Showcase: Ok Tedi Gold + ID + Face To Face Haibun And Haiku + Unravelling

Edited by Charlotte Maddox

Hello, and welcome back to November’s Showcase!

I’m Charlotte, Prize Manager at the Wilbur Smith Adventure Writing Prize, awarded by The Wilbur & Niso Smith Foundation. This month, I’m continuing to explore our theme of (R)evolution, about how stories can not only depict transformation, but also inspire it in those who read them.

Adventure writing, at its best, is about movement: journeys across landscapes, yes, but also journeys of identity, courage and self-understanding. Sometimes, those adventures take us across oceans and other times, they unfold within the self, within relationships and within acts of resistance.

The first piece I’m sharing today encapsulates this, showing the quiet revolutions that can happen in everyday moments. The extract, taken from OK Tedi Gold by Glenda Kirkby, follows Karina, a woman working in the hyper-masculine environment of a Papua New Guinean gold mine, as she confronts ingrained sexism head-on. It’s a reminder that revolutions don’t always roar; sometimes they begin quietly, with a single voice refusing to be dismissed.

OK Tedi Gold 

“My God,” she said, “Moet and Chandon. I must tell you what I think of you more often.” She led him into the tiny living room then moved to face him. “I try to do my job well,” she said, “and I think I succeed. But, there are some users I’ve come across who I can’t get along with. A personality clash I guess.” His expression was a mixture of disbelief and perhaps, fear? Karina continued while she had the high-ground.

“In the past I’ve been able to diplomatically pass the job to someone else. Unfortunately, in this case you and I are stuck with each other. There’s no one else who knows enough to take over from me. No doubt within time I can train someone, but meanwhile, we’ll have to cope.” Standing in her bare feet she tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes never leaving his.

“I appreciate that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I get so caught up in my work, I lose touch with the people I’m working with. You’ve done a terrific job. Without you I would be groping in the dark right now. I just …” He shrugged his shoulders, and started again.

“I’ve never worked with a woman before. They’ve always been secretaries or office girls or something. I guess I’m not very good at handling the situation.”

Could he tell he was making things worse? Karina sensed the muscles along her jaw tightening.

“This has got nothing to do with me being a woman! A man would’ve been just as pissed off. The only difference is a man would probably have taken a swing at you this morning.” She stood the bottle of champagne on the top of her small refrigerator. “Would you have apologized if I’d been a man?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking off balance. “When you have a disagreement with a guy you generally sort it out over a beer, and get drunk. ”

“Getting drunk is the solution, is it?” Scorn laced her voice as she placed an unopened litre bottle of Bundaberg dark rum on the small table. “Coke?” she asked, cocking her head quizzically.

She could see McKenzie struggling to understand what was happening as she half-filled two tumblers with rum and added a splash of coke to each.

“Here’s to a better working relationship.” She raised her glass and clinked it against his, then tossed the drink down. Her hard stare was challenging him. Karina was used to it, but Bundaberg’s strong, almost medicinal smell and taste, tested the most seasoned rum drinker. She stifled a laugh as she saw him hold his breath before tossing down the drink.

Several drinks on, McKenzie started to ruminate as if Karina had morphed into a man. “What gets me about women,” he said, “is they’re so unpredictable.” She grimaced at his alcohol-induced lack of caution.

“What a load of crap!” she snorted. “If a woman is treated like a human being rather than some rare sort of exotic life form, then there’s no problem.”

“I had you worked out all wrong, you know.” He looked at her steadily as if watching for her reaction. “When I heard about this great looking chick they’d recruited for computing, I thought ‘she’s come looking for a husband’. Then when I saw you the first day you came to site, I thought you’d last no longer than a month. I mean anyone who dresses like they’re working in a city office when they’re in the middle of the jungle, is not going to make it here.”

“What do you mean, the first day I came to site?”

“Didn’t you notice?” He laughed. “Every expat guy on site dropped into the office that day to check you out. Word came from Port Moresby you were on the plane. Someone started a book on how long you would stay. I lost my money months ago.”

