Skitching

I first came across this term as having the meaning to ride your skateboard behind a car holding the bumper bar, preferably ducking low enough so the driver couldn't see he was towing you as a hitchhiker-cum-stowaway.

There is a refinement here in Dili. A kid on a bicycle will hang on to the tail hook of a cooperative motorbike rider and coast along. Sometimes 2 kids. My record, though, was Dad with one hand on the right of the tow rail and his other arm linked to a son whose brother was linked to him.

But wait, that’s not all.

On the other side, brother number 3 was holding the left of the tow rail, making for a 5-wide cavalcade of riders. They were travelling at a comfy 20 kph down the main street of Dili calmly ignoring the honks of protest from traffic banked up behind.

There aren't that many roads without deep or extensive potholes in Dili and it didn't seem to me that the one handed riders (or none, in Dad’s case) would cope with this well. I wonder where they were going?

Conference in a Carmelite Convent

It’s the weekend between Christmas and New Year, and I’m working trying to begin the process of educating staff. Some of them are finance staff who have never been shown their budgets. This weekend they are going to be told about execution rates, how to estimate cash needs and even perform the actual estimate for next year. 

They are also being told they will be getting position descriptions (most have none, and those that exist are outdated) and the outline of a restructure will be promulgated for discussion. It’s a massive load of work for staff who really aren't prepared for much of this.

The beauty of finance, governance and systematization will, I suspect, be largely lost on them, given the extraordinary amount and mix of coceptual, legal and process work and learning being imposed in such a short time.

But we are in an Carmelite convent, in Maubara, one and a half hours west of Dili. It is also beautiful. And I’m about to upload some photos of the convent, high on a hill, and the views to my Flickr account. Edit: Sorry, Yahoo has bought Flickr and locked me out of my account. Here are a couple of the convent, and the view. Clicking on them should bring out the lovely large HD images.

The things you see

There is a principle in law in Australia called adverse possession. If you use something for at least 20 years and don't recompense the owner, who does not make a claim on you, you can claim ownership. It's a very drawn out version of 'Finders keepers, losers weepers' I guess. I'm not sure that the same principle applies in Timor, but quite a few companies publish letters stating their sole right to names (such as Samsung, Toyota etc). I do wonder if this is in response to, or anticipation of, such a law.

It rains every day, and there is more water on the roads and less water in the drains. Haven't figured that one out.

Many of the Timorese seem to sing their language (which is not tonal). Just Add Water pointed this out to me about a month ago, and now my accent is much better as a result. Rising and falling inflections are often the only way to distinguish between a statement, a question and a demand. No wonder that the word for language in Tetum ('lian') also means song.

It's Christmas and all over Dili, people are building nativity scenes, with spare wood, thatched roofs and cut-out or even plaster figures. And huge numbers of multi-coloured LED lights. Often there are sound systems and kind of impromptu parties going on. It seems to me that these are being set up by poorer, rather than richer folks, despite the electrics etc. Sometimes Santa Claus is accompanying the three kings. The local Burger King hands out cardboard crowns (without branding) for kid's birthdays, and some of these are being used on the plaster heads of the kings.

There is an unofficial contest for 'highest Chrstmas tree in Dili'. The current winner is Telcomcel, whose entry is only visible at night, since it is green LEDs strung from the ground to the top of a mobile phone base station. A lot of us have thought that the Telcomcel people in particular are showing tendencies about which Freud might have something to say.

All Government cars have to be labelled as such ("kareta estada"), to prevent corrupt use. This does not stop assignees legally using the cars after hours, just as in Australia governments fund privately plated cars for senior officials. There seem to be an awful lot of "kareta estada" on the streets.

Fireworks seem to be freely available and a toy of choice for children. I haven't yet worked up the courage to ask where I can buy some, but a few (or more than a few) fireworks for my birthday next year sounds like fun.

Dogs are everywhere. In the heat of the day, they sleep so bonelessly by the side of the road that I've thought they were dead, perhaps fatally hit by a car. Until they'd open one sleepy unconcerned eye or cock an ear. A dog on my street barks a bit at anyone, but goes nuts whenever I walk by. I'm wondering if it hates me because I smell like a malae. Or if I just need to change my deodorant.

