In Timor, everything is connected. Everyone is related
(terms like ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ are all-encompassing), everyone knows each
other (one day my colleague realized where I live – ‘you live in Johnny’s
house? I used to get tattoos there’ great),
and everyone hooks up with everyone else (an exaggeration perhaps, but only
slightly).
So last Thursday morning, as Ronaldo missed his penalty shot
in Ukraine, I was woken by the sounds of thousands of Dili-ites in a
football-induced state of rapture. Due to go for a walk at 6:45am (clearly the
tropical heat is triggering a profound personality change) we had to wait until
the first wave of hysteria died down before going out. On the street, my
neighbours were looking expectantly in the direction of the Portuguese military
compound, as if waiting for some external sign of catharsis.
When I got to work the effects were still rippling. Money
was changing hands; bets were being settled. By 11am, the Food Security
Assistant was snoozing at his desk. By mid-afternoon, the only person firing on all
cylinders was the guy who’d won the bet and had been buying copious cans of
coke all day.
Sometimes it’s hard to understand cause and effect in Timor.
Every day I ponder questions like ‘Why does Xanana Gusmao expect to get votes
by floating a huge balloon with his face on it above the harbour?’, ‘Why does
the restaurant say they don’t have icecream but they can make a
smoothie… with icecream in it?’, ‘Why do eggs need to be hardboiled then fried
twice before they are edible?’ There are no easy answers here.
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| Community celebration in Liquica: granted, the connection between dental care and good teeth is a little more direct. |
What has become clear however, is that with the Euro Cup over, people can now focus on waving flags and wearing T-shirts for the third election this year. And composing campaign jingles in the style of Indonesian pop songs. And so Timorvision begins.
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