Dark skinned red heads

The conductor on my “mikrolet” this morning was a red headed freckle skinned Timorese man! It is most extraordinary but I have seen at least half a dozen red headed freckle skinned Timorese including children and adults. At first I thought that they had died their hair blonde but things had gone wrong but no, they are definitely true red heads. It is very interesting to note that dark skinned people can have red hair and freckles because I always thought it was a genetic trait confined to white skinned folk. Not so! The conductor had obviously been sunburnt on his face and his skin was peeling away to reveal bright pink flesh. Although dark skinned, he really needed to wear sunscreen. I can only guess that this genetic trait has been passed on through generations of intermarriage with Portuguese (or am I wrong on that one?).

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

A hat free baby

I shared my journey this morning with another little baby and her mother. This one was a girl aged 9 months. Most notably, she wasn’t wearing the ubiquitous acrylic hat. I was so happy to see her attired appropriately including little baby shoes by Osh Kosh (obviously purchased from one of the hundreds of second hand clothes markets that abound in Timor, most of which are Australian worn hand me downs). During the trip as I made happy faces at the little one, I noticed the perspiration dripping from her forehead and thought how sad it was for all the other little babies whose heads are routinely covered that they too could not perspire without endangering their health.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Independence Day #1

Yesterday was Independence Day number 1 on the Timorese calendar (officially the Proclamation of Independence day); the day the Timorese originally declared independence from Portugal in 1975 before they were brutally invaded and their people murdered en masse by their bigger and stronger next door neighbour Indonesia. This day is not to be confused with Independence Day number 2 on 20 May (Restoration of Independence day); the day the UN handed control over to the people of Timor in 2002.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

The mental health break from hell

As it was a long weekend we spent two days on Atauro Island which I hoped would provide me with a much needed mental health break but unfortunately events conspired to worsen my situation. Firstly, when we turned up at the ferry terminal our Timorese friend was nowhere to be found. (When we first visited Atauro back in August, our friend told us that the next time we went, she wanted to come with us. Ever since, I had been organising such a trip for the three of us plus another AVIer for the next available long weekend. We had decided to shout our friend most of the cost of staying at the Eco Village because we knew she couldn’t afford “malae” prices.) I asked Daniel to call her on my phone to ascertain her whereabouts. She was still at home and wasn’t coming as she said that she had been sick for three days.

One, she never bothered to ring us to tell us this and therefore I felt very guilty at not being able to inform the Eco Village beforehand knowing that they book out weeks and often months in advance and two, we did not believe her story but thought that she was “tauk” (afraid) of the ferry and even more so of the little boat that would return us to the mainland. A major shared belief that we have heard from innumerable Timorese regardless of their education and background concerns ferries and boats: they’re simply scared of them. I find this one hard to understand given that Timor is an island and that many people live on the coast not to mention the fact that fishing is a major source of subsistence farming and fish a regular item on the dinner plate. Timor is famed for its beautiful beaches and underwater sea life (in my estimation, the best thing it has going for it) and yet many of its people (presumably those who can’t swim) are collectively frightened of water and sea vessels.

The journey over was pleasant enough. The three of us went up on to the roof and sat under a shaded canopy by the fluttering Indonesian flag. Daniel had disembarked from the same ferry that very morning at the ungodly hour of 3:30am after returning from Oecusse, and he said that they changed the flag to a Timorese one en route to the enclave and perhaps they do the same to Atauro. Still, we were in Dili harbour but the ferry is owned and operated by Indonesians and whenever it breaks down (which is frequent) it has to return to Indonesia (we suspect Kupang in West Timor) for repairs.

About two and half hours later we docked at the wharf on Atauro. Until recently, all ferry trips to and from the Island had been temporarily suspended while the wharf was repaired and upgraded but I was stunned to see that the wharf was still in disrepair. Disembarking was a little challenging as we had to climb up a rock/cement embankment and then down again over a wooden platform before we were able to walk on the wharf that led us to shore.

We sat in the back of a pick up truck along with other people and were driven on the bumpy road to the Eco Village. My face felt very hot and I was worried that I was sunburnt but was perplexed as to how that had happened as we sat on the ferry in the shade and I was wearing a hat and sunglasses. When we arrived at our destination we were shown to our hut which I was disappointed to see was much smaller than the one we had previously, and it was back from the beach somewhat. I promptly went and had a “mandi” and upon looking in the mirror was horrified to discover that indeed I was very sunburnt including my face and nose, arms, feet and ankles. Likewise Daniel was too. I deduced that it must have happened towards the end of the ferry trip around midday when the sun was directly overhead and the shade had disappeared without us being aware that it had.

I was disappointed to discover that the Australian woman who consults to the NGO that runs the Eco Village had returned to Australia temporarily and so we were not to enjoy her company this weekend. Instead, we had to endure a group of seven (five women and two men) loud and insensitive Portuguese who grew irritatingly worse as the weekend progressed. Firstly, they didn’t or couldn’t read the guidelines in English on Eco Village etiquette and persisted in walking around the grounds, the beach and on the boat that took them to and from dive spots in the most revealing skimpy two piece bathers without also wearing a sarong or t-shirt and shorts. Two of the women were corporally well endowed and the sight of them wobbling to and from the toilet and “mandi” put me off my food (as a similarly corporally well endowed woman, I believe it my duty not to inflict such a sight on others and therefore wear a very modest one piece bathing suit). They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were being culturally insensitive and had attracted a barrage of male onlookers.

At dinner, the Portuguese insisted on drinking alcohol, singing and smoking and by the second night, everything was done in excess. They didn’t get to bed until close on 1am but in the intervening hours since I retired, I had to put up with their noise. But worse was to come, I sat down on the composting toilet we all shared and discovered I was sitting in something wet so got up and shined by torch on the toilet and discovered that one of the men in a drunken stupor had peed all over the seat and on the floor. I was so angry! I had to go and have a “mandi” to wash of his piss.

This unfortunate incident with this group of Portuguese just reinforces my incredible dislike for them. There are two very distinct “malae” groups in Timor: one Portuguese and one Australian and I have yet to see any evidence that they mingle. There is justifiably a lot of animosity towards the Portuguese by both Timorese and Australians alike, for abandoning the Timorese to the Indonesians in 1975, and now for recolonising the tiny island with their language and government advisers. This particular group comprised of six Portuguese language instructors and one military bloke. We have heard from a number of sources (but have no proof) that unemployable teachers in Portugal are paid very handsomely to come to Timor to teach Timorese teachers Portuguese so that they can instruct the poor little children in a foreign language. They are also provided with a car and driver and a direct line to the Portuguese Embassy. This was my first exposure to Portuguese people and I was not impressed. They showed absolutely no cultural sensitivity to the Timorese, nor respected the values of the Eco Village which is to live in harmony with the environment and conservative culture of Atauro.

