Apparently, my dad enjoyed buying cars...

...and I like cars, but have been able to scrape by without one for a while in Dili.  Taxis are cheap, usually, and walking is really cheap,  but both are problematic after 8:30 pm.  Also, we own enough cars back in Canbera as it is.  However, we have finally bought a[nother] car, a Honda CR-V.  It's basically a 5 door hatch back automatic all wheel drive [AWD], relatively compact but not tiny.

Our previous experience has made us familiar with AWDs.  For Defence wonks, these AWDs are not to be confused with Air Warfare Destroyers.    For a start, instead of several billion dollars,  they cost USD 8,500.  Or this one did anyway.

$8,500 is a reasonable amount of money.  Until you go to the bank and attempt to take it out, whereupon it suddenly became unreasonable.  I've already taken out a bank cheque once and won't do that again if I can possibly avoid it.  But I did get a shock when they handed it to me in $10 notes.  All of it.  

Talk about feeling vulnerable!  I would have felt less visible with one of those huge and stupid publicity cheques, rather than with this fat bundled envelope which 50 people in the bank had seen me stuff to overflowing with banknotes and take out.

Fortunately, I was able to flick it to the seller quick smart.  In her car, soon to be my car, she pulled out a computer case and slipped the cash inside.  Then she refused a lift to the bank, hopped out and was on her way.  She was very cool about the whole thing.

It probably looked like I was dealing drugs.

Sights of Dili, here and there.

Motorcycle gangs, some on heavy duty 125cc machines, most on smaller bikes.  Some with sports exhausts.  Umm, yeah.

 

Girl asleep on the beach in the afternoon.  Looks like it’s her usual spot.

 

A deer (no kidding!) grazing on the park near the beach road.  I think it belongs to the US or Norwegian embassy.  It seems content, rather than overheated.

 

Honey sold in bottles hanging off the end of shoulder poles.  Atypically, the sellers are usually female.  Instead of corks, a dried corn cob is used as the stopper (plus sometimes a layer of bees).  The honey itself is strong and aromatic.

 

Guards outside the President’s house to protect it.  In the shadows of the walls, 10 feet from the guards, people smoking and selling petrol.  Security, anyone?

 

Although the Dili emu parade (the “limpeza”) appears to have ended, some bits of rubbish didn’t get moved.  Like a derelict car on the foreshore that has now been there for over four years.  Maybe no-one noticed it.

 

Kids picking aluminium cans out of the garbage and off the beach.  There must be a market for them, although since only the kids do it, it probably doesn’t really pay.

 

The normal PR victory of a huge 4WD, emblazoned with “UN” on all sides, driving well over the speed limit and horn blaring at any daring to get in its way.  I think the driver was in a hurry to get to breakfast.

 

People washing cars by repeatedly throwing buckets of water and/or hosing them down, and (separately) scattering water on the ground in front of houses and stores to settle the dust.  My comment that some of these activities would be illegal in my home town was met with blank incredulity. 

Walk to work

My usual form of exercise is to walk to work. This takes between 45 minutes to an hour, depending on how hard I push it, and I carry a 7-10 kilo pack. I start before dawn and walk to the Palacio. I usually go past it, down to a local café, where I meet a few work friends and discuss the day’s issues before heading off to begin the actual business of sitting down and producing.

I decided, despite my poor camera skills, to actually record this. With my normal good timing I must have picked one of the haziest days I have ever seen to do this. The smoke on the air largely smelled of wood, rather than plastic, which was nice.

I started at my front door (the photo is the view looking out from there), then I basically stopped every 5 minutes and took a photo and then moved on.

However, the camera work slowed me down to the extent that I’m unlikely to do it again, so here’s the walk on Flickr.

Good news, bad news.

The good news was that like most of my work area, I was excused from ‘Limpeza’ (the Dili emu parade) this week.  The bad news was that, unlike the rest who were on a training course, I had worked till late the previous night.  I then worked early through to late on Friday, and was going to have to work all Saturday. 

 

However, the good news was that my first boss said the Saturday work would just be facilitating meetings.  The bad news was that it was Ministers of Government who were meeting and I don’t speak the language that well. 

 

However, the good news was that one of my co-workers will be there to translate, assist and for me to help her as well.  She’s sharp, well qualified and a subject expert on much of the material.  The bad news is that she doesn’t want to be there and may not turn up.

 

However, the good news is that my other boss says that I’m not facilitating the meetings anyway.  The bad news is that my first boss doesn’t know this. 