People, especially young women, and also people on motorbikes wear jackets or hoodies backwards. To my eyes it's an odd look. Maybe it helps keep their clothes clean?

Best (?) laid plans

I’ve been having endless and fairly boring problems getting and keeping an internet connection and as a result have had to use two different computers to do my work on. [Warning: Dangerous stupidity alert. If you are subject to contagious stupidity, reading further is at your own risk.]

So I’m working, unavoidably, on the same piece of work on two computers. I can do this with what used to be known as the sneaker network – you carry the work from one to the other on a USB (or, in the old days, a floppy disk). So what do I do? I store it in the cloud so that whenever I access it I have the latest version. Which is great for version control, but not so good if you are having internet access problems. So now I can’t get at a vital piece of work on either computer. I can’t believe I did this, especially since work provided me with a 4GB USB drive.

 

Final solution was to get a temporary internet connection, download the paper pronto. And get a new computer from work, my third in two months.  I started blushing now every time I contact IT support. :(

Tempu udan (rainy season)

The rains have really come. They are washing out the sewers and the garbage men have obviously been waiting for this. At the grates of every canal/sewer all the plastic bottles, litter and other stuff has gathered and can be easily scooped up and trucked away. Littering is not a national sport here, but it is a part of normal life.

There is a form of spinach which grows in the sewers called cancun or kang kung. Although I recognise that many of our vegetables are grown using hen excrement (excuse me, dynamic lifter) there is something that worries me about eating the product of the human equivalent. The outside is washed (at least by restaurants) but even so…

We have also been warned off water coming in the 18 litre bottles for the duration of the wet season.

Just Add Water and I have been exchanging poetry. Usually haikus, but she did demand a sonnet. I have recently been readmitted to Rotary which meets at Timor Plaza. A dinner is served at every meeting as a small fundraiser. The following event occurred when I spotted my favourite food, pesto, but discovered I had made a slight mistake:

In the dark lonely night of old Dili,
Where the Plaza Club towers e'er higher
I took a huge mouthful of chili
And was set in an instant on fire.
I called out  "For pity's sake, water!"
And the steam from my ears reached the rafter,
As my friends and their pitiless laughter
Made me feel like a lamb to the slaughter.

Her response to an event back home sent me into fits of laughter:

Hey diddle diddle
[Names are deleted]
Went for a walk in the wetlands.
The little dog laughed to see such fun
And ran away, and ran away, and ran away…

You have to know our dog to understand the humour I guess, but let’s just say that she has ribbons for obedience and is allowed into (and behaves in) restaurants and libraries.

Work continues to amuse, absorb and frustrate in turns, but ‘twas ever thus. I’m very focused on doing the right thing and sticking to my hours, to prove that a solid day’s work and putting 10 hours or more per day is not a prerequisite for good performance. Overwork sets a poor example for my Timorese counterparts who can conclude (a) that if they want good results they too have to work hours that separate them from family, family life and social obligation; or (b) the malae will take care of it all, so why bother?

I’m afraid I have become somewhat cynical about the motives of a minority of the consultant community who seem to either deliberately breed dependence to keep getting highly paid contracts or who like to feel the country would collapse without them.  The firing and expulsion of the Portuguese judges and legal advisors and trainers are possibly a case in point. Nearly all the arguments have been around the independence of the judiciary. The only arguments in relation to existing Timorese capacity was that foreign judges and trainers were not doing enough to justify their continued presence. This criticism has largely gone unanswered.

Meanwhile, the rains are usually warm and pleasant to be in. On one occasion, my wallet, the cards in it and that ridiculous paper US currency got soaked. Drying them all was a challenge, but in the end everything was OK. Just like being here.

 

Hanesan, maibee la hanesan ("the same but different")

'Same same but different' is what the street hawkers in Bangkok tell you when you ask if the $20 Rolex you are about to buy is authentic. I've been promising for some time to say how Dili has changed in the five years

Some of the differences: Dili now has some really decent roads. Unfortunately the previous lower speeds are not maintained by many of the drivers, some of the motorcyclists in particular. They are breathtaking in their audacity, skill and ability not to worry about their safety or anyone else's.