In the middle of dinner on the second night, I had to excuse myself to the composting toilet where I had a bout of diarrhoea. Then when I went to bed, it happened again. And upon returning home I had my third and final incident. Our AVI colleague also had the same problem but Daniel started late, it didn’t happen until late yesterday afternoon once we had returned home to Dili.

The composting toilet was frequently out of toilet paper so I had to go and ask for more. This never happened on the first trip. Moreover, the instructions for using the toilet had disappeared and the Portuguese were putting their used toilet paper inside the bowl full of seaweed and saw dust all of which was meant to be thrown into the toilet after it had been used. I’m sure it was the first time they had encountered such a toilet as they didn’t strike me as ecological types.

The food was good (despite our upset stomachs and bowels) but disappointingly, we hadn’t been very well catered for despite advising six weeks in advance that we were all vegetarian. Our first trip to Atauro was fondly remembered for its good vegetarian offerings but this trip, we were given eggs, eggs, eggs. Only one meal contained a bean dish and there was no tempeh or tofu.

Then there were the pesky local little critters I had to contend with. I was constantly on the look out for ants which invaded my bed and I spent much time relishing squashing them between my fingers. At least one managed to climb under my breast and bite me before I killed it. I remembered the ant problem from my last visit but because I genuinely had such a relaxing time, I overlooked the problem but this time, there was no relaxation to be had. During our first night’s sleep, I heard some rustling through our things including a plastic bag and thought it was probably a “toke” (lizard). I couldn’t do much about it but my sleep was constantly interrupted by its late night prowls. Upon waking the following morning, I discovered that the creature had eaten a hole through the plastic bag and again through the plastic zip lock bags in which I had put nuts, seeds and prunes to relieve us from the monotony of the Timorese food on offer (as nice as it was). Mmmm I thought, how to deal with this one, so I put the bag inside a small back pack and zipped it up, hoping that would be too much for one little “toke” to eat through. The subsequent night, the same thing happened again, I could hear much rustling about and much frenetic jumping up and down on the floor and walls. I decided to turn the light on and see what was going on and just as I looked up I saw a medium sized “laho” (mouse/rat) bidding a hasty retreat. So it wasn’t a “toke” after all!

Sunday night I set my alarm on my mobile phone for 4:10am as we had to leave at 4:30am to walk to the boat which was to take us back to the mainland at 5am. It was such a drag to get out of bed at that hour but we did and then promptly lost our way in the dark (remember, there are no street lights). We were told to walk 500 metres along the road through the village where we would find the boat (supposedly the road ended at the beach). The road just kept going and going and going. Everywhere we looked for a path down to the beach all we could see were houses and vegetable gardens so we decided to turn back to the Eco Lodge and walk along the beach instead. En route we saw the light of a boat on the beach and guessed that it must be our boat so flashed our torch light in its direction to which it responded. The path from the road to the beach was in front of the boat and we like to think that the Timorese man flashing his torch from the boat at us was also trying to direct us down to the water. We waded into the water to climb aboard the boat in the dark and were soon off. The boat drove very slowly at first as it was trying to navigate itself over coral reefs (I flashed my torch down into the water and saw it very clearly). Unfortunately, the boat ran aground in the coral and much animation and shouting emanated from our Timorese boatmen. They managed to guide the boat off the reef and further down the coast we collected another “malae” this one a Peace Corps woman from Anchorage, Alaska! What a contrast for her living in Timor. She was a college graduate from Vassar in New York State but wanted to return home to Alaska to find work and settle down to raise kids. I told her that I had been eyeing off the travel brochure on Alaska, British Columbia and the Yukon in Harvey World Travel dreaming of escaping this oppressive place (in fact, I had to hold back tears just thinking about my memories of that part of the world). I think she thought that was a little weird. I told her that I had visited Alaska when I lived in Vancouver and absolutely loved it. However, once the boat’s engine was cranked up, it was so loud that it ceased all conversation between us so we sat together without saying a word for the entire two and a half hour journey back to Dili. As we approached the mainland, we could see a thick haze of pollution just lying over the capital. It made me sick just thinking about living in it.

All of yesterday I felt deaf; a consequence of the incredible noise of the boat’s engine and my stomach was in pain. Moreover, I felt I needed a holiday to recover from the holiday we supposedly just had! I was very happy to be home and spent most of the day sleeping and reading a new book (at least the weekend did allow me to complete reading Midwives). When I unpacked my bags I noticed that the empty zip lock bag that had contained my breakfast for the ferry trip (dry multigrain crackers from Germany and Arnotts Full o Fruit biscuits from Australia) and which had been kept in my regular day bag had a hole in it – the pesky little mouse had eaten his way through it. Then this morning, when I went to put on my sunglasses I noticed that they hurt behind my ears. I took them off to discover that the mouse had eaten away the rubbers tips of the protective handles as indicated by the teeth marks he had left behind.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

An evening with the Ambassador

Last night I attended my first formal function hosted by the Australian Ambassador to Timor. The event actually came about after I half jokingly complained to an Embassy staffer that the AVIers felt unloved while the Youth Ambassadors were treated like royalty. This function was therefore held to redress the imbalance but the invitation stated it was to celebrate volunteering (International Volunteers Day is on 5th December) and to welcome two new Embassy staff to Timor. We were asked to bring with us our Timorese counterpart. Unfortunately, at the last hour, mine backed out as she had too much work to do so I went on my own (the irony is not lost on me here as many Timorese often don’t appear to have enough work). I was not happy about this and in fact, in my mind, it was just another nail in the coffin for the problems I encounter working here.

I arrived right on the starting time of 6pm (very unusual of me to be so punctual) and was greeted by one of the new staffers who much to my amusement soon abandoned me for a glass of alcohol. I deduced that she didn’t like my serious nature for when she asked me how I was enjoying living in Timor, I was honest and said, it’s challenging on many levels and gave just a few brief examples; after all, my intention wasn’t to scare her away, even if in the end I did. She remarked that she loved the “lifestyle” of a Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) expat (living in a secure compound and working in an office that was as well resourced as back home; and you know how much I struggle with people who say they enjoy living here for “lifestyle” reasons).

To be honest, I’m beginning to enjoy the power I have to make people uncomfortable as it makes it very clear who is worth pursuing a conversation with and who is just too light to bother with. Also, I really do not like the culture of the AusAID (Australian Aid for International Development) and DFAT expats who “enjoy” living here for “lifestyle” reasons (again, I ask, how can you enjoy living in a Less Developed Country for lifestyle reasons; it’s simply unconscionable). My limited exposure to this culture has also made me really glad that I never pursued a career as a federal public servant; I’m sure I would not have lasted long.

