Baby Boomers

The last time I was in a primary school classroom, I was 11 years old.

This time around, I was being interrogated by a class full of 11 year olds – ‘Are you married?’ ‘What’s your religion?’ ‘What’s your father’s name?’

All the important questions.

Compared to my memories of primary school, this was somewhat different. A blackboard propped up on chairs. Curious eyes peeping through windows without glass. No electricity.

Chalk and sweat

Each class (schools here usually have two shifts – one round of classes in the morning, a fresh round of kids in the afternoon) starts with a rousing, if somewhat high pitched, rendition of the Timorese national anthem. Which, like a lot of things here, is a bundle of ironies that somehow the Timorese manage to carry off. The anthem is in Portuguese (‘Patria… oh patria’), which seems like an odd choice for a country throwing off the legacy of 400 years of colonial rule and 25 years of occupation. But despite this, and the almost-beyond-the-range-of-human-hearing high notes that were being relentlessly hit (or missed), I found it surprisingly touching.

These kids were all born between 1999 and 2002 – which is a short time span in ordinary places but in Timor-Leste, these were years that spanned total and utter turmoil, families losing and finding each other, and finally, in 2002, independence and peace. These kids were born in a time of extremes, which I can’t even imagine. They’re as old as the country they live in.

It doesn't matter where you are, 11 year old girls ALWAYS stick together.

Getting accustomed to always being the huge, white elephant in the room.