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October, 2003 - Life in Laclubar, Part II
A few weeks back, I gave formal invitations to one of our field officers to distribute to the teacher's in Laclubar village, to ask them to meet with me to discuss the nature of some materials that we would be providing for children to teach about the environment and natural resource management. I showed up a few days later to learn that the teachers could not make it to the meeting. This is an excellent example of how useful a telephone system would be in Timor - we could have been saved the six hour round-trip journey. But then the Timorese, for the most part, have much more pressing issues than telecommunications, as I was to be reminded when our meeting finally did convene the following week.
Back in Laclubar the following Wednesday, I had some time before dark to stroll down the main drag - a sloping rutted gravel road. I took only myself and my little digital camera concealed in my pants pocket. Handfuls of young children stood roadside and simply stared as I greeted them on my way by. Some slightly older smiled and shyly waved. A few older still didn't stir from their seats back from the road where they were busy with some task of head lice removal or food preparation, but from the safety of their distance, they shouted "Melay!". I came to the church about half way down the road. Laclubar's church is impressively large and newly white washed. A few panels of colourful stained glass depicting scenes of Mary, Joseph, Jesus and others reflect the mountains surrounding the village. One of two steeples is shrouded in rickety homemade scaffolding. The church attracts people from all over the subdistrict on Sunday mornings - a crowd large enough to make the post-mass Sunday market boom. I hope it did better than the pitiful version of same that I visited early Thursday morning - here there was scarcely fruits or vegetables but only piles of tobacco leaves, tiny new potatoes and a few strips of betel nut strewn out over a garbage laden ground. Below the church were some playing fields - startingly flat in contrast to the steep mountain slopes in the background. I headed there, past a scruffy basketball court where youth called out to me "Ba Neb'ee?" ("Where are you going?") This is a common greeting and not necessarily requiring of an answer, and although I felt silly not giving one, I just smiled and waved. I wasn't confident enough in my Tetun to shout out that I was going to watch the football game. But go to watch the football game I did and I thankfully created little stir by doing so. Agostinho, one of our project staff was playing and he was the star of the game. The main game took place on an abbreviated pitch center field and was interrupted by requisite push-ups when the other team scored. Mini games by mimicking youngsters used homemade soccer balls and served to keep the little ones out of trouble. Agostinho gave me a lift back to the base on the back of his motorcycle when at last it was too dark to continue playing - I was glad for this as it had gotten chilly. They would continue again tomorrow after work, he told me. My meeting convened on Thursday at 10:30am. School children milled about around town as I headed down to the school house - this was my fault for taking their teachers away for the day. I had imagined a small and casual meeting, but all levels of teacher and superintendent showed up from all corners of the subdistrict. I was glad I had brought refreshments, and watched with amusement as every last Coke, juice and cookie was devoured or squirreled away unabashedly into purses and pockets. I could only imagine the teachers wanted to share these treats with their families later on??? The meeting began slowly but picked up pace, climaxing with a very positive reaction on behalf of the teachers to the children's story I had written about a boy and a girl who were given a magical stone by Mother Nature which allowed them talk to the natural resources of their environment and learn about the importance and protection of these natural resources. My story was said to have universal appeal and they were most excited about turning the story into a cartoon style presentation. Of course one major problem is what language to publish the story in. Tetun is the language of the nation, Bahasa Indonesia is the language of current school materials, and Portuguese (a language not currently spoken by the children or their teachers) is to be the language of instruction beginning in 2004. But that is a whole other story… But as the meeting wrapped up, the teachers took the opportunity to ask this foreigner for some things. They asked humbly for items in exchange for the work they have been doing on Care's project in their village. They made admirable requests - for a globe, a guitar, a volleyball, but the very fact they were making the requests pointed to a much bigger problem. It indicated to me that they were not understanding the nature of Care's involvement in their village. Care, and indeed other NGO's, come into village with the aim of helping the people and the village. The NGO takes nothing tangible in return - we do not stand to benefit or profit. We simply go in, work with the villagers in what is hopefully a participatory and inclusive manner, to improve their livelihoods. In our particular project, we provide forest and fruit tree seedlings to the villagers for them to plant in their farms. We provide them with knowledge and suggestions. Yet, in return for their planting the seedlings that we give them, they ask for compensation. I am afraid they are missing the point. I felt sad at this, never mind on the spot in the meeting. I agreed to take their requests to head office, and only when they crossed the line and began asking for photocopiers and computers, did my translator endeavour to give an explanation along the lines I have given above. Though they seemed to understand and accept the response, it only seemed to open a can of worms - they began to talk about the other problems they have in the village - lack of water, inappropriate farming techniques, lack of education and knowledge and expertise, and so on. It turned into a forum for these teachers to talk about their problems. I listened and sympathized in the only way I knew how, but I felt helpless. Perhaps just being there to listen is a start. At any rate, I took away with me a sense of what is really important to the people of the village. It was a long ride back to Dili. Our driver had come down with Dengue fever, so I and my translator Paulino were to take turns driving back, but Paulino was having so much fun driving that I never took my turn. We had lots of chance to chat on the way about anything and everything that came up. It's fun, and eye-opening, realizing some of the odd little differences between our countries, and indeed our worlds. We passed a herd of cows by the road and talked about the price of a cow. Paulino couldn't understand why I didn't know how much a cow costs in Canada (Do you?). We passed a rice paddy. "What grows there?" I asked (not knowing how to tell the difference between a rice field and a garlic field). Paulino was shocked and looked at me as if I was a moron born yesterday. "Rice!" he said incredulously. In my defence, I replied "We don't have rice in Canada!". Even more shocked, he answered with great concern "WHAT DO YOU EAT!?!?!". We braked suddenly for a chicken that darted across the road. Paulino asked "Do you have many chickens in the city you come from in Canada?". I dodged the answer. I just had no idea what to say. Back in Dili, I capped off the interesting day with a ride through Komoro Market to pick up fresh tofu and tempeh and a pineapple. I then rode to the beach to watch the sunset but had just missed it - the sun sinks so fast here, so near to the equator. Instead I strolled along the waterfront road past the strips of hopeful vendors selling roasted corn by the light of their fires. I indulged in one as a pre-dinner snack. It was roasted to perfection, with only a few kernels popped on the husk, and slathered in salty butter. As I sat to eat it, half a dozen little boys competed for the chance to sell me eggs from their stacked egg carton trays, but I was in no need of such a commodity. I told them my name, and told them that if the next time they saw me, they could remember my name, I would by an egg from each of them. They seemed happy with that and cheered as I rode away. I'll let you know if I ever buy those eggs… > See photos from East Timor. > See photos from Bali. > See other East Timor journal entries. Back to top |
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