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East Timor Journal Entries

July 21, 2003 - Bondia from Dili!


I've been here in East Timor nearly three weeks now, but somehow it seems like I've been here forever! They say the first couple of weeks always move slowly…..

I am now settled in on the newly built CARE compound quite close to central Dili. I stayed in the old compound for the first week before the official move to new digs, and was happy to leave behind not the peaceful, green setting or the tennis court cracked by heat and time, but the two rust-coloured, thumb-sized cockroaches that inhabited my bathroom. I named then George and Mira and tried to think of them as friends, but really, little gives me the creeps more than indestructable insects with wiggly antenna more than an inch long. Well, except the rumours of scorpions roaming around behind the fridge in the common kitchen or the worm I saw in my neighbour's quarters that is apparently the type to burrow into human flesh and lay eggs.

But enough of that! Luckily none of them were stowaways on the move to our new compound, and I now live in a brand new little guest room with no one but many, many, many ants. And mosquitos. And a cricket that keeps me up at night.

Insects aside, Dili has a certain je ne sais quois (sorry Francophones). Literally? It is dry and dusty and warm, and aside from the beach front road that traverses the city entirely, has none of the charm one might expect from a former Portuguese colony. It is true that Portugal did little for Timor while they ruled (perhaps the reason they snuck out in the middle of the night back in 1975), and even truer that Indonesia destroyed what they did leave behind. Strolling around town, you can see that there used to be stylish parks and pretty churches and homes, but now, dusty, cracked and broken describes many of these features well. Burned skeletons of ex-homes, shops and places of business serve to create a non-cohesive feel to the city. Cracked and broken also nicely describes the sidewalks all around town, which often contain deep, dark abysses that could swallow you up never to be seen again. More truthfully, most contain filthy stagnant water with various organics and inorganics floating unceremoniously.

Goats graze on weeds in gravelly front lawns and hairy, bloated pigs roam freely. Despite all this, the people seem happy and spirited, always ready with a genuine smile when this white girl smiles and says hi. Certain areas of town boast tipsy little wooden tables and shacks with assortments of neatly piled oranges, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, garlic cloves, chilis and greens for sale, while others in the more 'downtown' streets feature young boys tending to various CD's and DVD's, jewelry, and other knick knacks laid out neatly on the ground.

Then there is the cart parked outside of the burned down supermercado that sells your choice of apples imported from Australia or framed illustrations of Jesus Christ himself. A final alternative is to do your shopping at one of the fancy supermarkets catering to the UN and international crowd, or 'melay' as the locals know us, where you can buy a half liter of Haagen Daazs for only $11US. That is more than my daily allowance, which itself is twice more than most decent Timorese salaries.

The charm is far more evident outside of the city. Not far from Dili are pleasant beaches and a huge statue of Christ (a la Rio de Janeiro) overlooking the clean, clear ocean. Children slosh out at low tide to collect seaweed, bright silvery fish hang in trees awaiting sale, and the backdrop of the dry reddish mountains is beautiful. Driving up into the mountains affords stunning views and takes you out to the rural villages that make home for most of the 800,000 Timorese. I'll leave you with that snap shot of Dili. I have so much more to say, but also plenty of time ahead to say it in. I'll be heading out for a night in the villages this week and will report back on life OUTside of Dili.

Till next time! Atelogu!

> See photos from East Timor.

> See photos from Bali.

> See other East Timor journal entries.



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