Eltiphotography

01/06/2026

🤣

31/05/2026

28/05/2026

📍Making sago is hard work, but it’s the heartbeat of life in a lot of PNG and Pacific villages.

It starts with felling a mature sago palm, then scraping out the starchy pith from the trunk. That pith gets pounded, mixed with water, and strained until the white starch settles. The wet starch is cooked with coconut milk into sago pudding, or dried and kept for later. It takes a whole day and usually the whole family pitching in.

This is the “sago lifestyle.” It’s slow, communal, and reliable. No fancy shops needed just the swamp, the palm, and people working together.

For many of us, the smell of sago cooking in coconut milk hits different. It’s simple food, but it tastes like home 🤙

26/05/2026

📍Leitre 😍

25/05/2026

📍Life at 18-30 feels urgent. Church puts it in context. Your anxiety about grades, jobs, dating isn’t the whole story. It connects your daily struggles to purpose, forgiveness, and hope.
Encourage young people to attend church ⛪️

24/05/2026

22/05/2026

📍Leitre, Vanimo East Coast

12/05/2026

A Sister’s Love That Lasts 🫡

When the day comes that we close our eyes for the last time, it is often our sisters who stay close in memory.

Loved ones will mourn, and life will move forward. That is the way of things. Our wives will care for the children, keep the home warm, and find the strength to carry on. And they should. That is what we would want for them.

But a sister’s love is different. It’s the love that began before anyone else knew you. The love from the days of fighting over the last piece of food, sharing one bed, and whispering secrets under a mosquito net. She was there when you were small and scared. She was there when you came home with scraped knees and a heavy heart.

That’s why we must remember to take care of our sisters while we can. Call her. Check on her. Protect her peace the way she protected yours. Don’t wait until only memories are left to show her she matters. A brother’s care, even in small things, means the world.

When you’re gone, she will sit with your memory. She will cry without shame, because you were her brother first. She will hold your hand in her heart as she once did in childhood, and she will speak your name softly, because it still matters.

For the rest of her life, she will carry a piece of you. In quiet moments she will see your face in old photos and feel that ache that never fully leaves. She will tell your children who you were; how you climbed the mango tree and fell, how you made her laugh until her stomach hurt, how you protected her even when you were younger.

A wife builds a future with you.
A sister remembers your past, and keeps it alive with love.

That’s why a sister’s love feels timeless. It isn’t built on vows or time. It’s built on blood, on memory, and on a quiet promise made long ago: I will never forget you, brother. And it should be met with I will never forget you, sister.