UDAN BOT! Big Rain! ---- storm story #1

It's been pouring elephants and hippopotamuses out here on our end. 2 days ago it poured so hard that by the time i left the office at 7pm, the entire street in front was flooded up to the shin level. I stood around helpless until a colleague passed by and offered to drop me somewhere that was hopefully drier to catch a taxi home. So i jumped onto his motorbike and cruised through the street that had become a river. But we went no further than 20m when he was forced to stop as he feared for the life of his beloved machine. The water was so deep that it was threatening to choke the exhaust pipe and kill his bike. So we found a little island of dry land and stood there waiting - hoping for the waters to recede.
All around us were young men who were thrilled with the rains. They were wading about - paying little regard that by now, sewerage water, drain water & all sorts of rubbish had converged and that they were wading through highly toxic waters. Everytime a car passed through, it would send waves towards our islet. "Tsunami, tsunami," they would cry each time that happened. I shuddered to think what if it was indeed a tsunami (and this was a day after Dec 26) and also to think of all the little kids with sores on their legs wading through the water. My colleague began chatting with a boy and i heard the word 'lafaek' and immediately demanded a translation. He calmly told me there's a croc trying to get out in the street behind us. How lucky can one get? Standing in the rain, in the dark, feeding mosquitoes and possibly a crocodile that might sidle up in the waters? HELP!
Finally after what seemed an eternity, I spotted a UNICEF car pass by and managed to get it to stop and bring me home. All the way home, Dili had become Venice. But now safely inside a big car, the rain water did not seem half as scary even though i could see that there was no way one could tell where the sidewalk ended and the drains began. *shudder* anyone could fall in.
The next morning, we heard that 2 youngsters had died in the storms. One of them was a 16 year old gal who had dropped into the drain after she had been harassed by young boys and was distracted. She was swept away to her death.
This is the reality here in Timor.

realities of war

girl with red umbrella
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

i know it's Christmas and so I should not be writing depressing stuff. But a recent article in Timor Post that was translated by a colleague caught my eye after he asked me to edit it for grammar and language. I was shocked. So maybe i am ignorant but still saddened.
The article was about children who died during the 24 years of resistance in Timor Loro'sae. A former Falintil guerilla known as 'Bisoi' told the reporter that it was true that during the resistance, some children were killed by their parents. She stressed that this was due to the extenuating circumstances of the war. Bisoi explained that many women had children during the time they were living in the bush and fighting against the occupiers. Sometimes these women had no choice but to either abandon their children when there was absolutely nothing to eat or when the cries of their hungry and traumatised children might lead the enemies to kill the entire troop of guerillas. So it was out of no choice that many put down their own children. SHe revealed this in the Parliament as she was pushing for these children to be recognised as having contributed to the independence struggle.
A frisson of fear ran down my spine as i read the report. I cannot imagine ever being asked to do that. To kill my own flesh and blood. Although Bisoi stressed that the general commander never ordered the children to be killed, it was the overarching goal of winning the resistance that pushed some parents to sacrifice their children. It is so sad. Children are always such innocent victims. What can you do when your baby cries endlessly because your breast has run dry of milk? Oh.. how it must have broken the hearts of those mothers who had to do the unspeakable. ALhtough the war is over, its effects are still being felt here. HOw can a mother ever recover if she had killed her own baby?
Do we know how lucky we are? People who have never known conflict. People who have only experienced war through movies or video games.
The other day we were up in the mountains near Dili when G pointed out to the bushes and said, "look, here's where we slept during the 99 conflict." they slept in the forest, surroudned by coffee trees and bitten by the insects. I never cease to be amazed by their resilience.

THIS NEW YEAR --- let's pray for PEACE on earth. Let's pray that the LOVE we exude may overcome the devil and his games.

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM TIMOR!