Needless to say I didn’t much enjoy the evening as I was hoping it would be a chance to get to know my counterpart better. As she didn’t come I was left to talk with other AVIers and some of their counterparts. The Ambassador introduced herself to me as she wanted to meet the person who suggested she host such a function. I was with one other AVIer and one Youth Ambassador at the time and she started with me by asking where I worked and when I told her she said “okay, women’s rights” and promptly went on to the next person. In fact, she never came back to me and focused instead on a Youth Ambassador working in public radio. Ah, some things never change. Despite this being a function ostensibly to make the AVIers feel valued, all it did was reinforce how much deferential treatment the Youth Ambassadors receive compared with the rabble that make up the AVIers (and we are all funded by the same government department: AusAID). Throughout the evening I noticed how much socialising the Embassy staff and Youth Ambassadors did together, making it very clear that they had done this all before and knew each other well.

At terminal functions like this at least you can focus on the food. However, all that was served was four different types of Thai finger food of which only one was vegetarian, so I spent most of the evening gorging myself silly on spring rolls and sweet chilli sauce wishing that I was at home instead listening to Radio Australia or the BBC World Service. At least the company would have been more scintillating.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Children

This afternoon I visited my NGO’s crèche (kindergarten) along with two of my colleagues. There are approximately 25 children mostly aged between 3 and 4 of which three are children of my colleagues including both my team members. The rest of them are children of staff of other NGOs (mostly human rights) that my NGO has a close association with.

We are planning a “festa natal” (Christmas party) as a fundraiser and are endeavouring to involve the children. I sat in a room with about 20 of them and boy were they loud but also incredibly adorable. While I was looking through the children’s books in Tetun produced by the Mary MacKillop Research Institute for East Timorese Studies in Sydney, one little girl decided she wanted to talk to me. I did my best with my limited Tetun and mostly just nodded and smiled a lot. She then opened one of the books and began pointing at all the animals and said “asu” (dog). I had just this week covered animals in my Tetun lessons so now was the chance to test my memory and correct my little friend who believed that every animal was a dog. I noticed the word for each animal written in a brief sentence on each page of the book so pointed to each animal while saying “saida” (what?). She of course replied “asu” and I had to tell her “lae” (no) “ida nee” (this one’s) a “lafaek” (crocodile), “lekirauk” (monkey), “bibi” (goat), “fahi” (pig), “lenuk” (turtle), “samea” (snake) or “karau” (water buffalo). We soon attracted three boys one of whom is my colleague’s son and has always been “tauk” (afraid) of me due to my white skin. He turned out to be very good with the animal names much to my little friend’s annoyance. Another older boy with the most amazing frizzy hair wanted to know more about my drink bottle, a child’s one with the cartoon character Scooby Doo and a blonde female character whose name escapes me, I purchased in the supermarket as I could not find an adult one. As previously written, Timorese do not drink very much water and certainly do not carry drink bottles around with them so for me to do so just adds more intrigue to my “malae” status. I said to the children: “hau gosta hemu bee deit; diak saude” (I like to drink water on its own; it is good for your health). I then noticed the older boy taking a sip from the straw that is attached to the bottle! (When I returned to my office, I promptly ran purified hot water through it.)

On our way back to our office, we stopped in on my colleague who gave birth earlier in the month. She looked very well and her little boy was two and a half weeks old and absolutely tiny. Later that afternoon my colleague, with whom I share an office, asked me how much the baby had weighed at birth. I said I didn’t know. She guessed 3kg or less as that is the desired weight for many Timorese women. Apparently pregnant women deliberately try not to eat too much extra food in order to keep the size of their babies small. Again, this may be for cultural reasons but there is no doubt that because most Timorese women are so small themselves, they certainly would not want to give birth to larger babies. However, babies with small birth weights are prone to many poor health outcomes.

This evening as I was walking along the last section of my road to my house, a horde of children came out to greet me. As I normally arrive home after dark, most of the children are inside their homes, but my Tetun language lesson was cancelled due to my tutor’s ill health, so for the first time in a long time, I actually left work at a reasonable hour. Most of the children were littlies in various states of undress (one was completely naked) and I always ask them the same thing as my Tetun isn’t good enough yet to ask them more complicated questions. I said: “Imi diak ka lae?” (You all good or not?), to which they replied in unison “diak” (good). “Imi halimar ohin loron?” (You played today?) to which they replied “halimar” (played), and I said “diak”. I also asked the oldest girl in the group who had a soccer ball in her hand “ita halimar joga bola” (you play soccer?) and she replied “sin, ho hau nia alin” (yes, with my younger brother) and she put her arm around him in order to show me who he was. She then turned to a crowd of men and told me they were “haree futu manu” (watching a cockfight). As I looked to where she directed her gaze (pointing is rude in Timor), I noticed the two cocks going at each other. So I bid a hasty retreat with “hau lao ba uma; ate amanyá” (I walk to my house; see you tomorrow) to which they all screamed with laughter not because I said anything funny, but just because I’m a “malae”.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

The journey to work

This morning while walking from my house to the main road I noticed how pretty the surrounding mountains were now that there has been a number of heavy downpours: brown has turned to green. I also came across another delightful sight: a sow and her little piglets napping under a bush. They were so cute! In fact, living here I often think I’m an extra in a never ending Babe film, albeit one without the happy ending.

On the “mikrolet” to work was the most gorgeous little girl of no more than one year’s age with the most amazing big brown eyes and very long eyelashes. She was totally mesmerised by me and we exchanged many smiles. However, she was wearing the ubiquitous acrylic hat which I had to restrain myself from removing from her head and throwing out the window! The rest of her body was dressed in appropriate clothing for a typical hot and humid day but most of the heat her little body was generating was trapped inside the ridiculous hat.

I have recently discovered more information as to why this health (and sometimes life) threatening practice occurs: to keep the dew off the baby’s head. Now I completely understand the need for this in the mountains of Timor where temperatures plummet overnight, but in Dili where night time temperatures hover around 20oC all year round, I have yet to see one drop of dew. I therefore began to wonder if this practice is so prevalent in parts of the country where it is completely unnecessary and in fact endangers the health of the child, because most people who live for example in Dili, have migrated from other parts of the country and they bring these cultural practices with them, not realising the geographic specificity of the practice. It will probably take generations of living (not to mention education) in Dili for these practices to stop.