“Well, let’s get one thing straight. I did not come here looking for a husband. I wouldn’t consider anyone whose job makes them work in the jungle eleven months of the year a top choice. Having looked around at what’s offering here anyway, I’ve confirmed that. And secondly, I neither need, nor want, a husband. I have a career.” She leaned across, pouring him more rum. They’d run out of Coke and only one tray of ice blocks remained so she rationed them, one cube per drink.

“You know, even though you’re a woman,” he said, without noticing her reaction to his words, “You really are a very good programmer.” He stared into his glass unaware of the glare she gave him.

(c) Glenda Kirkby, 2025

Glenda is one of our 2024 New Voices winners. Re-opening in 2026, the award is designed to unearth and support aspiring authors to take a fledgling idea from work-in-progress to complete manuscript. Each writer receives a year of mentorship and one-to-one editorial guidance as part of the programme. If you’d like to find out more about the New Voices award, click here.

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This next poem also confronts sexism, and (R)evolution takes the form of reclamation; in this case, the reclaiming of voice and autonomy. Through the prism of technology, the poet examines how systems of control shape and suppress identity. The speaker’s journey is one of resistance and awakening, from being ‘uploaded from his story’ to finding freedom in her own.

ID

Bred for this rat race.
Pushed through closing corridors of an echo chamber.
Labelled, numbered, entered into the database.
Clear-cut corners, I can’t wrap my brain around.
Theta waves make it easier to download.
To inherit their repository and script for me
That they uploaded from his story.
Never hers. Who birthed this identity?
Now I am set in my mind, stuck in my ways.
The more I unsubscribe from the system.
The deeper I fall, into a loop, networks confirmed by bias.
An algorithm affirming my outlook.
I override every urge to look in.
All to be seen sane in an insane system
A virus keeps me hostage to who I ought to be.
Yet when I fight the interface and face myself
The need to rip off all that suffocates me
Escape, to embed my body and lie face down in soil.
Rest my thundering heart upon her sweet womb.
Breathing in that pungent, sweet, mouldy scent
The water kisses the ground like a starved lover.
I overturn and close my eyes.
The flesh burns from the firewall that surrounds me
The id dissolves to ashes. I go, Creāre ex cineribus
I am her. I am us. I am here. I am now. I am free

(c) Silviya Vijeyaruban, 2025

Connect with Silviya on Instagram: @silviya_22

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Staying with the (R)evolution) thread of gender, identity and reclamation, this next poem sees the speaker reclaiming her relationship with herself. Through the simple act of looking in the mirror, she encounters the woman she has become. In a world that so often tells women who they should be, recognising yourself and smiling back can be its own quiet revolution.

Face To Face Haibun And Haiku

It happened in Rudolf Steiner House one hot day, in the ladies toilets. The room was
empty and cool, just me walking past and a wall of mirrors that caught my eye.

I see you again
Look into your face, wondering,
Who is this woman?

A shy smile breaks out
We can only laugh together
Our joyful love spills over

(c) Lesley Forward, 2025

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Our final poem really spoke to me. Being inspired to make changes and actually making them can sometimes feel like a big ask, especially when it comes to the themes we’ve seen in Glenda’s extract and Silviya and Helen’s poems: confronting sexism, seeking self-acceptance or claiming personal freedom. But two steps forward and one step back is still progress. In this piece, we see the speaker unravelling and mending, capturing the constant effort to hold onto clarity. Change here isn’t loud or dramatic, nor is it ever truly complete; it’s gentle, human and deeply familiar.

Unravelling

Unravelling, like a ball of wool.
End carried by a cat through the house.
My mind,
thoughts, like blown bubbles,
floating away.
Feeling cloudy.
Overthinking is my fog,
pulling its cape to opaque the sunshine.
And it pedals away — my mind.
Cycling faster than I can catch it.
Before it stops.
Halts momentarily.
Freezes, hides.
Until I’m calm, relaxed, neutral.
Your reassurance, comfort, belief,
that makes me know I am enough.
Until it starts again,
Unravelling

(c) Helen Aitchison, 2025

Connect with Helen on Instagram: helen.aitchison_writes

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