Wishing everyone a great year ahead - one that's filled with grace and happiness. What's your wish list for the next six months? Here's mine:
1. Get into Columbia University for my Masters
2. Learn more Tetum
3. Become more patient & humble (!)
4. Do more exercise
5. Talk to and trust God even more
6. Climb Mt Ramelau, Snorkel at Jako Island and stay over at Atauro Island
7. Write many more articles about Timor
8. Memorise the World Map (!)
9. Take good pictures of amazing Timor
10.Do some good (!!hmmm tough one!)

feliz navidad!

crazy team at our annual xmas party!
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

We had a zany xmas party this past saturday at EXOTICA restaurant - formerly Sagres the portuguese restaurant, next to Victoria, which is on the way to Cristo Rei...
Despite the rain, spirits were high and got even higher when AQ joined in our section's skit with his x-dressing (courtesy of Ibu Aquino!). Peals of laughter were echoed through the hall when AQ strutted in with me as his 'son'. Our section's presentation was a spoof of our counterparts in RTTL - the public broadcaster.
Called 'Orcamentu La iha' - it's based on the endless cycle of "osan la iha" (no money) to "proposta iha nebe?" (where's the proposal?) to "orcamentu laiha" (no budget) that faces both our section and our counterparts. With little regard for our 'image', our silly section took the crowd by storm and got them all holding their stomachs,splitting their sides.
Here's to another great year ahead! The craziest and most creative section! YEAH!

Swooning over Mr X

President Xanana & PM Alkatiri@Santa Cruz
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

How do you blog about your first encounter with the President of Timor-Leste (former guerilla resistance fighter, thrown in jail, married to an OZ women, father of 3 lovely kids & political extraordinaire) without sounding like an absolute groupie? And what can you make of his friendly slap on your back that takes you by surprise and renders you speechless and stupefied - like a 'stunning' spell had hit you? Ahhh.... you can only sigh in disbelief that you had been touched by someone larger than life. SWOOOOOON...

what snowflake are you?

what snowflake are you?
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

Christmas is 12 days away....
How are you spending it this year? Are you getting carried away by the enthralling Xmas lights, the jingles,and the shopping frenzy that is Mammon Inc's twist on the great day 25 December? Or are you taking this time to ponder on why Jesus was sent to us?
Here in Dili, where no snow falls, a few of us have been busy recreating a white Xmas with paper snowflakes (with used paper no less). The office has plans to visit 2 orphanages to bring some cheer to the kids there and of course, a Xmas party to reward all of us who have worked hard for the kiddies this past year.
These days it's easy to forget the message of Xmas - which is about unconditional love - and indulge in self-love instead.

Make a difference this Xmas.
Don't be shy to spread LOVE.

Kidding around

Being technologically-challenged, I lack the genius to programme those fancy links to what i wanted to show y'all. But anyways, here are some links of stories i have written recently:

Singapore in 2025 - what will it be like?

Raising up Marta - a cartoon role model for Timorese kids

Eeky worms in da stomach

beating polio

COCKadoodledoo

COCKadoodledoo
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

With the avian flu making more than noses running in the region, everyone’s on a higher alert even here in tiny far away Timor. We’re really in greater danger than most of us realize because East Timor, as its name clearly explains, is only half of an island and as most border experts will let you know, it’s one **LL of a job keeping borders patrolled and under control. Not only do we have people crossing, we also have chickens and ducks and other fowl friends migrating. So if the bird flu does hit our neighbour in the west, the border will be our weakest link.

And so what’s the big deal? The solution seems simple in the more developed countries – kill all chicken in farms, spray copious amounts of disinfectants on cars, people etc, and keep all fowls under nets and shelters. The big deal is… chickens are like Men’s best friends here. Really! I am serious! It’s not uncommon to see men holding and hugging their roosters, while on the bus and in the streets. This is because their roosters are their source of income at cockfights that take place countrywide. It’s an Southeast Asian tradition of letting big cocks fight out each other, with grown up men cheering their fowls and hedging their bets – which can sometimes amount to a lot of money. So yes, these feathered friends are precious income generators and thus are treated with great respect and affection. In fact, I have seen the cocks receiving lots of stroking and massages in the morning “to keep their muscles supple.”

And the biggest threat of bird to human transmission here? Men giving the kiss of life to their cocks when the fowls faint from exhaustion during the fights. I KID YOU NOT. Granted – I have not personally witnessed such an extreme display of affection but I have heard of it many times. Now, with such levels of intimacy, how do you ask these men to slaughter their cocks when bird flu flies into town?

TERMInatTE

Just when i thought i had gotten used to surprises in my room (erhem! not the human kinds), i was introduced to new ones when i arrived home one day to discover a mound of something that resembled loose soil at the corner of my bathroom door. Yes you have already seen that door when my sink fell but no, take a look at this picture!

At first i thought it was a garden elf that lost its way in my room and had accidentally dumped soil and fertilisers there... but peering closer, i saw little itsy bitsy ants moving around busily! Yikes! There was a mixture of soil and gravel like stuff in the mound and i really stood there for a while before it dawned on me -- IT'S A TERMITE NEST! How did it get there? I don't know. I never noticed until today.