Upon arrival to work I discovered our office manager had returned from a week’s sick leave as she had caught the measles from her children. She is still covered in spots and I hope that she is no longer contagious. I have never seen anyone with the measles; in fact, the only similar disease I have seen is the chickenpox which my sister had as a child. I managed to escape any such illnesses as a child and so was heavily vaccinated with MMR and chickenpox before I came to Timor. Thank goodness I did given my colleague’s condition although I know that being vaccinated is not a 100% assurance that I won’t contract it.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

An Australian film in Dili

Last night I watched Hating Alison Ashley, an Australian film starring Delta Goodrem, Saskia Burmeister, Tracey Mann, Jean Kittson, Craig McLachlan and Richard Carter which was filmed in Melbourne and King Lake West (north of the city). When it was released in Australia earlier this year, I had no interest in seeing it, put off I believe by the presence of Goodrem. However, when living in a country with very little access to Australian film or literature, what little that is available takes on added importance. So I purchased it from one of the two main local DVD shops in Dili. I was so glad that I did, as the film was highly enjoyable and very funny. The main standout of the film was undoubtedly the lead actress Burmeister who is an amazing new talent who I hope will go on to have an illustrious career. I also cannot deny that the character she played so brilliantly reminded me a little of myself and Burmeister also happens to look very similar to me! A pleasant surprise while watching the film was noticing an extra of who I only glimpsed for a brief second, and from behind at that, but there was no mistaking him: a Greens member and volunteer who I once worked with in my previous life as a paid staff member of the party!

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Daniel’s trip to Oecusse

Daniel went to the enclave of Oecusse for work on Monday afternoon and won’t return until Saturday morning, at which point we get back on the same ferry for a long weekend on Atauro. Oecusse is separated from East Timor as it is located within Indonesian West Timor and the only way in is via an overnight ferry or an expensive UN flight. Daniel called me last night to say that the overnight ferry trip was better than expected because he and his three Timorese colleagues went on to the roof of the ferry (which is officially not allowed without paying for one of the upstairs cabins) and slept under the stars with a cool breeze. The inside of the ferry is apparently hot and claustrophobic, loud (thanks to the blaring television) and very crowded with people, chickens and roosters. He and his colleagues are monitoring the district court in Oecusse and interviewing survivors of torture regarding their thoughts and opinions regarding the justice process and where things should go from here.

Now that I am more confident with using “mikrolets” I do not mind Daniel’s absences as I once did when we first arrived. In fact, I quite enjoy the respite it offers in terms of much needed peace and quiet and moreover, I am partial to a mess free home (domestic compatibility remains an issue despite having lived together for almost three years).

After a three and a half week absence, yesterday Radio Australia resumed transmission so it was a pleasure to listen to Damien Carrick on the Law Report by candlelight as I washed away the remains of another hot and humid day in Timor.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

What keeps you in Timor?

My German colleague who returned home in August due to poor health is not returning to Timor. He arrived in Timor in April for a three year volunteer placement at my NGO. Within four months of living here he experienced health problems that could not be diagnosed properly in Timor or Indonesia so returned home for better medical treatment. He also experienced a number of cultural problems both at work and with Timorese society in general (some of which I share), and which I strongly suspect were also a factor in his decision not to return.

The German NGO which sent him invest a lot in their volunteers (which in contrast, AVI does not) including six months pre departure training which includes seven weeks Tetun language instruction in Portugal or the equivalent time learning Bahasa in Germany; two weeks English language instruction in Austria; not to mention extensive cultural education. Understandably therefore this particular NGO does not want to lose a volunteer so early in their placement, hence why it has taken my NGO three months to receive a definitive answer as to whether my colleague would return.

My other German colleague on the other hand, has been here two and a half years and wants to secure another three year contract! However, this will all depend on the new German grand coalition (CDU/SPD) government as the particular program that funds her was instigated by the left leaning SPD government in 1999 so there is no guarantee that it will continue nor in Timor in particular (apparently Iraq and Afghanistan are now higher up the list of countries in need). I quickly fathomed why my colleague would want to spend six years of her life here: she loves her work as a social therapist (a bit like a social worker, counsellor and psychologist combined) and gains immense satisfaction from it. Also, her NGO (the same one from where our now departed colleague hailed) are incredibly generous and supportive. On top of the fantastic pre departure training, they supply her with money to buy a 4WD and the salary for a personal driver, Internet access from home along with a budget that she brings to the local organisation in order to pay for different programs including training for staff. When she leaves Timor, the 4WD is given to the organisation.

Based on these resources alone, her experience living here is very different to mine where I arrived after two days predeparture training (and a mere afternoon specifically on Timor) without any language skills or budget and must catch “mikrolets” and taxis (my colleague has never been on a “mikrolet”). In fact, in some respects (but not all), her life is closer to that of a well paid international except that she doesn’t receive as much personal income and she’s here for far longer. Moreover, she is nearly 50, divorced and has no children (although she has two phantom children for the benefit of inquiring Timorese who always ask: “how many children do you have?” as they do not understand the concept of women who are childless). She has spent most of her adult life living in Switzerland and when she reached her 40s newly divorced she decided that she needed a change in her life and wanted to work somewhere where there was greater need. She is not the first person to say to me that the West is full of people like herself but Less Developed Countries have hardly any such people and needs them more than the West does, to which I completely concur.

However, there must be a payoff for a Westerner to live in Less Developed Countries. Hopefully that is their commitment and the satisfaction they obtain from a job they enjoy doing and seeing the small (positive) difference they make, for others it may be the big salary or quick bucks to be made (I have also heard people say for the “lifestyle” but my incredulity at this remains). It’s also true that people hide out in places like Dili in order to escape problems back home which range from being wanted for murder (yes, you heard it right!) to failed relationships to mid life crises to general dissatisfaction with life and work. And then there are those whose egos can’t get enough of the big fish in a little pond syndrome. But whatever the reason, there must be an obvious reward (and for me it is a satisfaction with work that is yet to transpire); otherwise I don’t see what could possibly keep someone here.