Dili has a shopping mall with a Gloria Jeans, a Burger King and a cineplex. It charges much more than its less elegant counterparts. It does have a decent supermarket and a really good coffee shop run by a local charity for orphans and abused youth. Of which Timor has a shocking number. I am told that the advent of a Burger King was not greeted with enthusiasm by UN workers here. An international fast food chain ticked the last box for lowering the hardship allowances they were being paid.

On the seashore in the bar/restaurant stretch that we used to frequent, a new coffee store has opened. They only use Timorese coffee, which is very good, from accredited growers who are paid a higher price for the product. They roast the coffee right in the store (mmmm!) and serve a great espresso.

Much of the area where I used to live was the centre of town, due to its closeness to the Palacio do Governu (essentially Parliament house and the Department of the Prime Minister rolled into one).

The central focus of town is now the Dili Plaza (the new shopping mall, not far from the airport. That old centre has really declined. It's rather sad that some of the places are now so run down. Less sad is the closure and demolition of some of the brothels which were accused of having underage prostitutes and of people trafficking. However, I was told by an expat that anyone who wanted anything could fairly easily find it in Dili. It was not a topic I wanted to explore, but his expression gave me the impression that this was on the rise.

The rise and fall of restaurants is to be expected, with some having massively improved their quality and some declining markedly. The informal market which used to set up each night along the beach near the restaurant strip selling barbecued fish, chicken, corn cobs and root vegetables got moved on to a place where they would have a hard time making a living. Again, a shame. I wasn't scared of eating their produce and had the occasional cheap and tasty snack.

All in all, it's a story of slow, unequal and less than planned development. But there are plans and as I saw in Liquica, the will to put them into action. I shall now pour a gin and tonic, and toast Timor's development. Ba Futuru!

Travelling West

A bit an adventure yesterday. I went to a nearby town, Liquica, with the hash for a walk. It was pretty hot but somewhat cloudy. Liquica is far enough away to have different weather to Dili anyway.

Our walk set off. It was to be a short walk around the town, pointing out points of interest rather than a long walk with occasional beauty spots whose purpose was principally exercise.

The points of interest arose before we reached the first one. A group of youths had blocked off the street with traffic cones and were saying “Labele! Labele!”. This literally meant forbidden and it was clear from the context that we were not to follow our path. A rapid exchange of Tetun began and it looking up ahead there was a large outdoor ceremony with people on plastic chairs overflowing out of a shrine and blocking the road. Our prospects for continuing did not look good.

Just then the skies opened. Torrential rain bucketed down. My carefully applied sunscreen and mosquito repellent were gone in a flash, but there was no sun to speak of and any insects foolish enough not to be seeking shelter would have instantly drowned. All the chairs on the road were immediately shifted to positions with a less favourable view but more cover. The youths manning the roadblock, seeing the way clear, allowed us past with an instruction to be respectful.

We went past the shrine, where a bass-baritone was singing something that sounded like it might have come out of Timor-Leste’s animistic past. A supreme irony of the Indonesian occupation was that through their refusal to accept ‘non-organised’ religions, like the widely prevalent animism, they may have created the most Christian and Catholic country on earth outside Vatican City itself. Nevertheless, articles I have read suggest that strong roots to the old animism survive inside ‘Timorese Catholicism’.

We quietly filed past the crowd, who looked at us curiously, but no-one disturbed the old man singing. We made our way up to Liquica Hospital and back down through the ceremony once more. This time a pair of teenagers were singing a religious duet. We quietly filed by again, and although some of the younger people in the crowd looked at us and giggled (they were sheltering and we were stolidly trudging through the rain) it seemed we had not really impacted on those for whom this was most important. I hope so, anyway.

We went past the Portuguese governor’s mansion, now being rebuilt after having been pretty much destroyed, an intact church where Indonesian troops or their Timorese supporters had massacred women and children attempting to hide from the fighting and other buildings, either derelict and being rebuilt or in the process of being built to stimulate social and economic life. One walker commented that after travelling the districts he was stunned at how little trade took place. Firewood, cigarettes, ‘pulsa’ (mobile phone credits) and car and bike fuel accounted for a great deal of it.

Eventually we made it back and went to dinner. I’d decided to go home early and fortunately so had many of the drivers. We went in convey at several kilometres out of liquica were stopped in a traffic snarl. There had been a flash flood, the road had washed away and locals were performing a basic repair as traffic built up. I went to look. They were using nothing but sticks and bare hands as tools. Eventually the heavy equipment – a single spade – was brought. After about an hour we got through, aware by that stage that there was another potential trouble spot ahead.

