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July 30, 2003 - Life in Laclubar
Things seem to be picking up here and the last two weeks have moved pretty quickly. I've found myself even busy, with much less time to kick back with the pile of novels I brought!
Last week, I headed with my PM (project manager) out to the suco of Laclubar in the district of Manatuto, southeast of Dili. Dili is on the north coast of Timor Island, half of which is the country of East Timor, with the other half being West Timor, a province of Indonesia. We left Dili early in the morning and drove east along the north coast. We took the scenic route - will deserving of this description! The early morning sun magically lit up the turquoise blue surf along the coastline and mists dissipated out of the valleys of the corrugated mountains which our road took us winding around. The roadside forests were lush, green and tropical, a nice change from the dry, red and dusty mountains above Dili where small fires constantly burn scorching the scrub and leaving little black stumps of ex-tress. We turned south at Manatuto town and headed inland toward yet more mountains, which top off around 2000m before plunging down to dry, rocky riverbeds. The road was great until we were about an hour inland where the pavement seemed to be giving in to the stress of time and climate - asphalt dropped clear off the side of the mountain, potholes dominated and pavement had eroded under the stress of what must be millions of little rivers flowing across it during the rainy season. The ride turned slow and bumpy with slight respite from road repairs. Randomly spaced patches of new asphalt popped up here and there in the middles of nowhere; each between about 20 to 50m in length, they were smooth as butter. We passed through many little villages, where children would run along side the truck waving and shouting, and women carrying enormous loads of bananas, buckets of water or bundles of laundry on their heads gave us smiles stained red by years of chewing betel nut. We arrived at the CARE base in Laclubar town around 10am and quickly sank into the molasses-like pace that rules out in the subdistricts. Fresh out of gender-training at the CARE base in Dili last week, 5 of our male staff had chuckles as I did some weeding in the base's nursery while, with much pomp and ceremony, they collectively attempted to wash, chop and fry a chicken for our lunch. It was successful in the end and quite tasty - move over Colonel Saunders! We spent the afternoon checking out the progress of some of our project activities - we inspected the nursery at the base where seedlings are being raised for planting in reforestation and agroforestry sites, a terracing effort where pineapples and guayaba were growing, and an agroforestry site on a beautiful hillside farm where tall samtoku trees shade vanilla, coffee, cassava, sandalwood and potato crops. We also established a carbon survey plot (see today's Work Report) on the slopes by a little aldeia ("hamlet") where we were the center of attention of the residents. All every-day activities stopped as we trampled through their sweet potato patches taking GPS readings, staking out plot center lines and measuring the diameters of trees. As the only melay mutin (white foreigner), and a woman at that, I found myself playing pied piper to the children who stared unabashedly and laughed hysterically every time I spoke. They took turns pushing each other in an attempt to make contact with me - by the shrieks of the pushing victim and the speed at which they ran away after the fact, I'm sure they must have thought that touching this pale person would cause them to shrivel up and die. When at last I stuck out my hand, one brave little girl shook it after much giggling and prompting by the others, and then they all wanted a turn. I told them my name and they repeated it over and over, though it sounded more like "Arthur" rather than "Heather". Early evening at the base was relaxing. As seems to be the norm in Timor, dinner was rice, vegetables and some permutation of chicken, and we snacked on afairina (cassava root) and hudi (bananas). The air was quite cool and sweaters and long pants were called for. This made a nice change from hot Dili, though the heat even there is less oppressive than I had prepared myself for (usually hovering in the mid 20's with only some humidity and cloud cover not uncommon). I practiced my fledgling Tetun with the staff, most of which live in Dili but stay at the rural bases during the week. I also played with some children who were hanging out near the base having heard rumours that a white person was in town. I showed them how to use the digital camera and they had a blast trying their hands at photography, and broke out in hysterics upon seeing their images on the camera. The evening turned somber, however, as we had news that the father of one of our local staff members had died. We went to pay our respects at the wake, a tradition that finds friends and family sitting vigil for 2 to 3 days and nights. We first viewed the body shrouded in local 'tais' weaving and surrounded by candles, flowers and Catholic crosses, and we prayed. It was my first time seeing a dead person, and I was a little nervous at the prospect, but he somehow seemed small, happy and peaceful, with every one of his 75 years etched into his slightly ashen face. The eyes that now stared up at the ceiling hadn't seen for more than the year that he had been ill. When I first arrived, I was somewhat the center of attention as whispers of "Melay! Melay!" flew around the room, but hopefully I did nothing more than be white to draw attention to myself. We sat and were served biscuits and that sweet, sweet Timor coffee - lovely organic beans spoiled by adding equal or more parts sugar. This brew was especially strong to help the mourners last through the night. By tradition, we were obliged to smoke a cigarette or chew a betel nut. While I intend to try the latter for a true Timorese experience, I decided that having to ask what exactly to do with the white powdery stuff, the dark green spiky leaf and the nut itself that all those partaking were taking from the circulating basket would just serve to draw more attention to myself, so I chose the cigarette. Instant headache, I was glad to leave not long after that The night was largely made sleepless by project coordinator Joao do Rosario Perreira, who sat in the room next to mine singing "Wooden Heart" (don't ask) over and over again until 3am with the karaoke program on his newly acquired laptop. I hope this was just a novelty and not a regular affair! Strong coffee was required in the morning to power me through the establishment of another carbon sampling plot and the long drive back to Dili. I'm looking forward to my next adventure in the field! I spent Saturday and Sunday diving at Atauro Island, 25km off the coast of Dili. I put my divemaster certification to use and guided dives for Dive Timor, one of three dive shops in Timor, who are paving the way for tourism to arrive in the country. The diving was beautiful, the days filled with sun and saltwater, and the ride back to the city accompanied by playful pods of dolphin and little pilot whales. I am hoping to have lots more weekends like this! > See photos from East Timor. > See photos from Bali. > See other East Timor journal entries. Back to top |
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