The Timorese woman I share an office with has been told that her contract will not be extended beyond 31 December. She was originally hired to fill the position of Executive Secretary to the Director but my now departed German colleague asked instead if she could work with him because her English was so good. This meant her position was funded by my German colleague’s NGO in Germany and when he advised that he would not be returning my Timorese colleague’s position effectively no longer existed. As mentioned in previous posts, I have found it challenging at times to work with this colleague and so I am not too sad to see her go and I’m sure that despite high unemployment, she will find another job because she has experience and skills that are in demand (in particular English language and computer); and now that her team has folded (as it comprised only two people) I am hoping that my team and I can be reunited in the same office. My work here is going nowhere and it simply won’t go anywhere unless I can work in close proximity with my team. Consequently these turn of events have given me some optimism that perhaps things will get better.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

A flower garden in Rai Kotu

There are two dirt roads that lead from our house to the main road; a small hill runs down the spine separating them and our house is right at the point where the roads join up (however, you cannot drive through only walk); a bit like a horse shoe and we are located on the U bend at the beach. I have decided to take the other road in the mornings to catch a “mikrolet” in order to get to know my neighbours and to walk past the beach, which is always a pleasant way to start a day. There are fewer neighbours on this route as the hill and soccer pitch run down one side of it leaving people to live mostly on the opposite side of the road. I have recently noticed a very small but pretty little garden that a woman is cultivating in her front yard. Included is a small selection of different species including beautiful purple flowers that are quite abundant in Timor but I do not know their name. Some of the plants are protected from the many roaming goats and pigs by old car tyres. Despite her poor circumstances the owner has lovingly created a patch of beauty amongst the dirt and gravel on which her ramshackle home is located. I find this very touching.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Child labour

Timorese children can be found on the streets of Dili selling “sigaru” (cigarettes), “paun” (bread), “dosi” (cakes and sweet bread such as donuts), “modo” (vegetables), “tahu” (tofu) and tempeh, seasonal “aifuan” (fruit such as mandarins, pineapples, mangoes), “mina” (cooking oil), “jornál” (newspapers), and mobile telephone (credit) cards. Children are often conductors on “mikrolets” but thank goodness, not also the drivers! Most of these children are boys between the ages of 5 and 15 with many at the younger end of the spectrum.

Every morning between 6:00 and 6:30am, a young boy walks past our house shouting in rapid succession “paun, paun, paun, paun” as he makes his way through our neighbourhood selling households their breakfast staple. His voice is usually the first I hear upon waking. The bread is always the same: small white bread rolls introduced by the Portuguese during colonial times. Each roll costs 5c. However, I never buy them because they have little nutritional value and unfortunately, multigrain or brown bread is unheard of in Timor (unless you are a rich “malae” who can purchase such imported bread from Australia or Malaysia). Not long after the “paun” boy follows the “dosi” boy. On occasion I have purchased a donut to see what they’re like but I find them greasy, not very sweet and therefore not very appetising (the icing is butter or margarine with a few coloured sprinkles (like hundreds and thousands)). Next comes the “modo” boy with a very select range of vegetables, usually of the leafy green variety which are often grown in the sewers and as it’s impossible to tell, I pass on them. The last of the morning sellers are the “tahu” girls who carry their goods in large buckets on their heads. Again, each piece costs 5c. I often miss the “tahu” girls as I’ve left for work by the time they make their rounds which is unfortunate as tempeh is impossible to get other than from the open markets (of which there are two in Dili) and which I have yet to visit as I cannot figure out how to shop without the crowds and fierce sun beating down on me resulting in possible heat stroke!

The family we rent our home from also “employ” their children to do tasks that we in the West would think dangerous and inappropriate for a child. Recently some of the younger boys and their friends were sweeping the roof of the house currently being built. A huge monsoon rain starting pelting down and they all took cover on the roof under an eave. Both girls and boys (and their cousins) have been assisting Senyor Raphael dig up the ground of the house for which we believe will result in a newly laid concrete floor. Upon arrival home last night at around 7:45pm, the kids were all heaving out buckets full of gravel by the light of one lamp. Needless to say, absolutely no safety equipment is used and their feet are shod in thongs or they’re barefoot. Often my main concern is will they get enough food to eat to replace all the energy their little bodies have expended!

On the “mikrolet” ride home last night I sat next to a young boy of about 7 from my neighbourhood; the very same one that I witnessed smoking on a previous journey home and whom I have written about in a previous post (see M is for Mikrolets, Mosquitos, Men and Marriage). He appeared yet again to be on his own so I said to him, “O hela iha Rai Kotu ka?” (You live in Rai Kotu yes?). He nodded and I responded with “hau moos” (me also). I think he was a little “moe” (shy) and “matan dukur” sleepy as soon he was “dukur” (asleep). I kept my eye on him as we were about to approach our stop and as he wasn’t going to wake up, I touched his leg and said “fanu” (wake up). We got off the “mikrolet” and proceeded to cross the busy road and walk down our street “hamutuk” (together). He started talking to me very “lalais” (quickly) and I had to ask him to speak “neineik” (slowly) as I am learning Tetun but children all over the world love talking quickly so my plea went unheard. I was in the middle of asking him, “O ba eskola ka lae?” (You go to school or not?), when he promptly went off to the side of the road for a pee so I bid my adieu with “ate amanyá” (see you tomorrow).

Children in Dili attend school from either 7:30am to 12:30pm or 12:30pm to 5:30pm (5 hours attendance in all). This is because there are many children, not enough teachers and classrooms to accommodate them all together for a full day (the teacher student ratio is approximately 1:60). There are six children in the family we rent our house from and two of them go to school in the morning, and the other two in the afternoon (the two eldest are at university and technical college respectively). I hope that most of the child labourers I see in the morning ploughing the streets of my neighbourhood are attending the afternoon school session. However, approximately 25 – 35% of children do not attend school in Timor.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

A child dies

Just before midnight Saturday evening, Daniel received a text message from the Director of his NGO informing him that a colleague’s child had died. The child was two years old and the cause of death: a heart attack. His father was a new member of Daniel’s team and they had had many long discussions about his ailing child and what actions he should take to make him better. We only saw the father that afternoon and he told us then that the doctors at Dili National Hospital said that his son would be fine but that he was so concerned that he was thinking of flying to Indonesia in order to seek better medical treatment. Then his son died.

Daniel visited his colleague at home this morning to pay his respects. The father of the child was visibly upset but also angry. The doctors at the hospital had told not given him accurate information about his son’s prospects as they believed their primary duty was to give the family “hope”. When Daniel returned to work he was obviously shaken and called me to talk about it.

On our regular sunset walk Sunday evening along the beach to Dili Rock which marks the border between Dili and Liquisa, we came upon a small black and white female dog that had died giving birth to her puppies (the tail of one was outside her body). This is the second dead dog we have seen on the beaches of Dili, the first not long after we arrived.