The bad news was that there was indeed a blockage, with a worse traffic snarl than before. The good news was that a combined trench digger/bulldozer was already at work. The bad news was that the road had been washed away to a depth of 3-4 metres – it was a gaping gash and the digger at best could create only a single lane passageway while traffic was snarled in both directions. The good news was that there was a landslip behind us, which we had avoided but hash members from the US Navy Construction Brigade (known as the “CBs”) had been caught behind. Using their own bare hands and with local help they had cleared the road enough for them to catch up with us.

Eventually, the digger finished its work and with CBs directing traffic, we set off along roads that had been choked with dust that afternoon. It was now night and the roads were wet all the way to Dili. The night was cool and pleasant and we’d driven the 40 kms home in about 3½ hours.

I hope my next travel out to the districts isn’t quite as interesting.

Monster post

I swear I am going to start a new blog. Currently I have to go into a years-dead identity, linked to a now non-existent ISP, to log on. Because Google knows what my current identity is, it helpfully  logs me into that instead and refuses access to this. So I have to do it via an incognito window - cumbersome, but I can do it, so enough complaining.

I've been in Timor for a month and it has changed in some ways and remained very much the same in others. Despite the huge turnover in advisors and diplomats and aid workers, I'm pleased to keep running into old mates. Long term expat friends are also a pleasure plus I'm making new friends.

I have been as busy as a one-legged man in a bum kicking contest, trying to find accommodation, buy a car, learn Tetun and put in a decent week's work while learning the ropes. Also I have absolute nightmares with Google, IT and networks, so forgive the lack of communication until now.

The rains came today (it remains to see if they last). At 4 pm it felt like 45 degrees C, at 4:05 I was wondering if I was too late to build an ark. (And where would I get the animals, two by two? Dili's not London and it hasn't a zoo!) By 6 pm 2 inches of rain had fallen and the roads were largely dry. Muggy is too mild a term for how it feels, but the temperature has dropped to about 30 and the humidity can't be too much above 98%.

I'm working in a Ministry which at least for now shall go nameless, helping them strengthen their financial systems. I'm getting used to the pitying gazes when I say that, and the surprise when people realize that I'm not here for the cash, I think this can be done and I am the bloke to do it. Not the only one in the world, obviously, but uniquely qualified all the same. And I really have some great people to work with.

(As everyone knows, I don't discuss matters properly the business of the Timorese government, the Australian government or my employer here on my blog. Apart from anything else, it would a betrayal of confidence and totally unprofessional.)

I smile and say the greeting appropriate to the time of day to many people on the street (I walk nearly everywhere which is great for fitness but has led to a couple of bad sunburns). I get the occasional thousand-yard stare, but usually at least a smile and/or a verbal acknowledgement. Quite a few times young people (and I remind readers that the Timorese are rather beautiful, with the most stunning smiles) have walked along with me. I have spoken in my fairly stumbling Tetun, which their English generally puts to shame.

I have to admit, I was rather worried about the intentions of some of the young women, but it seems that they just wanted to talk to a friendly malae who was at least trying. I realise that very few foreigners do try. A couple of the young men did want to use me as a contact with the embassy to help them access the 'working in Australia' scheme, but I managed to persuade them that I was not in the embassy and had no influence on their selection processes. They gave up with reasonable grace, and as with everyone else, I thanked them for the Tetun lesson.

In talking in Tetun, direct questions are asked, although indirect replies often given. Questions not considered nosy when talking to someone for the first time include "Where are you going?", "Where are you [originally] from?", "How many children do you have?" and "How old are you?". The answer to this last question nearly always shocks them, in that I am so old (they wouldn't have guessed) and that I only have two children, none returned (i.e. died before the age of 2). I get my own share of shocks. One girl I was walking with turned out to be 22 (somewhat more then I had guessed although I had been misled because she was still at school) with two children.

Oddly, your name often is asked last, or not at all.