I ran for my camera and snapped away but alas was unable to get a real good shot.. i think my hands were shaking with
excitement... and then i ran and called my neighbour to come "see my termite nest!" before calling my landlord and the guy who maintains the place (yes, same guy who cleared up the basin) to see the nest.

Ok, so my neighbour behaved like any gal would, "eee...." she said when she saw the nest. My Vietnamese friends? They looked at it - no sound came out , not a peep - i was craning my ears - i thought this GOT to beat the other surprises! At least, show some expression! But no, they came, they saw, and they conquered the nest with an unglamorous broom and dustpan.

SWEEP SWEEP SWEEP and all the soil was in the dustpan... my floor stained with muddy streaks and footprints... and then they left my room. WAIT - not before saying, "In vietnam also have" and a no-nonsense nod which completely floored me. Ok... there you go, B, shut up! It's just Termites! They won't eat you, they're only interested in WOOD - anyways you stay alone so why worry if the bathroom door disintegrates? Stop being the wimpy city girl and act like you have never seen wildlife!

who can know their pain?

12 november 1991 - a day of horrific bloodshed at the Santa Cruz Cemetery where Indonesian soldiers closed in on Timorese who were mourning the death of Sebastiao Gomes - an 18 year old who was killed 2 weeks before by the Indonesians at Motael Church while protesting for independence. Timorese families lost loved ones and till this day, do not know where they are now.

Today there is a huge cross in the Santa Cruz Cemetery where flowers and garlands and candles are offered to the hundreds who were killed and their bodies never found. That massacre has gone down the annals of history and ironically, without the bloodletting, Timor could still now be part of Indonesia.

According to G, Sebastiao's father did not cry when his son was killed, he said his son died a resistance hero. It was because of Sebastiao's death that led to the Indonesian plot to kill all those who gathered at the cemetery - after all, what better time to fire upon thousands of Timorese children, women, men, armed with nothing but kerchiefs and flowers while penned up within the cemetery walls? The guns were fired, people killed, injured, and shanghaied to places that, till now, nobody knows. It is said that 400 people died that day.

Thankfully, there were courageous (or should we say 'crazy') journalists there to record this display of bloodthirstiness. Amongst the many was Max Stahl who is now renowned for showing the world, evidence of the massacre. He buried his videocassette into the ground and handed to the soldiers, blank tapes and his video camera which they broke. Amazingly, his life was spared. To this day, MS remains in Timor dedicated to archiving the country's past and making films to show the new generations of the struggle for freedom.

I visited the Santa Cruz Cemetery today - along with hundred others as they took part in a ceremony to remember the massacre. I had always hesitated to visit the cemetery because i did not want to be a disaster/tragedy tourist but today i knew i had to go.

I asked to see Sebastiao's grave and was led there by G. Already, there were flowers and candles placed there, with his photo there - frozen in time - at 18 years old. If he was alive, he would be 33, just a couple of years older than me. But if he were alive, would Timor be a free country? Would i be there at Santa Cruz to visit his grave?

G and I stood under the shade and she began to share her stories for the first time. In 1991, she was only 10 years old and remembered running home from school with her little sister, seeing people with blood a nd wounds on the street. She hid under the bed at home and cried endlessly. Their father had attended the mass that morning to remember Sebastiao and everyone thought he would be dead - like the hundreds lying atop graves at Santa Cruz. When he walked through the door, they were all shocked.

By Providence, he had not joined in the procession but went to buy medicine for G's mother instead. He escaped death. G's family - like many others - were in the resistance, clandestine and overt. Once her father disappeared and for 40 days they could not find him anywhere. On the 40th night, he returned home and they thought they saw his ghost because he was so emaciated, and had a full face of beard. That massacre may be 14 years ago but the pain that remains is indescribable nor fathomable by us.

G said that a friend J had bullets removed from his chest just 3 years ago - bullets that were fired on 12 November 1991. Can you know that pain? For 11 years, those silver nuggets were lodged in his body, reminding him ceaselessly of that day. His flesh may have grown around to bury them but it was impossible. But in contrast, physical pain is the lesser evil compared to mental trauma and anguish. 2 of J's sisters were raped by the soldiers - one died while the other survived. How can you bury that hatred, that anger? How can you look at another Indonesian again and not want to plunge a knife into his heart? But the Timorese have managed to reject that vengeful spirit.

