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September 2, 2003 - I brake for goats…
I tend to start every foreign journey with a sense of disbelief, and then one day it hits me - "I'm in East Timor!". It hit me just the other day, actually, when I began to think of all the things that really are strange and different to me, but have become a normal part of life here. Like when I ride my bike, I constantly brake and swerve for goats and pigs. I speak Tetun with local children. I am often called, and respond to, "Mister". I am only slightly thrown off by the fact that someone has tied up a chicken in the kitchen with a plate of rice to snack from, a chicken who will quietly keep me company while I cook and dodge the droppings she has smeared all over the floor. I regularly drink Kickapoo Joy Juice, and every night after crawling under my mosquito net, I count those little monsters that sit on the outside of it looking in, only wishing they could bite. Thanks to ants with a fiery little biting ability, I must shake out my towel before drying off after showers, which, by the way, are perpetually cold. I water the lemongrass that I planted in the nursery between my house and my office, and every evening as I brush my teeth with purified water from a cup, I look out into the mountains above Dili, count the brushfires and think to myself how the lights from the homes in the hills were mistaken for clear and brilliant stars when I first saw them.
A typical day starts at around twenty past seven, when my alarm goes off. I am still dozing, cool but covered in bedsheet, when I hear the drone of the earlybird's motorcycles as they park nearly on top of my doorstep. I shiver through a shower and have my Canadian breakfast of cereal and milk or yogurt, with orange juice. If the locals knew, what scorn I would receive for not eating rice and beans or paun (a heavy bread) for breakfast as they do. They would scorn at my typical lunch of a sandwich as well ("Only people who are having no money already are eating lunch of bread"). Soon after our designated start time of 8am, I emerge from my little house, showered and ready to go, and walk the 15 steps to the office, managing to say 'bondia' to those already lounging on the doorstep of the building - but only after I have pushed the sleep from my brain and reminded myself of this Tetun greeting. We work until 12 noon, sharing the office with all staff only on Mondays when they all come in to sign in before heading out to the field bases for the week. Lunch varies, either a sandwich in my little house, or I go out with one of the other ex-pats in the office - the Timorese on staff almost always prefer to head home for lunch. Work recommences at 1pm, the sweaty, hair-up heat of the day, and the afternoon usually flies by. Meetings, which I have learned sometimes happen just as readily, effectively and necessarily outside with some participants already sitting on their motos ready to head out, take turns with solitary work on the computer (working with GIS or preparing awareness materials on climate change) to fill the work hours of the day in Dili. Days out in the field are a mixture of real field work - planting, tending to nurseries, taking carbon samples - and being an ambassador for either CARE, or for our project. I find myself keeping very busy in the evenings - there are always gatherings of some sort, whether it be a farewell party for an ex-pat, a concert in the park or a dinner out. Sometimes I cook for myself, my latest favourite concoction being a stir fry of tempeh (fermented soy beans) and whatever vegetable happens to be in season that week, with rice of course. I've also just about perfected the art of pizza making in our little toaster oven. Eating out affords many choices of international cuisine, but the 'local' Indonesian food from any number of warungs, padangs or rumah makans (all meaning a restaurant of some sort in Indonesia's language Bahasa) is most fun. A fabulous mixture of tofu, tempeh, chicken, beef, goat, pork, curried jackfruit and veggies (mustard greens or the long tough leaves of the cassava plant), as well as a mysterious dish I vow never to try (it appears to be, and quite certainly is, intestines floating in an orangy soup) is served generously out of giant plastic tubs onto your plate for only $1. Special occasions seem to be the only time to find 'Timorese' food - stalls sell beef or chicken satay in a peanut sauce and katupas - rice with onions, garlic and spices wrapped up in palm leaves and steamed with coconut milk. Mmmm… Caramel flan is a traditional Timorese dessert, making an appearance at festas and gatherings. I'm feeling quite settled in now, and am in danger of letting the next four and a half months fly by all too quickly. I now know Dili, and our project sites, and dozens of ex-pats, but am yearning to learn more about the Timorese people and culture and country. I am reading a lot about the recent history here but find that my Tetun is not yet solid enough to carry on real, meaningful conversations with the people. I can say just about anything I want - or at least get my point across, but understanding quick and passionate conversation is something different altogether. I am improving though, in both respects. Spending time out in the field this week I worked on my Tetun, and at meeting and talking to local people. I have made some plans to tour around Timor over the next few weeks and am looking forward to this - camping, climbing mountains, hiring fishing boats to visit idyllic tropical islands. All only a few hours away, which, on winding mountain roads, translates into much fewer kilometers than you would imagine. I'll keep you posted as I discover more of Timor! > See photos from East Timor. > See photos from Bali. > See other East Timor journal entries. Back to top |
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