver with one of the country’s government agencies and approaches both roads and conversations with calm patience. At first, he prefers to listen. But as the days pass and the journeys add up, his stories begin to surface. He shares memories of his youth, thoughts on how things have changed, and quiet observations about everyday life. His voice is steady and clear, and his words often stay with you long after they are spoken. Whether seated enduring traffic, waiting by a roadside stall, or walking through a store, Wilson carries history in the way he speaks. In 2025, as Papua New Guinea marks 50 years of independence, stories like his help us remember how far the country has come and how much wisdom lives in its people.
(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. This space is not about the writer, it is about the storyteller. It is grounded in the belief that everyone has a story that deserves to be heard, and that the act of telling, listening, and recording stories with care is itself a form of reclaiming voice and dignity. 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).