G said, initially they just wanted to kill any Indonesian in sight, but soon, they were able to see where the DEvil really is. In fact, there were many courageous Indonesians too, who stayed on to help the Timorese. Some also worked within the system, by giving information and protecting people. I have met many Indonesians who now call themselves Timorese, speak Tetum and love the country fiercely. They are now working in NGOs to make this country better together. Isn't it such a relief that for every baddie in this world, there are many saints to make this world a sane place?

'Moving on' - how do you do that after such a traumatic past? For some people, 24 years of their lives were dedicated to this resistance. 24 years of clandestine operations, of living in fear, of whispering, of listening for footsteps, of not laughing without a care. How do you put all that aside and 'move on'? It's no wonder, many remain locked inside their minds.

But the majority have managed to laugh again. Sometimes you forget that you are speaking to a people who just bade farewell to violence so recently.

I admire the Timorese. Their resilience overwhelm me. I wish i had a big kerchief to wipe all their tears away and make them smile again. But first we'll need some time to sew that big kerchief.

For an account of what happened that day:
http://www.motherjones.com/news/special_reports/
east_timor/evidence/nairn.html

Foam party in Acanuno

foam party in akanuno
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

this is a bittersweet moment for me... While this young gal is having foamy fun - like a child - she's also doing the entire household's laundry, like a mother.

this whole week, i have been at a workshop to develop Marta - an animation character - who is meant to be a tool to advocate for girls' rights in Timor.

there are so many issues facing girls here - as with many other societies. Early marriage "kaben sedu" when girls get married off at 14 years; early pregnancy when girls become mothers at 15 or 16 and face high risks because their bodies are too young to sustain such stress; lack of education because girls are the first to drop out of school when the family's too poor, or when she gets married off, or when she has to look after 8 other siblings; etc.

although in TL, there isn't an overt discrimination against girls unlike in China for example, women still face greater challenges than men.

It's especially disheartening when you go to the local markets and see the men gambling with wads of US dollars in their hands, while the womenfolk are sitting on the roadsides and markets selling their produce or wares.

it's not just here in Timor you see such behaviour. In Vietnam, i saw hordes of men drinking coffee at all hours and no women doing so - they were out working in the fields or on the streets peddling their wares.

Someone told me, "we're not trying to bash the men but trying to make life easier for the women."

The men in TL have struggled hard too -for the country's independence but so have the women - they fought alongside as soldiers and clandestine supporters - and also bore children, fed the families and looked after the sick.

WOMEN and MEN were made by God to be companions and to serve GOD together.

high heat

the heat in Dili is reaching unbearable heights...
even walking to work at 0730hrs is an ordeal, as the hot sun scorches down mercilessly. i now have to start walking at 0700hrs in order to escape the blinding sun that has been waking up earlier each day.
Somehow Mother Nature has worked it out this way - the heat gets so intolerable, you are happy when the rains come.
You might remember me bemoaning the early onset of rains a few weeks ago but now it is the smell of rain, the rumbling in the skies, and the shady clouds that i most welcome
it's just too hot here - so hot that yesterday, after 3 hours out in a village, i came back with a terrific headache, suffered mild heat exhaustion and puked out my dinner in the middle of the night
i can only imagine those who live without any electricity - how do they bear the heat? the air becomes so still, you feel like a fly in a thick, creamy soup.
in singapore - our solution to heat is hopping from one shopping mall to the next, linked by an endless maze of underpasses that are also airconditioned
LKY was right to say that the airconditioner was the greatest modern invention
arghh
my sweat glands are protesting from overdrive
yucks. tomorrow another day of sweating.

festival of lights

modern lights
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

i went to a Diwali celebration hosted by 2 indian couples and a German couple - all of whom are from or had stayed on the Indian Continent for years. We had great vegetarian food (which i now wished i had photographed but i was too busy gorging myself) and a wonderful evening sitting in Elke's backyard which was bathed in soft lights emanating from cute chinese lanterns and dragonflies, while the garden was lined with flickering candles.

I was reminded of that incredibly romantic scene in The English Patient when the Sikh soldier lit up shells filled with oil for the nurse on her birthday. Aw....


