Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to part three
of my life in Timor-Leste. Tonight I would like to introduce you to some of the
cast/characters that make up this little crocodile island.
Connor,
Alexis, Sharanya, and Carrick: We are housemates in the upstairs of a lovely
family’s house in Bairo Pite. The house is decorated with an incredibly unique
sort of 50’s diner theme including large black and white tiles on the floor as
well as purple and pink walls. Connor (or Rowan as I’m known at work) is our
beloved protagonist, but wouldn’t even have a story to tell if it weren’t for
the amazing supporting cast -- Alexis who makes this trip emotionally possible
and Carrick and Sharanya who both constantly make it better and better. Alexis
has her own blog, which is mostly about knitting, but is actually very funny
and well written. I highly recommend it even for the non-fiber arts enthusiast:
Alexis-findingmyknitch.blogspot.com. Carrick also has a blog and his funnier
than both Alexis and I combined: toofarover.blogspot.com.
Drivers:
Although not aggressive in an emotional sense, the drivers here do have a
particularly, let’s say, recklessness. If there is a car length, they will but
a car there. If there isn’t a car length, they will put a car there. Cars,
however, aren’t the only hazard. Large trucks which seem to run on coal are
just as eager to fit into car sized gaps and emit an exhaust that actually
seems to be filled with particulates. Your best bet with drivers of any
vehicle, be it motorbike (scooter or proper motorcycle), car, truck, or
microlet (a van that is the main public transportation here) is to keep your
distance. The safest place to be is without a doubt in front of them. All
vehicles will without warning or provocation slam on their brakes or swerve
wildly to avoid parked cars (seriously, they won’t move an inch to avoid an
oncoming bike, but they’ll give a parked vehicle two car widths). Taxis are the
worst offenders of all. They go incredibly slow when they are looking for a
passenger, and have a tendency to, I can only assume spitefully, sit near the
middle of the road. This makes them hard to pass because they are taking up the
space typically allotted for splitting lanes (riding between traffic) and if you
try to pass them on the left (we drive on the left here) there is a good chance
they will be swerving in to pick up a fair – motorbikes be dammed.
One particularly notable driver is the one who nearly turned
this whole Timor adventure into a very bad trip indeed. Carrick and I were
headed to the gym and were forced to stick to back roads as the main street
through was closed for a religious procession (think parade but with none of
the fun) for Corpus Christi. On our way down a pack street, we were slowly
moving forward amongst the cars, as is the primary benefit to being on a
scooter, when a UN driver decided it was time to make a sudden left but he
wanted to keep it on the DL (I can only assume that is the reason for his lack
of turn signal). His path was, unfortunately, impeded by us. Well, it was about
to be at least. I hit the brakes but realized that there was no way I was going
to be able to stop both Carrick and myself with the little tiny Honda brakes
before hitting the front corner of the van. We very well could have ended up
going under the wheels had that happened. I released the brake and hit the
throttle. The sad little engine made a great deal of noise and, barely, gave us
enough power to swerve around the turning van. Another problem that I have yet
to mention is that we were already up against the edge of the street, so all
there was to the right was car, in front of us was about to be van, and to the
left there was an impossibly insurmountable curb. The drive way that the van
was using, however, provided and access of sorts. Before I knew it, I was up on
the sidewalk, well out of the way of the van before gently easing on the break
and coming to a stop. The driveway itself was out of the question because my
speed made the 90 degree turn impossible. Carrick later told me that he heard
screams from nearby people who saw the close call. All I heard was my pulse.
Bosses/Co-workers:
I don’t want to go into too much detail here because I’m not eager to bring too
much overlap between my personal life and my working life. I will say that I
really like my job, my co-workers are awesome, and my bosses have been
incredibly helpful and supportive of my developing ability. I definitely see
the possibility of some solid friendships coming out of this.
Animals:
Fuck Roosters. Chickens are fine in general, but roosters should not be pets.
At all. Ever. Cock fighting is really common/popular here (on so many levels I
don’t get the appeal), so many people keep roosters outside of their homes on
little leads tied around a leg. We can always here their crows, but they are
typically muffled by the thick concrete walls for the house and those of our
room. For the week our air conditioner was broken, however, we were forced to “sleep”
in the living room to avoid being broiled. That stereotype that roosters crow
when the sun comes up? That’s like saying people breathe at high noon. Yes it’s
true, but it is also happening EVERY OTHER MOMENT. The roosters were so
frequent in their crows that I actually can identify two or three of them by
their voice.
The dogs and people here generally just live in
harmony/disinterest with one another. Dogs wonder around and eat whatever they
can find, and people let them be. Dogs are not usually pets here. There is
currently a litter of puppies downstairs which are ridiculously cute but slowly
learning from their mother that they need to be wary of people. We’ve been
exposed to the puppies enough that I hope they won’t become like some of the
full grown dogs who lived in the area before we moved in. One dog in
particular, we call him Bones rather descriptively, makes a huge effort to bark
at us whenever he can for as long as he can. Often that means as soon as we
begin our entrance to the driveway, while we’re parking, while we’re climbing
the stairs, and even after we’ve gone into the house.
Pigs are fine. I live next to a bunch of them for something
like a week when I first got here. They make some awful noises, and can be
incredibly loud. I only say they are fine because I haven’t had to deal with
them in the same way I dealt with roosters. If I was stuck listening to that
disgusting snorting and grunting all the time, I would probably hate them too.
Landlords/neighbors:
Although there are many, many people who fall under this category, I’m only
going to talk about three: Elder aka Mr. Smiley, Angela aka Mana, and Gilcson
aka Colbain. Elder and Angela are the parents of our landlords and speak
essentially no English. They are both incredibly kind and sweet despite the
difficulties that come along with the language barrier. Colbain is their son who
speaks quite a bit of English and can only be described as a bad ass. He has a
sweet bike that he takes very good care of, he has a lot of friends around the
neighborhood, and has quality tattoos covering his entire back. That being
said, he is just as kind and sweet has his parents (he is the younger brother
of our landlord).
All right, so those are the main players in this little tale
of mine. I hope this is enough to tide you all over for the next couple weeks.
Please, keep me in the know about your lives. I would love to get some emails
or comments about what’s going on back home.
Love you all!
Sláinte,
Connor