 

However, the good news is that I’m not being forced to take a position, just agree with whoever spoke last.  The bad news is that the situation is a bit like two dogs with one bone, and I’m the bone. 

 

However, the good news is that the meeting will define a lot of our strategy for us and help us aim things in the direction that the Government wants.  The bad news is that this will involve a shed load of high pressure, tight deadline work.  Which will inevitably fall on the shoulders of malae advisors.

 

However, the good news is that I am alive, healthy and happy.  After that, there can be no bad news.

Just for Fun…

[i]Hau nia naran Diak Malae.  Hau nia ferik-oan nia naran Just Add Water.  Ami iha ona-mane rua, sira nia nara Three Strokes ho Fidget.  Hau hela Timor-Leste fulan rua ona, e hau ho Just Add Water atu hela iha fulan sanulu liu nia laran.

 

Horiseik dadeer Just Add Water luku oras ida ho balu nia laran, e horiseik lokraik hanesan.  Nia gosta barak.  Nia haree “juvenile warty frogfish” hanesan “clown anglerfish”.  Iha lingua Tetun, ikun.  J

 

Sexta koruk iha hau nia servisu fatin, sira dehan katak hau nia xevi ba hosi director iha diretor geral.  Ami advisor sira preciza ajuda Ministeirio agora.  Depois, tenki servisu liu.

 

Hau aprende Tetun maibee hau comprende ituan ituan.  La gosta la bele koalia lingua Tetun seidauk, maibee hau hela aprende segunda-segunda, quarta-quarta, sexta-sexta.   Hau nia maestri hanoin hau koalia diak liu agora, e nia kontentu.

 

Yes, I’m showing off, but if you had to work the way I do to make what feels like really slow progress, you might feel a little bragging reinforcement was good therapy too.

 

Translation follows:

 

My name is Diak Malae.  My wife’s name is Just Add Water.  We have two sons, whose names are Three Strokes and Fidget.  I have lived in Timor-Leste for two months now, and Just Add Water and I will stay for [a further] 10 months duration.

 

Yesterday morning Just Add Water did a dive for an hour and a half and did the same in the afternoon.  She was very happy [with that].[ii]  She saw a juvenile warty frogfish, also known as a clown angler fish.  [That translates][iii] into Tetun as “fish”. J

 

Last Friday at my office, [it was announced][iv] that my boss was [promoted][v] from director to director-general.  We advisors will need to assist the Ministry [to adjust][vi]  now.  So, [we][vii] will have to work harder.

 

I am learning Tetun, but I still only understand a very little. [I][viii] do not like not being able to speak the Tetun language yet, but I am continuing to learn every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.  My teacher thinks [that][ix] I am speaking better now and he is happy [with my progress][x]^, [xi]

---

End notes:

 

[i] Just Add Water is a spoil sport and has insisted on a translation

[ii] Tetun is highly contextual – many parts are not spoken, they are simply understood.

[iii] See ii.

[iv] I have mistranslated/oversimplified this due to my insufficient language skills.

[v] See iv

[vi] See v

[vii] See iii

[viii] See vii

[ix] See viii

[x] See ix

[xi] See vi

May 1 celebrations

I am told that on May 1 it is a tradition in the villages to hold what Aussies call an ‘emu parade’. You go round sweeping, picking up litter and generally making the place more presentable. On very short notice, the Government in Dili decided that public servants would do the same in public places. So would the consultants. Of course May 1 is a public holiday here, so all the public servants were on overtime. The consultants were unpaid.

Then the Government held a celebration in the just-cleaned area. Three hours work by five hundred people flushed straight down the drain as the crowds gaily threw, and trod underfoot , every piece of litter they could lay their hands on. As I was nearby, I was only grateful that no-one had thought of burning it, as most was plastic.

Update:

This Friday, we are being told to do it again. I view it as a bit of a hoot, other malae were less amused. However, no-one could really complain. I saw the Minister for Finance with a broom (see photo), and she can’t walk too well (having had polio), but she was quietly and methodically sweeping away. I am told the PM was also in line for cleaning and that this is part of a “Clean Up Dili” campaign. The old UN administration (UNTAET) apparently used to do the same.

And the streets do look very much cleaner for the exercise. I saw a lot of private companies also taking part near their shopfronts.

Sights of Dili.

Some of these I have mentioned before, others not. It makes up some of what strikes me as different about this place.

Radiating out from the city centre, they are repaving all the footpaths with hexagonal pavers, usually in red and black, but sometimes also including yellow, the three (main) colours of the flag.