But what struck me most that night was that it was my first Diwali celebration! Now how could that have been? I was celebrating Diwali in a mostly Catholic country where there were maybe 20 Indians in total while i have never joined in festivities in Singapore? Why is that so?
It's sobering to think that despite being so famously multicultural, the mix of ethnicities and races in Singapore is still less than desired.

I remember my former Malay neighbours in Bedok South who would invite us for kueh kueh whenever they celebrated festivals - and it was pretty often. I was a greedy young child (and still is!) so I always looked forward to an invitation to a feast.

Alas, after moving to a bigger apartment in Bedok North (yes, still in the east) those neighbourly relations have disappeared. Most people prefer to keep their doors shut and less keen to chit chat and get to know each other. Thankfully a new neighbour with 3 grandkids have moved in and our families have become closer.

Well, returning to that point about friends of other ethnicities. I have realised for some time now that i have few friends who are Malay or Indian. There were a few at work and an even fewer in my inner circle. Why?

Hmm... ain't got no answer for that yet. i'm going to mull over that longer.

VERIFY your facts!

i received three of the same SMS today:

"Please pray for PASTOR Ferdie Flores, missionary in East Timor. He is going to be executed tomorrow by beating. Please forward to all Christians."

True or false? Well, being here in Timor Leste meant that i could verify the facts immediately by a) asking my timorese friends "Do you have capital punishment that uses beating to kill prisoners???" b) scanning the national newspapers c) asking my Timorese friends "have you heard of a pastor who will be killed tomorrow?"

the answer is NO. THIS IS A BIG rumour started by a certain person and innocently propagated by some of my dear friends.

I did some online checks and realised that there is indeed a website of this pastor and his family. On it, he recounts some threats he had faced but right on top of this was a BRIGHT YELLOW crawler that said "recent reports about impending execution are inaccurate". SO yes, this pastor probably met with some fanatics but he wasn't about to be beaten to death. I know there are many cases of religious being persecuted (all over the world) but sending an SMS such as the one above gives a very wrong impression. It sounded as if it was a LEGAL government-sanctioned killing.

Timor-Leste is trying to progress as a civilised nation. In fact, it ranked higher than many other countries on press freedom recently. SUch rumours would only cause people to think that our lil island is still crawling with barbarians. Yes, to be honest, there are still many animists and people living in the bush, and yes, horrific things have happened here before but still... let's give Timor a chance to breath.

I don't want to sound like a skeptic and I know you have good intentions but...please verify your facts before passing on messages.

Just like those inumerable appeals for blood and platelets - if we stop to verify the REAL cases, then the genuine victims will receive prompt help. This is the case of "Cry WOLF" where people no longer take appeals seriously.

As a former journalist, my advice is also never to believe any piece of information 100% because truth has many facets and many times news organisations and people (due to commercial or partisan interests) report only their side of the truth. They ain't lying but just not telling the whole truth. Anyways, this could lead to a thesis on debating what TRUTH really is and that's too philosophical for a Monday afternoon.

Just be discerning and yes, also stop forwarding those "YOU CAN WIN AN IPOD" kinda emails cos all those people want is emails of your friends so that they can spam them in future. Do check your facts - it'll take only 5 minutes.

Pieces

The washbasin came down with a mighty crash.For a split second, time stood still. I saw the porcelain basin smash into smithereens - pieces flying in slow motion. Slightly shocked, I stepped away instinctively.


But it was too late - a river of red had begun to flow beneath my feet.
I sighed. I knew I had been cut but the signals of pain had not yet travelled to my brain. This was going to be an eventful shower. What to do now? I tried to get out of the way, but it was tough considering that I was still soaped and slippery. Thankfully I had my contact lenses on so I wasn’t blind as a bat. I spotted my glasses lying in the broken pile and rescued it first.

The red river was gaining momentum. I lifted up my left foot and saw a pulsating wound. I sprayed it with water but the blood kept flowing.

“Remember to lift up the injured part to stop the blood flowing”
One piece of advice I am glad I remembered from my first aid course. Hopping on one leg, I curled up my left leg behind me. I must have looked hilarious if not for the blood streaming down. I kept saying to myself, calm down gal. Don’t panic. It’s just a little blood.But the blood wouldn’t stop.

“put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flowing”
A second piece of advice I am thankful I remembered.I pressed my left thumb firmly onto the wound on my left sole, while at the same time holding on to the shower head with my right arm. Bless my right leg for all the balancing work and thank goodness for the yoga classes. The blood began to decrease and trickled to a stop. I showered off the rest of the soap, grabbed my towel and hopped out of the bathroom, leaving spots of blood on the floor.

