While I spoke about excited children yelling Malae, malae, last time, there is another demographic that deserves some attention. With as much enthusiasm and exhilaration as the children, I find myself confronted with frequent exclamations of “Bonita”, “Cantik”, and a very extensive and s surprisingly creative selection of declarations of eternal love. I was just contemplating this fact, and how to formulate it for the purpose of this blog, when I, walking back to the office from lunch, was wildly embraced by an elder gentleman missing the tips of his fingers. I suffered an explosion of questions, who are you, where are you going, are you married, will you marry me? And before I knew it we had moved from hand wave to handshake, to a very big hug. I escaped with an apologetic, “I'm sorry, I'm already married”.
Tomorrow is national day of youth. It used to be the national day of commemoration for the Santa Cruz Massacre. It commemorates the sacrifice made by the hundreds of young people who were killed 12th of November, 1991, in the fight for the liberation of Timor. It was the event that raised international awareness to the plight of the Timorese people under Indonesian occupation.
The massive graveyard is just around the corner from my office, and it is a strange sensation to walk around there. Tomorrow I am told there will be candles everywhere in the evening and a procession to the graveyard, where one can still find bullet holes wedged in the tombs. Sometimes it can seem very surreal, but these events, and multiple atrocities, are not a part of distant history. In April when having lunch with Tanja, mom, David the anthropologist, our driver told us his dramatic story, participating in the demonstration, being shot, and subsequently arrested by the Indonesian military. And he considered himself one of the lucky ones.
On an entirely different note; I've had a very busy few weeks. Well, busy is perhaps an exaggeration, eventful, is more appropriate. Last weekend the day of the dead gave us a four day weekend. Mom and I celebrated with a 1500 piece puzzle of the tower of Babel, and the obligatory medicinal G&T. A great many people came to the Bidau Santana Graveyard, which is just around the corner from where we live, bringing flowers for their ancestors. The whole graveyard is a sea of exceptionally vibrant colours, and there are flowers everywhere. These flowers are the convenient non-perishable type. All little stores along the street have been overflowing with buckets of plastic flowers. Families come with baskets, the flowers covered in beautiful white cloths. There is something spectacular about the Catholic graveyards here. There are so many graves, crammed in, leaving very little space for movement, and the graves are colourful, with beautiful tiles, photographs of the deceased, and of course, the abundant plastic flowers.
Wednesday I started my new voluntary job at Ita Nia Rai. Subsequently I have spent many hours reading documents, plans, and laws regarding land and property. I have been meeting with the various staff members, been introduced to the five departments that I will be a part of auditing, and I have spoken so much juvenile Indonesian and tattered Tetun, that my own ears are bleeding. The lingua Franca of the office is Tetun, but everyone understands, and speaks at least a little Indonesian. I speak it too, but not nearly well enough, but there's nothing for it but to learn fast, and I am. While I'm sure that there are many subtleties that I miss out on in these meetings, I am very relieved that I will be able to work here without needing an interpreter for meetings. Either way, it is good that there is a long weekend coming up, as the brain is tired, and multi-lingually tongue-tied, and I think it will be worth revising what I learnt the first two weeks.
Saturday the 6th, the Presidential Palace hosted a ceremony for Kirsty Sword – the first Lady. She is known to make great efforts towards the preservation of local culture, among these initiatives have been the recovery of ancient weaving patterns, jewelry, etc. For more on this, and her work for women and children, check out the Alola Foundation. Most recently she has been working towards the preservation of the many languages that exist in Timor. While the official language is Portuguese, which few people outside the elite speak, and Tetun, which isn't the language in all districts, and while Indonesian is being banished, though it is the most common language, Timor has over 20 individual languages. People will often speak their local district language, as well as Tetun, and Indonesian, and now, also Portuguese which they are taught in school, and of course, the very important English. There has been much commotion, but it seems now that they will not introduce Portuguese until the 5th grade, which seems a very sensible idea.