You see quite a few flags around. Most are East Timorese, but a large number are Fretilin flags. Fretilin is the largest party in East Timor (currently in opposition against a ‘unity’ coalition) and was the key political party representing armed resistance to the Indonesian occupation.

Children fly kites quite a bit here, to impressive heights. I haven’t seen the construction close up, but the string appears to be light fishing line and the kites are made principally out of discarded plastic shopping bags.

I have not seen refrigerated (iced) fish anywhere except in restaurants, and even that wasn’t top notch fresh. The man in this photo with fish on a shoulder pole had just finished rinsing them in the sea to wash away some of the smell.





The way oranges are sold is again off the pole, but they are bundled up in a really elegant way.

Children here are very openly joyous and free. At the same time, family discipline and hierarchy are very strictly observed.

The local bird here appears to be the Australian sparrow, which is a definite improvement over the Indian mynah. I’ve also seen some pretty large pigeons.

The earth near Dili has red Australian tones and there are plenty of eucalypts. Eucalypts and palm trees is an odd combination for me.

But I am continually struck by the demure, sidesaddle, scooter passengers, ankles crossed and often nursing a child.

I’ll write about this more…

Lazy Sunday afternoon

As readers know, I live in a sports bar. This is not as bad as it sounds, particularly at lunchtime on Sunday. The football is up at one end of the bar and I’m at the other, looking out to sea. Vendors move slowly, sticking to the shade as much as possible, and families saunter up and down.

There are three main types of vendors. Some have pushcarts or tricycles and sell a range of snacks, drinks (including beer), cigarettes, phone cards etc. Then there are the guys who walk the streets with a pole across their shoulders. From each end of the pole hang such things as fish, bananas, mangos, potted plants, live birds, bundles of oranges, bags of limes – a wide variety. You buy something from them and they cut the string attaching it to the pole and off you go. The third type are the likely lads, who wander the street selling tourist trash for 4 times its fair price – tais cloth, Timor Leste baseball caps, lanyards for hanging your pass on, cheap jewellery, banknotes from the previous regime etc. And, of course, cigarettes and phone cards.

From here I can see the port, boats, Ataúro Island and a wide sweep of ocean. Some days, although not today, the waters are brilliant blues and azures. Last night’s downpour has flushed a lot of mud into the harbour, dulling the colours.

There is a wind chime near where I am that, although soft, drowns out most of the noise from the televised rugby except the roar and the whistle when a try is scored.

Down on the beach, small children have entirely stripped off and are jumping up and down in the shallows. The boys seems to bathe naked up till perhaps 8 years old or so – the girls cover up at a much earlier age.

Some fishermen have pulled up their boat. Some are sorting and mending their nets, and one is cooking. Although from here I couldn’t possibly make out the details it is almost a certainty that they are boiling rice and chargrilling small sardine sized fish on skewers. I didn’t see them offload their main catch.

It really is peaceful.

Okaaaaaay…

It was the night Ugly Early turned ugly late. Ugly Early are a hugely popular local band (4 guitars, drums, and violin) who play classic rock – Hendrix, Stones and more with their own Timorese twist to it. If I can find a CD, I’ll buy it, and if I can find a clip (and someone was filming last night), I’ll seek permission to link to it.

The band was due to start at 9:30 but despite having done a sound check earlier in the night, ran into all sorts of tech troubles. Eventually the place rocked out and we all had a great time. Heineken was plentiful and everyone was having a good time. After the band had finished we were just getting ready to go when a bit of pushing and shoving between some Timorese started.

Security moved in to separate people but weren’t having much luck. Some people started picking up sticks but malae like myself persuaded them to put them down again. I think it was a relief for some to be able to say that they were going to support their brothers, but a malae stopped them. It seemed that we had calmed things down, but anyone who’s ever seen a bar brawl knows that the first thing about them is some idiot won’t take no for an answer. Generally another idiot will call him on it.

That was pretty much the case. Things escalated again. People were hitting people with chairs, punches were being thrown and lots of unsuccessful effort was going into trying to separate the parties. This time I stayed well clear – many faces were quite devoid of reason and voices were brimming with alcohol and anger.

One camp had been pushed and jostled out of the bar (which is open to the air) and the other camp (which included the owner) remained inside. A bottle came flying in, followed by stones. There was a funny noise and something hit the roof. Someone said a gun, but I’ve never heard one that sounded like that. By this stage, anyone with brains was sheltering behind the speakers or other convenient places. I made my way from there to behind the bar, and then to the back kitchen. I also called the cops, only to find that others had done so before me.