Tonight I am sitting in the restaurant in the place where I live. The food's not great. Apparently it used to be then both chefs left. I had fried eggs the other morning for breakfast. Possibly deep fried. The staff are friendly but need just about a .45 fired over their heads to get their attention. Like much of Timor, busy work plus a fair bit of wandering back and forth and taking mobile phone calls occupies them. This is not a slur, It is an indication that 400 years of occupation where initiative was punished takes its toll on even the proudest people. But it is something that can, in time, be adressed.

And that will be part of my job, in a country that has always known the stick and rarely the carrot.

Back on the ground again

Where has the time gone? Just Add Water and I have been rushing around like the proverbial headless chooks, particularly trying to arrange new accommodation. The market is very tight for reasonable apartments or villas. Between the two of us we've inspected well over twenty and the search continues. The thought of living in a hotel room for a year leaves us both fairly cold.

With the sacking and expulsion of a number of foreign legal advisors and judges (remember, my blog does not make political comments or judgements) I was rather selfishly hoping that some quality stuff would hit the market, but none of my contacts have come forward. At the moment we are paying $US3,200 per month for a 2 bedroom place overlooking a construction site with electricity, gas, laundry, cleaning, water rates and everything else NOT included. There is free internet but you are fortunate to download a single page in a night. Reminds me of internet speeds in 1990!

We're also looking for a car, although we might have a little more luck there. A soon-to-depart aid worker has a relatively good 4WD on offer. Cars in Timor keep their value, and so are relatively expensive but you get your money back in the end.

Less household, more Dili.

I've been on one Hash run (walk), walked the 11 km loop around the Christo Rei peninsula behind the huge statue of Christ, attended Rotary (funny how many of the Hash hoons are pillars of the Rotarian society) and covered a very conservative 50kms on foot in the last two weeks. Just Add Water has been doing well and will go on her first dive tomorrow. Somehow, don't ask me, last night she was complaining of cold feet (literally, not figuratively).

Dili has changed in some ways and not at all in others. I'll go into more detail later, but I'm warm and there's really nothing that compares with a G&T in the tropics. The Dili population, by and large are not as painfully thin as I remember them, but I'll be visiting the hospitals in the districts soon and I expect to see another story. Hunger is a major issue here.

The clever merchants of Dili have come up with a way to market jeans. Given that Timorese women are still very slender on the whole, they buy skinny leg mannequins, squeeze them into the jeans and just leave them unzipped at the front (no way that these jeans are going to fit a western model's figure!).

Packing Part 2

Our house used to resemble Aladdin's cave. Dirt on the floors, chests everywhere and loaded with treasures (if only you could find them). And don't even get me started on the storage warehouse called the garage that looked less like a place in which a car had ever been parked and more like Ground Zero in New York City. And enough spiders to make Shelob's lair look like a haven for arachnophobes.

We have cleaned, polished, tidied, gardened and most of all disposed of the accreta of several decades. Our neighbours unknowingly allowed us to fill up their bins on garbage night, and still it comes. We have not yet begun to pack. Just Add Water's passport has not been issued yet and I'm pretty irritated since we paid over $100 more than a week ago for priority processing.

Other things are progressing. I've signed my contract, we're flying out in less than two weeks. We don't know where we are staying, but that will sort itself out. I hear that One More Bar in Dili has closed, which is a pity as the proprietor not only ran a decent bar but was a qualified butcher and served up some pretty good tucker.

We're getting tradies in to fix everything we should have done long ago. Just Add Water is putting in a sterling effort and Three Strokes has been of assistance.

And of course we're leaving Canberra just as the weather starts to improve.

Packing - part 1 of many.

We are getting ready for the move, which is less than 3 weeks. It's been a salutatory lesson on how much you can get done if you have to, rather than if you vaguely want to. My study, a source of personal shame and disgrace, will be tidy and ready to vacuum today. Fidget's bedroom is already done. He saw it on Skype and was gobsmacked. For the first time I actually believe that we can do this. Things are moving quickly and stars are falling into alignment.

Even the weather is cooperating. It's spring in Canberra and it isn't pouring with rain and sleet.

We had a mild disaster last night when a shelf gave way and dropped onto my computer chair. It was about 100 kilos of shelf and papers. However, I was downstairs and it somehow missed everything of value, including my main computer. Just Add Water was terrified that I'd been injured, only to find me arriving and asking what the blazes was going on. Picked up all the mess and got ready to continue, but I decided it was bedtime.

