Hadomi Timor

My last day in Timor was like a microcosm of the year that led up to it. It had everything, from Catholicism (half an hour spent looking over Dili from the vantage point of Jesus, early in the morning and on my own) to chaos (getting stuck in Dili lunchtime traffic. And afternoon traffic. And 5pm traffic), cultural miscommunication (trying to buy a bicycle for a Timorese kid from Japanese guys who spoke no Tetun… or English) to being completely overrun by children (a final farewell complete with popcorn, photos and tears).

Dili from Jesus

Timor airbag

And like so many days I’ve had in Timor, it ended in happy, confused exhaustion. And a messy house.

After much deliberation, we had decided to buy one of the kids a bike. Not because he was our favourite (although he probably is), but because he is older and different and he’s never had a bike, despite it being the thing du jour in Dili at the moment. We were worried about how the other kids would react, but a huge cheer went up when they realised he was getting a bicycle of his own – they all scurried away with it and through our thin kitchen walls we could hear the excitement continuing next door.

And so now the mosaic tree is as finished as it will ever be and our house is strewn with half-packed bags and the remnants of a last dinner party.

Even though Timor has given me floods and landslides and giant rats and blackouts and gropings and tears of frustration, it has given me much else besides. Timor is a place where goats and cattle roam the countryside freely and strangers parked next to you at the traffic lights say hello and ‘diak ka lae?’ It’s a place where neighbours will bail floodwater out of your house before you get a chance to ask for help and colleagues will tell you about the time they saw the Santa Cruz massacre from their schoolyard. After a year here I haven’t come close to figuring the place out, but I do have a feeling it will stay with me forever.

And now, reluctantly, I have to sign off (what do bloggers call it? Clearly I don’t know the lingo). From the bottom of my sarcastic heart, thanks for reading. Every comment I’ve got about this blog has been shockingly gratifying for someone accustomed to drafting plays in garret towers (metaphorically speaking anyway) for months on end.

If next time you see me, I look a little dazed and confused please remind me – ‘it’s okay. You just had one of the best years of your life. Bele hamnasa.’