Louise intrigues me. She’s been places I (shamefully) didn’t know even existed. The Land of Oz? She’s probably been there and broken bread with the Man Behind the Curtain; she’s just that cool. So, I dropped her an email to see if she would be willing to share some of her experiences in East Timor.

For you short attention spanners, this might be a little lengthy. But I can’t tell you how much I loved reading her answers - so duh, you will, too.

A little background first:

I arrived in Dili, the capital of East Timor (Timor Leste) in January 2000. Just three months before this the country had been thrown into violent anarchy upon the withdrawal of the Indonesian military after 78.5% of the population voted for Independence. Evidence of the violence was everywhere- most building had been burned out, all windows shattered and most businesses had shut up shop. During the violence two thirds of the population had fled (either to Australia or, more commonly, to refugee camps in West Timor). I had been involved in East Timor support groups for a few years prior to my arrival, and was therefore lucky enough to know a local couple called Nuno and Maria who showed me to my temporary home- a once beautiful small villa near the Santa Cruz cemetery, that was now nearly falling down. The furnishings consisted of a wooden bed and nothing much else, and many of the windows had been replaced with sheets of corrugated metal after the builing had been fire-bombed.

I must admit that first night my thoughts revolved around how quickly I could go back home, but over the next few days I fell in love with the small island-nation.

What’s the weirdest thing you ate there (you know me, it’s all about the comestibles)?

The food was pretty simple, as the country was still getting back on it’s feet: lots of rice and instant noodles. I did eat a lot of plain boiled rice with soy-sauce, as I had a bad reaction to my anti-malarial medication and couldn’t stomach much else. The fruit, however, was amazing, and it was where I fell in love with Custard Apples and giant red bananas that are as thick as your fist.

Who was the most memorable character you met?

The most memerable character I met was a 4 foot 10 inch tall petite nun called Fabiola. Fabiola is famous in Dili for standing up to authority and getting things done for the good of the people- be it standing up to the Indonesian government prior to their withdrawal, or to the beaurocrats within the UN administration during the transitional period. I once heard a story of a gang of violent youths stopping cars trying to reach the Dili airport, and Sister Fabiola jumped out of the car, in her nun’s habit and sandals, and started swinging kicks at anyone she could reach. In spite of her diminutive status, the gang cleared away.

There are many, many more people in East Timor who I admire fiercely. So many people told me stories of the horrors they endured during the Indonesian occupation that it brought tears to my eyes. There is the mother who’s baby daughter died in her arms while she was running through the mountains to hide from the advancing Indonesian troops in 1975; there is the sister who watched her 11 year old sibling get shot through the head; and there is the priest who told me of the people who hid inside the roof of his church from the pro-Indonesian Militia in 1999, and how when he returned he found their blood dripping through hundreds of bullet holes in the ceiling. I could not help but think that I may have just given up if I had been in their situation, but instead they went on to eventually gain the independence they so longed for.

What lesson, or lessons, would you say you learned from your travels?

Aside from always packing dental floss? I would say to always be aware of where you are going when you get into a taxi, and never, ever, allow the taxi driver to pick up another ‘passenger’ while you are in the car (I got out of this similar situation by pretending to phone someone to tell them where I was as they were quickly driving me towards a deserted field- they heard the phone call and changed directions, delivering me unharmed to my destination).

Another lesson I have learned is that listening can be far more valuable than talking, and that you should always wear comfortable shoes if you are attending a wedding where you will be expected to dance with all 200 male guests.

Oh, and make sure the UN army officer you are talking to is not in fact THE Major-General Peter Cosgrove- in charge of the entire UN military operation in East Timor- before you brush him off as yet another soldier about to wolf-whistle at you. Oops.

My trip to East Timor, at the age of 20 years old, was the first time I ever left Australia. It was a true eye-opener, and somewhat of a ‘baptism of fire’ as far as travel lessons go. However scary and emotional it was at times, I would give anything right now to be sitting on the concrete porch of that small villa, watching dusk settle on the banana trees and bouganvilleas, while listening to the sounds of the local church choir echoing through the neighbourhood as they stand in a burnt-out house practicing for Sunday mass.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008 | stories