Eventually they arrived and restored order. That took time in itself. It didn’t appear anyone was too badly hurt, and eventually they let us go. They wanted someone to come down to the station to make a statement about what caused the fight. I begged off as I still don’t know the proximate cause or, as was of more interest to the police, who threw the first punch. Some left earlier, but I was a bit concerned that although this had been a strictly Timorese affair, roadblocks and other hazards could be on the cards. Despite the excitement, I hadn’t been in any real danger all night, and I wanted to keep it that way.

Eventually I got home at about 3:30, stiff and aching and tense, owing someone 4 Melbourne Bitters as taxi fare. I wanted a massage, but the only options I know for massages in this town are the physiotherapist and some of the beauty shops, unlikely to be open at that hour, and a karaoke/massage bar. Hmmm, perhaps not. So I went to bed.

I fell asleep at about 4. My alarm went off around 6. Someone rang about 8, breathless with the news of the fight. Eventually at about 10:30 I dragged myself out of bed. I look like hell today.

Dili downsides

There's not that much I don't like about Dili. So here's a list.

Every river, every drain is a stinking, open sewer. The smell suddenly hits you like a Mike Tyson haymaker.
It is possible to drive without constantly using the horn. This fact appears largely unknown.
Fresh milk is entirely unavailable.
Cigarettes are entirely too available. I saw some under 5's 'practicing' smoking with a discarded cigarette butt.
There are several 'one stop shops' in Dili. They aren't.
Street prices are more expensive than shop prices. That's just wrong.
In a coastal city in a port town which is the capital of an island nation, fresh fish is hard to find.
I don't think I dare cycle in this town. Cyclists are apparently a slightly lower life form than plague rats.

The list of what I do like about Dili is too long to write up. I leave it as an exercise to the student to infer the list from primary sources.

Dili traffic

I’ve been meaning to write about this. Dili traffic has a poetry all of its own, an ebb and flow that is particularly sea-like.

Aside from the newly marked one-way streets, Dili’s traffic adjusts to the time of day. Four any given two lane road, four lanes of traffic will flow, three to four of them in the predominant direction. Tooting seems to be about the sole form of communication with headlight flashing not only rare but random in occurrence and intent. Added to this is the habit of taxi drivers to toot all prospective fares, young men to toot pretty girls and 4WDs to toot to establish their precedence in the traffic pecking order. Nevertheless, it’s not loud and not particularly aggressive. Flow is the perspective and the word.

Things more flow into things than barge, push or shove. I’m looking forward to getting a car but they are unaccountably expensive.

A lot of writers mention bad and aggressive UN drivers. I haven’t really noticed this personally, but I’ll give it time. They do seem less patient than others, but then others can be infuriatingly slow.

As with many places, the majority of people walk. The little minibuses (‘mikrolets’) travel absolutely packed with usually 3 or 4 guys hanging out the door. This appears to be traditional, rather than required by space considerations. Taxis are also cheap but I tend to walk because I see more that way. A restaurant (Mama’s, a new Thai place) that I’ve eaten at a couple of times, the owners said that they were used to seeing me walking around. I guess most malae (foreigners) don’t walk, and those that do aren’t wearing an Akubra.

Families of four or fewer often travel on a scooter or motorbike. I have seen the occasional bike laboring along with 5 passengers. Mum and Dad have helmets, but the kids don’t. I imagine accident statistics are not particularly favourable, although I haven’t actually seen a crash scene. The main form of damage to cars is not dents from bumps, but smashed windscreens from rocks. Up to a couple of years ago, gangs were notorious for stoning cars. I passed one car yesterday with what looked like a bullet hole in the windscreen. Expats were nonchalant about the sight, suggesting that in all likelihood the hole was years old.

Update: One thing I forgot to mention is the common sight of the men driving the bikes and the ladies riding behind, often sidesaddle. It, like many things East Timor, looks very elegant.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression…

…so I guess these are my second impressions of Dili. The street kids are poor, but they are also dirty. Not sure why that is, as even in the slums of the Solomons you could have used their clothes as the after shots in a laundry detergent ad.

Everywhere there is building going on. All the footpaths are being repaved and the longer term expats say that there is a bit of a new feel to the people.

There isn’t much in the way of rubbish bins, but also not significant loads of rubbish around the place. At the same time they don’t burn stacks of rubbish, although I’m told they do burn fields and like a bit of fire.