Every week in Timor 5 to 10 women die giving birth to their children.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Dreams of birth

For days I had been snatching glances at my colleague who I began to think was pregnant or was it that she was just putting on weight I wondered? Not likely. This is Timor after all and not many people are overweight or gain weight all that easily (but they do exist). My colleague already has three children (which isn’t many for here) and I know that she uses contraception (a rarity). I asked my only other “malae” colleague and she said it was likely but she hadn’t heard anything definite. I thus asked my other pregnant colleague whose second child is due by the end of the month. She confirmed that yes, our colleague was pregnant with her fourth child and that like the Director, was five months pregnant! I therefore said to my newly pregnant colleague, “Mana, isin rua ka lae?” (Literally: older sister, (you have) two bodies or not?) She replied “sin” (yes) and I responded with “parabens!” (congratulations!). She told me this was to be her last child (she’s nearly 40) and that she was happy. Her first three children are a boy aged 7, a girl aged 4 and a boy aged 2.5. My colleague also happens to be the Coordinator of the Team I work with so I’m not sure what I will do come March/April next year when both she and the Director will be on maternity leave simultaneously.

The odd thing was that this morning I dreamt that I gave birth to my (future) daughter two weeks earlier than expected in the back of a station wagon with Daniel between my legs guiding the baby out. We weren’t in Timor but someplace developed. I’ve never dreamt about giving birth before and I have to say the feeling upon wakening was one of calm and serenity. I haven’t felt that peaceful in a long time.

I’m about a third of the way through reading a book called Midwives by Chris Bohjalian. It’s a really engaging and suspenseful novel about a homebirth midwife who experiences the death of a birthing woman and the witch hunt that ensues by the medical establishment. It’s hard to put down and is certainly one of the best novels I’ve read in a long time (and yes, I wondered about the connection with reading the book and my dream of giving birth.)

The night before I dreamt that I was someplace else (unknown) but awoke to be rudely confronted with the fact that I was still in Timor.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Simple pleasures

I have just completed reading a fabulous book: a travel memoir by Alice Steinbach Without Reservations: Travels of an Independent Woman. It charts her one year voyage to France, England and Italy; a journey she undertook in her early 50s after her two children had left home. It is beautifully written and evoked for me memories of the many places I too have lived or visited. I commend it to you.

I was thinking to myself while reading Without Reservations how sad it is that the Timorese cannot read in their national language as Tetun was until very recently an oral language (and Portuguese is only spoken by 5% of the population). There are very few books available in Tetun and in fact I have seen none but I am told that there are a handful of books for small children. It should not therefore surprise me that I never see anyone reading a book! I see school children carrying their textbooks (in Bahasa) to and from school and I once saw two children reading Lafaek (crocodile) the human rights comic magazine aimed at children produced by CARE and the World Bank. Some of my colleagues read the local newspapers and Daniel has seen at least one of his colleagues read a book in Bahasa.

I would feel absolutely bereft if I could not read and the fact that the Timorese cannot due to widespread illiteracy and no materials being available in their local dialect or Tetun induces in me a sense of loss for them as a people. It also explains my frustrations in dealing with the limitations of the culture in that there is very little intellectual or cultural curiosity amongst the majority of the population, including my work colleagues. The same applies in the West as I find people who don’t read (quality resources) generally uninteresting and often moronic people. However, at least in the West there is no excuse for not reading.

I have decided that in order to experience any joy while living here, I have to focus on simple things. After all, how much pleasure can one expect to experience living in a Third World country (and the poorest in the Asia Pacific region at that)? Poverty is not something that raises the spirits, in fact quite the reverse.

My list of joyful moments includes: the smile of a small child, the birds singing in my garden, the sight and sound of migratory birds at Tasitolu Peace Park, the feel and sound of the wind, the view of the ocean from my house, the sound of waves crashing on the shore, swimming in the sea as night falls, a black night sky full of bright sparkling stars, a full moon, the sweet coldness of a banana lassie at my favourite Indian restaurant, reading books in English, watching DVDs from various countries sub titled or not, listening to Radio Australia or the BBC World Service. Is it enough to sustain me for two years? Only time will tell.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Homophobia

Earlier this week, one of Daniel’s Timorese colleagues expressed such virulent homophobic comments that upon Daniel telling me, I sunk further into a depression. She is young, supposedly well educated and from a very well to do family and works for a Human Rights NGO (exactly whose Human Rights is she working for I wonder?). However, her comments, in particular about gay men were outrageous. She said that there were no gay people in Timor before Indonesia invaded and that gay men were responsible for the spread of HIV/AIDS. Not true on all counts. Granted, given the nature of Timorese societies it would make it practically impossible to live life in a same sex relationship, but like all societies at all periods, there is and always will be same sex relations. Concerning the spread of HIV/AIDS, migrant heterosexual men engaged in work away from their homes that have unprotected sex with female prostitutes and then upon return to their village infect their wives and subsequent children, are the main culprits. Homosexual sex and injecting drug use are secondary and much less significant causes for the spread of HIV/AIDS around the world. Her ignorance and prejudice was astounding but again just demonstrates the appalling education the Timorese received under the Indonesians and now under their own tutelage. Daniel was so upset that he emailed his homophobic colleague a brief fact sheet from the WHO (which he translated into Tetun) about what the greatest risk factor is for the spread of HIV/AIDS.

A recent chapter in my Tetun language book I covered with my Tetun tutor was called “Kuidadu an” (Taking care of yourself). Under the sub section called Extramarital Sex were included the following words for me to learn: prostitute (three different words), cross dresser, man who acts or dresses like a woman; homosexual (all one word); effeminate heterosexual male; tomboy, woman who acts like a man; homosexual; lesbian; cheap (easy to get; mainly applied to women); mistress (in addition to the wife); take a mistress. I was seriously mortified! What the hell did gay and lesbian have to do with prostitute and mistress? To make matters worse, the woman who wrote the book is a Dutch Australian academic and in her country of origin (The Netherlands), same sex marriage is legal! Was she, I wondered, just putting all the words that the Timorese themselves would consider “disgusting” together? I vowed to ask her when I next saw her, which at the latest will be early next year when AVI pay for us to do an intermediate Tetun language course taught by this very woman.

