Port Moresby has seen more change than it could ever hold onto. A city with old roots and new dreams, it has endured. In September 1975, Papua New Guinea became an independent country. Its capital, Port Moresby, hosted the grand celebration. Prince Charles, then Prince of Wales, represented the Queen. It was a moment of pride. It was the moment the city had been waiting for.

Back then, the streets were quieter. The population grew fast after independence, from 120,000 in 1980 to nearly 200,000 by 1990. Douglas Street was where the heart of the town beat slowly. An old hotel sat there, vacant for over 30 years. Next to it, a new building rose behind the shadows, an odd symbol of what the city became—half-empty and half-new.

Waigani became the center of government. New buildings went up to replace the aging ones downtown. The National Parliament Building opened in 1984. Prince Charles came back for that too, blending traditional designs with modern construction. Other buildings followed—government offices, cultural institutions like the National Museum, and the National Library. But many of them didn’t last.

Years passed, and neglect settled in. The grand Pineapple Building, Marea Haus, and the Central Government Offices fell into disrepair. Abandoned but still standing, they became reminders of the past. The old court house downtown still held its pre-independence title, a relic left untouched, surviving when many others did not.

The United Church downtown, once a longstanding institution, was torn down in 2013. In its place rose a single building. The church now sat quietly on the ground floor, surrounded by the offices that filled the upper floors. It was symbolic of the city—history tucked under modernity, barely visible but still there.

Yet, Port Moresby was resilient. Its streets told stories, but not all of them were of triumph. Some were of resilience.

Story of Alisi

Alisi grew up in a quiet part of the city, close to the harbor. Her father worked at the old court house, a small job, but steady. She lived there all her life, saw the changes, watched the new buildings rise and the old ones crumble. But what bothered her was how people changed.

“They’re forgetting,” her father would say. “They build things, then leave them. But the city remembers.”

Alisi wasn’t sure what that meant. She only knew she didn’t want to forget. She loved the streets, even the ones that looked run-down. And she loved the markets. She had a stall there, selling woven baskets and fresh betel nuts. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

One day, a man came to her stall. He looked different, dressed in a suit, but his face showed he was local.

“Betel nuts?” he asked, his voice deep and slow.

“Yes, fresh,” she answered.

He nodded, buying a few, then lingered. “You’ve been here long?”

She shrugged. “Since I was a girl.”

The man looked around the market. “This place has changed.”

“Everything has.”

“Not everything,” he said, eyes meeting hers.

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but didn’t ask. He left soon after, and she thought little of it. But he came back, again and again. Each time, they talked. He never told her his name, and she never asked. But over time, he became familiar, like an old friend.

Then one day, he came with a question.

“Do you ever think about leaving?”

Alisi frowned. “Leave? Why?”

“There’s more out there, you know. Bigger cities, better markets.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need more. Everything I need is here.”

He smiled, a sad kind of smile. “I thought the same once.”

That night, Alisi thought about his words. The market wasn’t what it used to be. Fewer people came now, and more of the stalls were empty. The new buildings downtown felt cold and distant. The streets didn’t feel the same. But she couldn’t leave. She had too much history here.

Months passed. The man kept coming, but his visits grew shorter. One day, he didn’t come at all. Alisi asked around, but no one seemed to know him. It was as if he never existed. She thought maybe he had left the city, chasing those bigger dreams.

One evening, after closing her stall, she walked along Douglas Street. The old hotel lot caught her eye, vacant as always. A new building stood behind it, casting long shadows over the empty space. She remembered something her father had said. “The city remembers.”

She thought about the man again. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he hadn’t left the city but had simply disappeared into its forgotten corners.

That’s when she saw him, standing in front of the old court house. He was talking to a group of people, all dressed in suits, their faces serious. Alisi approached, curious.

The man glanced at her, then smiled, but this time it wasn’t sad. It was knowing.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Some things change,” he said softly. “But others, they stay.”

Then he turned and walked away. The group followed him, leaving Alisi alone in front of the court house.

She didn’t understand until the next day, when the news spread through the city. The man wasn’t just anyone. He was one of the architects behind the restoration of the old government buildings. He had come back to bring life to the city’s forgotten history.

Alisi smiled, realizing he hadn’t left after all. He had just been waiting, like the old buildings, for the right moment to return.

Alisi’s father, who had worked at the old court house, had once crossed paths with the man’s father decades ago. Their conversation had sparked the idea of preserving the city’s legacy. The city, as her father had said, remembered.