One school holiday I went to stay with my grandmother and grandfather. I was having breakfast when I heard Nanma say that GrandPat was difficult to live with, as he kept doing things that were “unbecoming”. I did not know what she meant when she said, “He is getting worse and does things that are unbecoming and undignified”. Late that morning GrandPat told me he wanted to climb a tree to see if it was worthwhile living up here. He said he was tired of living in a house with chairs and tables and beds.
When I was a little girl, I lived with GrandMa and GrandPat. Mummy and Daddy were killed in the car crash between Greytown and Masterton. GrandMa and GrandPat looked after me every day and every night. I wanted them to be with me forever. I grew bigger and older and helped GrandMa. Her arms and legs got tired. She cried when she was exhausted. GrandPat was different.
Jason started school two days after his fifth birthday. It was exciting. There were so many children and the teacher told them about dinosaurs that were bigger than the school and one of them could fill the playground.
“But,” said the teacher “There are no more dinosaurs left.” Just then the school bell rang and it was time to go home.
Oliver watched his father. He was sleeping in the big chair. He was snoring. It sounded like a pig honking
Theo woke up from a long sleep and looked at his bedroom. Everywhere was dark. He could not see the pictures on the wall. He could not see his toys. He could not even see his clothes. It was dark, dark dark. Sammy and Theo looked at each other. Sammy, Theo’s favourite green coloured toy, looked unhappy. He cuddled up closer to Theo and asked, “Where is the sun, where is the sun?”
As I waited I knew the night was tired. It had heard so many sad stories. Like its storytellers it too began to cry. It wanted to go somewhere else and begin a journey across the seas and mountains to another country. It left its tears on the leaves of trees and the windows of the people. It began the long walk over the seas, mountains and the sky. The sun rose. With its bright red handkerchief it wiped away night’s tears. Birds awoke up and sang with small voices to rouse up the children. Then I was awake too. I went outside. The sun was warm.
This is politics for small children. Donald is the US President. Boris was the Prime Minister of the UK. The photographs are taken from the Internet. I do not own any of the copyright.
A small satire on childhood and coping.
An Africa cultural belief told to me.
Written in Juba, South Sudan. For a grandchild.
A story about a hippo.
The priest and small boys. A story for adults based on real events.
A satire for David Seymour on his view of education for NZ children
My own story for a grandchild. The photos were taken by me from the Internet and the copyright belongs to Helga Stentzel.
A story for adults. This was my brother.David, as a child. When we became adults we recalled the meal with our parents.
Gazans are semites. They are Arabic speakers and were born in The Middle East. The actions and killing of Gazans by Israel is Anti-Semitic.
A story for hungry children
A story for Jason and Amanda when they were small
Satire. A radio talk during a coup by George Speight in Fiji in 2000
Kim and Olinda are two friends I made and worked with in Quelimane, Mozambique. In this story, I have imagined them when they were children.
I was working in Kenya in 1998 training young people in Media Education. It was an ordinary day. I was working in the Jomo Kenyatta Centre, a large building in the centre of Nairobi not far from the US Embassy. There was a festival in the JK compound, with thousands of Primary School age children dressed up and enjoying the day.
There was a huge explosion, a wind and black clouds swallowed the sun. Day became night. It rained objects, small and big. Children panicked. Nairobi had met Osama Bin Laden. Somehow I got home and started writing. I sent my article to London and elsewhere and some news agencies published it. In Fiji, my friend Mara Fulmer published it on the Internet and it received more coverage.
Written… not a bad moment, but after I recovered from many bad moments.
Some notes from a shabby diary. I worked in South Sudan for six months.
Boda Boda – Motor Cycle. South Sudan
Us Foreign Development Aid.
A story for children. I wrote it for a young grandchild and then forgot to give it to him.
A destroyed city. Malakal in South Sudan
South Sudan had a Civil War for around 25 years. This city was destroyed during the Civil War.
A Motorcycle Accident in Juba, South Sudan
I was in an NGO vehicle returning from a job. We saw an accident happen and stopped.
I was working at The University of the South Pacific in Suva, Fiji teaching broadcast journalism. Fiji was under military control. This is my report of what happened. I stand by what I wrote. Freedom of speech is under threat in universities around the world.
A satire on or for the military leaders who have enjoyed making coups in Fiji.
A story for my grandson Levi. I wrote it when he was about ten years, then I forgot to give it to him.
Fragments from a Fiji Coup Diary
The present Prime Minister of Fiji, who as an army officer led the first Army coup in 1987 has recently justified his actions. He did so in 1987 and now in 2025, as an elected Prime Minister he still believes he was right. There have been other coups in Fiji since 1987. My Fragments from a Fiji Coup diary was published in the Pacific Journalism Review on 1 May 2009.
Three years after the 1987 army coup in Fiji, I was teaching Broadcast Journalism at The University of the South Pacific (USP). My students recalled their personal experiences of the coup and with portable tape recorders they interviewed a number of people in Suva. Their work was a 20 minute audio documentary about the day of the coup. The full audio documentary was given to the USP library in Suva. It has never been broadcast. It begins with a reporter at Parliament. Play Audio