I plonked onto a chair and lifted up my foot, at that time, I realized that my right big toe was cut too! So there I was- stark naked- with BOTH my feet up in the air.
After a few seconds, the blood clotting mechanisms finally kicked in. Still looking like a duffus, I looked around and saw that the swivel chair was at arm’s length.
I tugged it towards me and hopped onto it and then rolled over to my wardrobe in search of my first aid kit. I cleaned the wounds and poured on some Yunnan Baiyao (Yunnan White Medicine). This Baiyao is considered a cure-all in China so this would be a good test to see if the claims are true.



With my cuts plastered up, and big toe throbbing, I rolled around the room, cleaning up the mess, and even had the state of mind to remove my undies from the toilet before summoning the maintenance guy – Naier – into my room. I didn’t clean up the spots of blood on the floor though. I thought I should spice up Anna’s cleaning routine the next day.

I stared at the big gauze on the bottom of my left foot (3 cuts) and the plaster on my big toe (one cut), satisfitied with my first aid. Naier took some time to extricate the washbasin (in its thousand pieces) from the pipes and then so sweetly cleaned up the bathroom. I ate some self made yoghurt (which I was supposed to blog about until this accident happened) while waiting for him to finish.

At first I thought it was purely my fault for causing the basin to fall but the smashed up pieces revealed rusty and rotted parts which would have broken sooner or later.



So what was i doing to cause the basin to fall? 'Proper' and 'Standard' writing would demand that i reveal this so as to complete the picture but i think i am taking the suspense mystery route and will keep that piece of information to myself -just so that the next time you see me you can ask me why.


Have a safe and painFREE shower today!

Tale of the Lafaek

A long time ago, a small boy found a crocodile struggling to make his way from the lagoon where he was born, to the sea. Suppressing his fear of the crocodile, and out of great pity, the boy took the crocodile in his arms and carried him to the seashore.

The crocodile, although very hungry and needing sustenance, suppressed his urge to eat the boy and instead returned the act of great kindness with a promise. He told the boy that should he ever wish to travel he should come back to the same spot and call to the crocodile.

After a while and during a period of restlessness the boy remembered the crocodile’s promise and went to the sea to call for him. True to his word the crocodile returned.

They were both very happy to be reunited with one another. The boy climbed onto the crocodile’s back and together they travelled far and wide experiencing many great adventures together.

Much time passed and the crocodile was nearing the end of his life. The boy was stricken with grief for his great friend. Sensing this, the crocodile comforted the boy and asked him not to be sad. The crocodile told him that when he died his body would grow into an island on which the boy would continue to live, along with his family and all his descendants.

The crocodile died and became the island of Timor. The descendants
inherited the boy’s qualities of kindness, friendliness and sense of justice. To this day the people of Timor call the crocodile “grandfather” and whenever they come across a river call out “Crocodile, I’m your grandchild, don’t eat me!”

----- Extracted from "Biblioteka ba ne’ebé? Libraries where you going?" Notes from a study tour of libraries in East Timor by Patti Manolis July 2005

When I was in Suai, my Timorese companions really did call the crocodile by the more affectionate “Avoo” or “Aboo” which means Grandfather, instead of its proper term “lafaek.” Timorese also believe that if you are goodhearted like the little boy, your ‘Avoo’ would never bite you. So if you are ever bitten by a croc in Timor, it’s because you ain’t so kind and ‘Avoo’ is punishing you. Tough luck, huh?

black hole

They always happen at the most inappropriate times. It’s like someone with a bad sense of humour has timed them so perfectly - I am talking about the blackouts in Dili. Because whenever I am deeply absorbed in a movie on HBO and the film reaches a climax, there would be a power outage.

Zap!

My whole compound falls into darkness and the last scene on the tv screen gets swallowed up into a dark hole. I don’t move because I cannot see nought. I just wait for the guy in charge to kickstart the generator for backup power. I hear the engine’s roar as it wakes up from its slumber, and then seconds later power returns to the room. By now, I know that what will greet me on Channel 7 is a blank screen and not the film I had been watching. I sigh and wish that the landlord had been watching the same channel because then he would switch it back to HBO. But alas, most times, that screen stays blank for the rest of the night.