I walk. A lot. The people are friendly and the place is laid out relatively predictably. I got turned around a bit once, but a nice young man, with almost as little English as I had Tetun got me to where I was trying to go (rather than back the way I came, which I could have managed). I’ve often guessed a bit wrongly as to which way to go, but I usually don’t get lost, just cut down a side street and re-establish my route.

You see more of the town that way, anyway. I could carry a map, but I haven’t bothered, at least to this point.

Expats here are referred to as “Mr [Firstname]”. I don’t resist, since I refer to my Timorese boss as Senhor A, and his assistants, my counterparts, as Senhores A, C and E. I’m still feeling my way around addressing the ladies in the office. My guess is that most or all are married, but it’s not the sort of thing you want to get wrong, and enough glitter and bling is worn to make judging by rings pretty unreliable.

I start Tetun lessons today after the lady at the college whose course teaches intensive Tetun promised that after 3 weeks of spending all morning learning Tetun ( big ask in time terms!) I would be able to barely hold my own in a short social conversation. So I’ve hired a tutor instead. Afterwards, I found out she has a PhD in Tetun, and maybe her linguistic bar is set pretty high.

There are lots of pigs and goats, with the occasional and always brilliantly coloured chook around. The huge number of goats and the lack of goat on ANY menu I’ve seen to date, makes me wonder if they are milk animals. The dogs don’t look exactly healthy but they aren’t mangy street rats.

My wondering about the vendors continues. A bloke with a pole with bunches of fruit on each end was trying to sell them, as you do. He chanted out “mango,mango,mango”, pretty much as one word, as you might, to draw attention to his produce. What is wrong with this picture? Well, he’d actually wandered into a restaurant at lunchtime while everyone was sitting down and eating. Oddly, he didn’t make a single sale.

The sun really bites here, you can feel it beating down. I wore a big hat everywhere, and collared shirts, but even so, I managed a mild sunburn but I got to it with cream and it has faded. I didn’t leave home without applying sun block this morning.

I'm liking it here.

A week is a long time in politics. And Dili.

A full week in Dili and I’m left with all sorts of impressions. There are a lot of street vendors, selling cigarettes and telephone cards, or ones with tricycles selling water and soft drinks, along with cigarettes, chips and noodles. There are a lot of roadside canteens selling basic necessities, and at least along the main drag a lot of Indonesian and other food places. I’ve been in a couple and you get a very good lunchtime feed for not that much money. Others find the vendors an annoyance – I’m glad they are doing something, anything, to raise a quid.

Hypocritically, of course, I am not consistent. Taxis beep malae (foreigners) as a way of saying ‘You’re walking, surely you want a lift’. By the twentieth beep in a 10 minute period, I get pretty jack of it. But as I say, they are only trying to make a crust. It’s not their fault I’m so out of condition that I need to walk everywhere. As penance, I’ll hire one soon to take me to Christo Rei, the huge statue of Christ that overlooks the harbour, and back. It’s about a 4-5 hour round trip on foot, and I will walk it at some stage, but I figure there’s going to be one lucky taxi driver.

A kid came up to me today to sell me a baseball cap with Timor Leste and the flag on it. I actually had been looking to buy one (or more) and was told that they cost US$3-7 depending on how hard you wanted to bargain. I was going to the ANZ machine as I was low on cash, but I asked him how much. “$5, I mean $10” he said. I laughed – the greed play was so over the top. By the time I came away from the cash machine the price had dropped to 4 hats for $10, without my saying a word. I pulled out my wallet (the cash machine was broken) and discovered $2. Total. I’ll get my hats another day.

I walked out to some of the stores along the way on Sunday, including to the Cormoro markets where I bought turmeric root – mmm. Betel nut was on sale and I noticed more of the red mouths than I had seen before (betel nut stains everything bright crimson). There was meat on sale – I wouldn’t have touched it in a pink fit – flies all over, no refrigeration, definitely whiffy and that’s not even taking into account what the animal’s health was like to begin with. At One More Bar, where I’m currently living, the owner is a skilled butcher. He kills the animals and carves them, makes his own sausages and has a smokehouse as well. Sunday roast is a bit of a treat. This week it will be beef, pork, turkey, chicken and duck. One of the other hotels has gone into direct competition, with ‘traditional Aussie roast’ ever so coincidentally on Sunday as well. I have the vague feeling that One More Bar is going to come out on top, on this round.

More joyously, as the only meat options are frozen meat or market meat (urrgh!), the owner has agreed to sell meat to me – fresh, wholesome and tender. I’ll empty my freezer soon, but I intend to buy his sausages, which are not specially spiced or anything, just a plain good ol’ snag.

I had dinner with Fully Loaded the other night. We put away a fairly nice bottle of red that I had managed to secure and gossiped about work and the people there. His partner managed to turn on a bit of a feast including some delicious chicken. Fully Loaded attempted to find out how it had been cooked but apparently got stonewalled. I guess it was a case of 11 Secret Herbs and Spices. Speaking of which, there appears very little in the way of real roadside cooking – I’ve seen it once or twice only. That may be a function of the ‘warungs’ – the roadside cafes that are everywhere here.


I understand more barbequing goes on down at the beach area, which is about a half hour hike from my place. I’m more or less on the shore, but the beach restaurant strip is a little way away.


Xanana Gusmao is my near neighbour. For those a bit hazy on Timorese history, he was jailed for some time by the occupying Indonesian forces, became the country’s founding president and is now the Prime Minister. It’s kind of cool having a sub-prime-ministerial address, but you know it when his convoy comes through – high speed, sirens blaring and weaving through the rapidly clearing traffic. I want take a photo of his gurads, although I don’t have a camera. It’s not every day you see the National Guard carrying AK-47s (which also appear on the national crest).

I attended my first hash, in the hills above Dili. The scenery was breathtaking, truly gorgeous and other superlatives. Insert your own and be in the running to win a prize of a free, no-expenses-or-ticket-paid holiday to East Timor. You can stay with me if you don’t mind sharing a bed.

The hash master, Daisy, is a tall, long haired, tattooed hoon. He also supervises Rotary projects here and is apparently the only paid Rotary project manager in the world (it’s his full time job). Rotary has troubles raising interest and effectiveness here, which is disappointing as there is so much work to be done. I’ll attend next Thursday to see what I can do to be of assistance. The Dili hash is less tuneful than the Honiara hash, which I hadn’t thought possible. There needs to be a greater involvement of locals – few or none attended with about 50 running and walking. They also desperately need a choirmaster. I may volunteer for their version of the mismanagement committee. Hash horn, OTOH, actually managed to get a tune out of the instrument.

There are four really major supermarkets here – Landmark and Leader (about 90 minutes walk away), Cold Store over the back fence, and Lita, next to the PM’s house (i.e nearby) and across from some pretty spiffy fruit markets. Landmark and Leader are the big ones, but it’s a bit of a case of needing to try them all to find what you need. And prices are SOOOOO variable. I saw DVD machines on sale recently – not Aldi prices, but OK. Until. I got closer and read carefully. They were actually VCD machines and I’m not sure if anyone even makes VCDs anymore. The DVD machines were a little further on and went for US$200 a throw. Minimum. On special. Sheesh! I saw gas BBQs for $US500 plus. I was stunned and not tempted. I think I’d sooner eat at warungs every day.

All is going well at work. I have, ever so infrequently, been accused of being opiniated and pigheaded. Fortunately, Fully Loaded makes me look mild in a number of ways. Maybe I should be Slick Willy. I’ve been getting on well with my new boss, who for the purposes of this journal will bear the sobriquet Nixon, partly from a sonic congruence, partly because he is truly political and definitely not as a reflection on his morals or standard operating procedures. By the end of my second week I should have a work program ready for approval by all, and hopefully by the end of the following week a staff development plan.

And I’ve got to learn Tetun, the local language.

In summary, a jumbled, confused, satisfying and accomplished week. I’m happy, healthy, hale and hearty and I’m off to eat some roast duck. And beef. And pork. And chook. And turkey. And gravy. I’ll lose weight tomorrow.

Start up enterprise

My first day in the office was, like all first days, a bit of a mixed bag. Along with all the things I did expect, there were also those I didn’t, such as where were my passport photos for ID cards (hadn’t been asked), my passport to get a telephone (hadn’t thought of that) and my computer (they were supposed to provide one but the new ones will probably be here in September. Maybe.)

The tour of Dili confirmed some impressions – it will be a lot easier to buy most things that we found hard to get in the Solomons, fresh milk is unavailable, and you don’t drink the water, but you don’t have to. The ups and downs continued that day and into the next. Up: Fully Loaded, my co-worker is a lot of fun and sharp. Down: my UPS, carefully packed was somehow smashed by Air North – a couple of hundred bucks and 8 kg of baggage and excess baggage fees shot. Up: At least I can get a replacement here. Down: Things move as slowly as one might expect. Up: I should have a kitchenette apartment in a couple of days – hooray!