There are going to be a few time consuming things, and the question will be whether to address the problem now or do a Pablo Picasso. Picasso was notorious for crating everything up when he moved house, and never uncrating, but simply accumulating more possessions. By nature, I am very minimalist (with a couple of exceptions, mainly T-shirts), but Just Add Water gets sentimentally attached, particularly to books. It's a question of approach - I ask "Will I ever read this again?", whereas she asks "Will I feel comfortable getting rid of this?".

We still have a long way to go, however, and the question of our trio of pets is very much unresolved.

Diak Malae rises again

It has been 5 years since I posted and much water has gone under the bridge since then.

I left my job in Dili and returned to my Department in Canberra. Leaving there, I went to AusAID, which became the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. I left there, thinking to retire, but found that retirement was a gig that was too hard for me. I haven't had one of those for a long time.

Plus Fidget has announced his intention to pursue an education in Melbourne. Or Canada. Or anywhere that is (a) expensive and (b) far away from his loving parents.

Just Add Water has had no water added for quite some time, and I think a return to Dili and its diving may do her the world of good. It's possible she could write 'colour pieces' for the new Timor Tourism initiative.

We've got about three weeks to pack the house and get it presentable for letting and it's panic stations already. I'll post as I get time, but everyone I speak on the phone says I sound excited and happy (subtext: for the first time in ages).

I am looking forward to the Dili morning sky.

A Dili miscellany.

I haven’t written for a while, largely due to work pressures but also thanks to no large focus.


So I’ve assembled a few small things, a bunch of verbal gewgaws.


Some Tetum expressions: oin midar (“sweet face”) translates to “smile”. “La halimar” (“not playing”) translates as “seriously” in the sense of “very” e.g. tasi bo’ot la halimar means “seriously big waves”. Oi-oin (face-facing) means “a variety”. Manas (“hot”) is fun. Rai manas (“hot land”) actually refers to hot weather, but if you are suffering from hot weather, you cannot say “hau manas”. That is either ungrammatical, or slang for “I’m crazy”. You can say “nia manas” (s/he hot) and that translates out straight into our English idiom of “She’s hot!”. Isin rua (“two bodies”) means pregnant; it’s a useful phrase in my office.


The deer who graze by the shore have vanished. I hope Christmas in July did not feature venison. The tents for the night time barbequers also all vanished one night, although the people did not. The wood and bamboo scaffolding round the statue of Jesus is no longer there. Unfortunately, it didn’t vanish. It was simply untied and pushed down the slope.


I see so many things that take my fancy here, it really is a different place. Last weekend, I was just wandering and a family invited me to sit down and have a drink with them. I smiled and declined, as they were drinking Coke and Fanta. Asking for tea might have been too much and asking for water may have been unhealthy, so it was easier to pretend I had somewhere to be rather than refuse hospitality. Nevertheless, it made me feel good.


For those who don’t know, Just Add Water is now a Dive Master, to add to her impressive list of credentials. Solves the problem of answering: “And what do you do here?”, although what she is currently doing is learning Tetum, an activity for which she hasn’t had time to date.


The dry season has started. No, it hasn’t. Yes, it has. No, it hasn’t. Yes, for the moment, it has.
Except it rained last night.


Work progresses, and I’m going to leave that description right there.

Update from the trenches

I haven’t written for a while, and this one really is just an update for those who are interested in personal happenings. It will be of less interest to those who read for an understanding of Timor-Leste.

I spent two weeks in Canberra. Subjectively, they were two of the coldest weeks I have ever spent and my normal clothing amounted to 5 layers, including thermals. Fidget was running around in shorts, a t-shirt and a hoodie. The hoodie was a fashion statement, he wears one in subzero temperatures and +30 degree temperatures. Naturally, just as I was about to come home I started to acclimatise.

Work has been crazy in any number of senses. We are at a key period and tension is running high. Our national (i.e. Timorese) management team in the office have been promoted or reshuffled and all are new to their jobs, which does not help, so the international advisors are working as change managers, have higher support requirements being placed on them and also are still trying to deliver on the original aims set in a somewhat different environment.

Tempers are not in short supply, but good tempers are.

I’m fielding a few job offers (or at least inquiries as to my availability) at the moment, here and elsewhere. