Some years ago, we lived on an island called Bougainville in PNG.we were warned about everything. Sure there were what was called rascals. They tended to steal from the 'perceived rich' white people.But they never harmed us.

One Sunday morning, the day after running a marathon where we got prizes like a giant umbrella (tropical country, so useful), we came back from a run and left our brand-new shoes on the verandah, as well as said umbrellas, as the rain was ten pelting down.

We showered, and then went to check on our wet things...all gone! my husband had only just brought them back from a business trip in OZ.

By the same token, when leaving the island our young daughter asked if she could have a 'go pinis' sale (roughly translates as go finish sale. Papuans have no 'f' sound in pigin.).

We said she could, not realizing that could meant right away.

Some short time later there was a lot of action downstairs. She'd set up her goods, toys and clothes, and all the locals were there, buying from her.

I raced outside, but all was well. They were being so kind to her, She was seven years old at the time.

That's one of the fondest memories I have of life on the island, that and running my first marathon! That in itself is a story!