I am left feeling cheated not knowing how the movie ends. Blackouts can be so frustrating and they happen almost everyday here. This is why malaes (foreigners) like me pay a fortune to stay in places that have their own generators so that we can have backup power almost immediately. For the locals, they just light their candles.

Outside Dili, most places are in a permanent state of blackouts. They have no electricity in the day, let alone at night. Some locals have wryly commented that this is why they have such high birth rates (more than 7 babies per women!) since there are no other forms of nocturnal activities except for you know what.

So in the districts, there are no fans whirring overhead to cool you down in the day, no ice cold beer or coca cola to relieve the heat, and no power to start a computer. In some places, the power does come on in the evenings from 6pm and lasts till midnight.

This lack of electricity is hard to imagine for city rats like us who depend so heavily on power in our homes and in our industries that are now running round-the-clock shifts or brokerage firms working to other time zones. The last time we had a major power outage, hundreds of thousand dollars were lost as businesses were disrupted and ornamental fish asphyxiated from the lack of pumped oxygen.

In Dili, there are no street lights so when I walk home from work at about 7pm, I depend on the headlights of vehicles that zoom past me. I have to look carefully to avoid falling into potholes and sometimes I wonder if the cars can see me as they whiz by.

My city eyes fail me here. I am uneasy with the darkness. City rats like bright lights and neon signs. We feel safer when night is like day. Maybe we don’t eat enough carrots back home but Timorese seem to be able to navigate easily even while walking in pitch darkness. I remember the Tibetans doing the same too – slicing, grinding and cooking their meals in such dimness. When I ate dinner in remote villages in China, they used to light a bark just for me while they carried on in darkness.

I can’t help thinking if man never discovered fire and subsequently electricity and lamps, where would we be now? I remember how I went to bed at 730pm, once in China because there was no electricity and hence nothing to do. I wonder how the economy and standard of living of Timorese would be like once they have power at night? I naively thought that power at night would mean more children reading and doing homework but my Timorese colleague just said, “Nah, everyone will just watch TV.” I think Singaporean kids would head for their Playstations first.

LOST & found

showers of blessings
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

It poured when I was in Aileu recently - a harbinger of the rainy season to come. The kids, like those in Cambodia, were splashing in the puddles of water, getting soaked and having much unrestrained fun. I had fun too, watching them under shelter.

The next day when I was about to return to Dili, I lost a purse which I had bought from Cambodia. It simply vanished into thin air. Poof! Like someone had conjured it to another dimension. Even after re-tracing my steps countless times, I was still unable to locate it. It’s a mystery where the little purse went.

I didn’t cry over the purse that went walking with $40, but the loss did put me in a contemplative mood. It made me think of all the things I have lost in the 30 years I have walked on this Earth: pencils in primary school; pens in secondary school; books in junior college; and files in university, etc. There were also friendships lost when pals became strangers as we grew older, and the loss of loved ones when they bade farewell for a better world.

More importantly - and predictably too – the loss of innocence: from carefree bookworm days to stressful adulthood; from a head of black, bouncy hair to graying hairs covered up with poisonous dyes. I no longer have the innocence of a child who finds pure happiness in pouring rain.

While auditing my losses, I realized that they are small, even minuscule, compared to what others have lost or are losing as we speak: the floods in Guatemala, the hurricane in New Orleans, the earthquake in Pakistan, the tsunami in Asia, the bombs in Bali & many other places.

But above all, I realized that the inputs in the column ‘FOUND’ are plentiful as well. On this journey (destination unknown) I have found many new friends, amazing experiences, wisdom, and optimism in each new day. I have found, through painful experiences of loss, richer insights and a grittier spirit. It sounds idealistic - I wouldn’t dare try telling this to someone who has just lost a child in the earthquake. But honestly, while taking stock of my life, I realize that I do have a lot of blessings to count for.

As Tiu (Uncle) Mario – my driver – said to me when I lost the wallet, “It’s ok. The loss is in exchange for good luck.”

Do you wake up each day counting your blessings or your losses?

why i dun eat BABI in Dili

Need i say more?

SWAT team

I scoffed at the idea when L first shared it with me after observing his Timorese counterparts in the office - now I am convinced there is only ONE way to kill a Timorese mosquito swiftly.

The method:

See the buzzing mossie fly past you
Observe its motion
Raise hand ABOVE the mossie and slap it onto the ground
Mossie is dazed and stunned and lies on floor
Raise foot and stamp on it

Result : Dead mossie

Would it work in Singapore? Can someone try it out?