Then, more was to come. My Tetun tutor told me that he didn’t like any of “this”. When I questioned him as to what “this” was, he said, “all these people”. I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked as this young man has expressed so many views concerning women (eg there is no such thing as rape in marriage because of course, if I want sex with my wife, she must give it to me!), gender and children that adding homosexuality to the bag covers thoroughly the whole issue of sex and gender. However, at times like this, I simply cannot shut my mouth and say nothing. I explained to him that being homosexual is a human right and that in countries such as my own, such people are (generally speaking) accepted and protected from discrimination in law (mostly). I also told him that homosexual couples could marry in four countries including two that are Catholic and that perhaps one day, this too will happen in Timor. He just tut tutted and shook his head in disbelief that this was so and was probably thinking how strange and appalling we Westerners are. Little did he know that in my mind, I was thinking how bloody lucky I was to be born in the West and not in Timor.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Animal cruelty

I seem to be under constant attack by dogs! It all began a couple of weeks back when upon walking down my street en route from home to work. A neighbourhood dog came out barking and lunging aggressively at me. I had to furiously ‘shoo’ it away so it would keep its distance. Then, a pack of dogs near where I work started barking at me and wouldn’t let me pass. A Timorese man threw rocks at them to allow my safe passage (this is how the Timorese deal with all animals; throw something hard at them whether they pose a threat or not). This unwanted attention continued today when one of co-habitants of the dog that previously bit Daniel started barking aggressively and following me as I walked past on my way back from lunch. It is a frequent site outside this house for the main offender (who bit Daniel) to harass other passers-by, especially people on bicycles. The dog does its best to bite the ankles of the rider which they often try to kick the attacker away. All these instances produce a level of fear in me, which I have rarely ever felt when dealing with animals anywhere else in the (Western) world.

Following on with the canine theme, this morning I noticed the most emaciated dog I have seen since arriving in Timor. I was on a “mikrolet” just coming out of my village, when I saw it lying in the sun with its head resting back over its wasted body. I could see every single bone jutting out from under its skin. Many dogs in my neighbourhood are in very poor condition, to the point where I wonder how they are still alive. One lies in the middle of the road, or when it does walk, it looks as though it’s drunk. Its skin is in appalling condition. In fact, many dogs have skin problems. I’m finding it all very depressing at the moment. I really can’t handle living in a country where dogs are treated in such an appalling manner and are clearly in need of medical attention. Nor can I handle how most dogs roam free; free to terrorise people simply passing by on the street. Both are symptoms of the same lack of love, care and attention.

I’ve had to tune my radio dial to the BBC World Service as Radio Australia has been off air for two weeks with no sign as to when it will return. The Beeb are doing a series on Violence called Violence Begins at Home. However, most of their regular programs are also doing stories on violence and one I listened to yesterday was most relevant to my problem with the treatment of animals in Timor. The program was Sports International (not something I would normally listen to) and they looked at the history of sport and its origins in violence. One of the stories concerned bear, bull and badger baiting along with cock fighting in late 18th Century and early 19th Century England. I’ll spare you the details as it was upsetting enough to hear it on the radio. Suffice to say that the academic expert interviewed said that when people live in rural communities before there is a large urban population; people are frequently cruel to animals. Only with growing urbanisation and education do people begin to feel that sports such as cock fighting are cruel to animals. This is the problem with Timor. Its people live like the English did 200 years ago: it’s an overwhelmingly rural, uneducated population who take pleasure in cruelty to animals (the innumerable cock fights that go on here is proof enough). I understand the reasons why the Timorese are like this (and I don’t blame them for it; after all, it’s only been six years since decolonisation and it will take them a long time to reach even a semblance of human development that we in the West take for granted) but as someone who was acculturated into an overwhelmingly urban, well-educated society, and as an advocate for animal rights, I find this quite intolerable and more and more depressing as there is nothing I can do about it.

I think this issue is just one of many that contribute to my sense of despair at living here. Try as I might, there is simply nothing here that I like or take pleasure in.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Morning work, afternoon give birth

Today my colleague gave birth to her second child. I saw her at about 10:30am this morning when we had a brief conversation in Tetun as to how she and the yet to be born baby were doing. The baby was due at the end of October so we were all anxiously awaiting its arrival into the world. At 4pm, another pregnant colleague informed me that our mutual colleague had gone home for lunch and given birth to a baby boy at 3pm with the assistance of another colleague who is a traditional birth attendant/midwife. Wow! I have never seen a pregnant woman the same day she gave birth. It was so fast! Apparently, her first child was born in the same manner: she had spent all day at work counselling a victim, then went home and gave birth to her daughter at 8pm. My colleague is a whippet of a thing and very beautiful (I do find the Timorese, in general, very beautiful people). I am glad that everything went so well for her and her new bundle of joy.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Asking, giving, taking: cross cultural issues

This morning when Senyora Domingas was walking across our garden, I noticed the hair clasp she had her hair tied up with looked remarkably like the one I have. Out of curiosity, I went looking for my clasp and couldn’t find it. I then began to feel very uneasy and wondered if indeed Senyora had taken mine. I looked again but still couldn’t find it. I expressed my concerns to Daniel. We waited for Senyora to return across the garden and then spied on her through the window. There was no mistaking it; she had taken my hair clasp! I was so upset. It may seem very insignificant to have a $10 hair clasp taken by our landlady (and despite the fact that I have no hair since clipping it all off in frustration with the weather and water pressure) but it is a breach of trust. I now wonder what else she may have taken or will take in the future without asking.

Timorese culture is communitarian (what’s mine is yours). Extended families live together and support one another; there is neither privacy nor boundaries: much like Indigenous Australian culture. My Western, individualistic culture says that what’s mine is mine and if you want it, you ask first (although even then I probably won’t give it to you!); and there is a respect for privacy and personal boundaries. However, I cannot explain this to a Timorese woman who has never lived outside her own culture/country why asking me for money, or taking my things is so upsetting. I regularly feel put upon by Timorese women’s demands (not to mention the boy children and young men who sell wares on the street and won’t take a polite “no thank you” for an answer) and now I feel the sanctity of my home has been broken. Compounding this is the language problem of not being fluent enough in Tetun to say to Senyora in private: “Senyora, I have noticed you wearing my hair clasp. In my culture, if someone wants to borrow something of another person’s, they must ask first. Knowing that you have taken something of mine has really upset me. Could you please ask me in future?”

These cross-cultural issues are very difficult to deal with as I have experienced my fair share of them since arriving in Timor and all of them involve Timorese women asking for money or taking possessions from me. My young university friend Zelia, met with me last week to tell me that the items she wanted were more expensive than she thought at $50 a pop and that she felt this was too expensive for me. I said that perhaps I could buy her one of the items if she gave some thought as to which would be more beneficial to her in her studies. She then asked me if I could lend her $10 as she had run out of money as her parents had failed to send her any due to the cost of a “kore metan” for a relative (for an explanation of “kore metan” see previous post A culture of dependence). I really do feel very put upon by all these demands! I don’t like feeling like this but like the Timorese, I cannot change the mindset I have been given by my culture.

Sometime last year, I re-read an article by Peter Singer concerning his idea that everyone on a comfortable income has an ethical obligation to donate a percentage of their income to organisations working to alleviate poverty and suffering in the developing world. Then in light of the Boxing Day Tsunami that devastated much of Asia and our commitment ceremony where we requested our guests to donate to NGOs in lieu of gifts, I felt it was time to start meeting this obligation. Despite not being on the average Australian income, I felt I was comfortable enough.