You can view the promotional video here. The man with the red glasses is the President; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66yCllAunAI
Kirsty has thus hosted a nation wide competition; Hau nia Lian, Hau nia RaiTimor Telecom goodie bag for their efforts, and were handed certificates by the President, and got to shake hands and have their cheeks kissed by the PM and his wife, Kirsty. The winners were old and young, women and men. One winner, a very young little girl, bravely walked up to the front of the large assembly in what must of been her best clothes, though the skirt was ripped in the back. She didn't seem starstruck at all by the warm handshake of the President, and co. Later a young boy also received his prize, and happily high-fived PM Xanana, the Che Guevara of Timor-Leste. It's a pretty relaxed country, while all of us Malae, where dressed in our fine garb, the Xanana's kids were audibly playing Pokemon cards in the back of the room: “I killed you with firebreath” “Not fair!”. The ceremony also involved dancing, and music, as well as a Timorese style Capoeira performance, and there were many celebratory exclamations, viva Timor.
While we all wondered out into the hall for snacks and drinks, we were suddenly intruded upon by a group of Australian motorcross riders. They arrived, dirty, sweaty, and very confused in the middle of it all, and singled out Mr. President, Ramos Horta, to give him a motorcross shirt with his name on, and to take photographs. While the whole thing seemed absurdly out of place, they were happy to stay; and eat our food, and drink our drinks of course. Timor – its a fairly relaxed sort of a place.
Tuesday I went to Aileu with Nigel, to visit the field office in the district. Ita Nia Rai has a field office in every district (nearly, we're missing two or three, but we're working on that) and from here the measuring of land takes place, with pen, paper, and measuring tape. The data is later put into maps, and aerial photographs provided by Australian Military. The map printing room is definitively one of the coolest in the office. I promise there will be some pictures of all this later on.
We travelled up to see the opening ceremony of the new Usaid Agricultural development Office. This involved the Cefe do Suco, a priest, and holy water. Aileu is about two hours by car, up into the mountain, and away from Dili. It is much cooler there, and when the weather is good, it is extremely beautiful. The river runs through the small valley, and there are trees and coffee mismanaged coffee plants everywhere. There are horses, buffalo, goats, and pigs, all getting busily on with their lives.
A number of people were given teis, above you see the Chefe de Suco, and my boss, Nigel. Speeches were held, and we all had a wonderful lunch with the same delightful music that was played at the wedding last month. No one broke into Timorese two-step this time though. Instead the many participants malae and Timorese chattered about development related issues. Nigel and I went along to inspect the greenhouses that the project was creating. They receive orders for particular vegetables from Kmanek supermarket in Dili (this is the one called “Your friendly Neighbourhood store”) and so they have a constant demand, which is hard to supply. The greenhouses. They produce all manner of vegetables, from tomatoes to cabbages, to Asian basil, that smells deliciously of anis. I'll spare you the many technical details involving how to make an electricity independent pumping system, and other things. Suffice to say, I found it all frighteningly interesting.
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| Seedlings in the nursery |
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| Corn outside the greenhouse |
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| Beautiful fragrant basil |
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| Lettuce and cabbage everywhere |
On the way we passed an old Indonesian Prison. I don't have so much to say about it, there are several around the country. Tanja and I visited on in Dili in April, and I promise that it is not a pleasant place. Cramped conditions, devoid of sunlight, with a floor covered in water, and a number of awful things that the imagination brings to life. The places are rampant with mosquitoes, and people were kept there for years. Taken out for regular abuse and torture, and sometimes placed in the small black rooms, food thrown onto the excrement covered floors, and kept there for years. Often without knowing why. While I don't know where, or under what conditions, the Chefe do Suco of my village admitted to having been arrested under the occupation, after having assisted the guerrilla fighter in the mountains. The prison is empty now, and it just stands as an ugly shell of the past.
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| Deserted Prison |
Nearby we visited the second greenhouse, driven by a nearby stream and artificial waterfall. In the picture below you can see Bruno – Portuguese agricultural expert explaining to Nigel and I how everything works. While the trip to Aileu was certainly relaxing, and interesting, it is easy to underestimate how much learning is taking place, and I only realise when I get home, utterly exhausted.
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| Bruno Explains |
We visited the INR office briefly, where the staff are busily reviewing the collected data, to eliminate errors before we declare that district finished. We then headed home, a two hour drive down the mountain. On the way, we drove down through the clouds, with the sun and blue sky on one side, and the all encompassing whiteness, with ghostly trees poking out on the other. It was astonishingly beautiful, watching the cloud unfurl over the road, more cloud forming as we watched. In Dili, the day was as beautiful as ever, the sun setting, and the yellow taxi blarring its usual bizarre mix of Timorese pop, and American country music. Have a lovely weekend.
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| Avocado Tree, with huge clusters of fruit. |
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