I now give 8.5% of my income to OXFAM, UNICEF, IWDA and Animals Australia through their respective monthly giving schemes, even though I am on a much-reduced income due to my volunteer status. Furthermore, when a disaster strikes such as the recent earthquake in Pakistan, I also give money to an aid agency as the situation warrants. Having lived in Timor for four months, I have seen the devastating effects of poverty up close and if anything, living here strengthens my commitment to donating money to NGOs. It is also important to me that my money goes to community projects, not individuals who are singled out from the rest of their community as child sponsorship schemes do or what happens when I am asked by an individual Timorese woman for help (they all need help!). (For a critique of the child sponsorship method of giving, see the New Internationalist article.)

I just wish that my giving to NGOs would help alleviate my sense of guilt at feeling put upon when individuals ask for my financial assistance! Daniel has suggested I actually tell people when they ask that I already give some of my money to NGOs working to help people in their country and that as a volunteer there is only so much financial assistance I can give. It’s difficult though because I have noticed that women tend to get asked more than men and although I have had four instances of it since arriving, Daniel has had none. Moreover, because we are volunteers who live in a Timorese community, don’t inhabit the “malae” social circles, catch local buses and eat in local restaurants - we have far more interaction with locals than other more wealthy “malae” do. They are typically here on well-paid short term contracts, living in gated communities, driving 4WDs and hanging out in expensive “malae” eating/drinking/entertainment establishments. It’s certainly not something that AVI raised or addressed in the pre-departure briefing: the frequency of being asked for money and suggestions as to how to handle it."

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

Private and public

This morning we ate a western breakfast at the Esplanada Hotel; one of the finer dining and living establishments in Dili (based more on prices than quality). We were seated at the front of the restaurant, which overlooks the sea, and I spotted the First Lady of Timor, Kirsty Sword Gusmão, her three young children, a nanny or two, and an entourage of security men disembark from a 4WD with plastic floating devices in hand. They were clearly there to use the hotel’s pool. As the First Lady is Australian, I was not surprised to see her using the pool, as most Australians want their children to be confident swimmers. However, upon our arrival we noted the sign at the entrance to the hotel: “Dear Customers, we regret to advise that the pool is no longer open to the public due to overcrowding.” Clearly, not all of us are members of the public. Still, the fact that the President’s home does not include a pool is worth something when most other Presidents and their equivalents around the world would have one.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)

The sexualisation of girl children

This week we experienced three public holidays in a row: All Saint’s Day, Spirit of the Dead Day and Timor Women’s Day. Daniel had two final assignments to work on for his Bachelor of Teaching degree at Deakin University, so we spent the time at home. I completed reading The Debt to Pleasure by John Lanchester but I did not enjoy it. I find that for me to enjoy a novel, I have to identify with (or at least feel some semblance of empathy) with one of the main characters. This novel had only one main character and he was pompous, overbearing, seldom funny, not to mention a psychopath!

We also went for long walks along the beach and around Tasitolu Peace Park, each day topped off with swims in the warm ocean as night fell. Sublime.

Late Thursday afternoon, we went to a public event to celebrate Timorese Women’s Day. In attendance were a number of my colleagues and one of Daniel’s. Unfortunately, the venue for the celebration was a small park located on one of Dili’s busiest roundabouts. We could barely hear the speeches, drama and musical performances as the small amplifier was drowned out by the traffic.

Worse than that however, was to see one of my colleagues’ 10-year-old daughter dressed like a child prostitute! She was wearing jeans with a small mid riff belly button showing bright sparkly top with spaghetti straps, combined with a black lace see through short jacket and matching gloves (a lá 1980s Madonna); her hair pulled back in a ponytail with hair extensions added for length.

Men twice and three times her age were eyeing her up and down, their eyes visibly unable to leave her pre pubescent body. I was sickened. She would not have looked out of place in the West where younger and younger girl children are dressing in more and more sexually provocative ways. However, in a conservative country like Timor, you rarely see girl children dressing in such a fashion. Maybe this girl’s relations (many who live in the West) have exposed her to such disturbing fashions. I was upset to think a feminist woman in a leading Timorese women’s rights organization would allow her 10-year-old daughter to dress like this. Did she think it was a sign of her family’s modernity and hipp-ness?

In a country where women and girl children are routinely physically and sexually abused, I would have thought, allowing your daughter to dress in such a provocative fashion was only exposing her to more danger. (Two recent cases in Timor: a young teenage girl was lured to a young man’s home where he and his mates had been watching pornography from the West (an increasing problem in Timor and which is often the precursor for sexual violence against girls and women), proceeded to gang rape her. A 12-year-old girl was brutally raped and threatened with a machete for three days by her 80-year-old stepfather after the girl’s mother had temporarily left the village. The father was found guilty but given no punishment due to his age. You can read more about the legal finding of this case here.)

Or am I just being naïve in thinking parents can control what their daughters wear? Surely, it is easier here than in the West, where parents do not have to contend with the pervasive peer pressure of their daughter’s friends and the capitalist marketing culture. Girl children simply don’t dress like that here and it certainly is not a sign of progress for the country when they do. In the end, we left the celebration early as this incident had left me with an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

In a recent email newsletter from Crikey, one article was about the issue of the Pornification of the West, which included reviews of a new book called Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy. I read some of the reviews as I had been thinking about the very problem since seeing the 10-year-old Timorese girl dressed like a prostitute. I have felt increasingly uncomfortable about the sexualisation of girl children in the West, demonstrable by the scantily clad clothes with which they prefer now to clothe their pre pubescent bodies. Daniel and I talked at length about the issue as one day we too will be parents, and most likely, we will be parents to at least one daughter, as we want to adopt one of our children from China (95% of who are girl children thanks to the one child policy and the Chinese cultural preference for boys). How would we deal with our girl child wanting to dress in such a manner? And when many of our child’s friends and parents might not think there’s anything wrong with it and that we’re just “prudes”. (Little do they know that girl children dressing in such a manner is a sign of how far we have not come in terms of gender equality. That is, blatant sexualisation of girls and women is not a sign of progress.)

I joked that given children often do the opposite of their parents, perhaps when I become a mother, I should dress like a prostitute (a lá Eddy from Absolutely Fabulous) in the hope our daughter will dress conservatively (a lá Edwina’s daughter Saffie) or failing that, we convert to Islam and our daughter(s) and I don the burqa.

Category: Timor-Leste (East Timor)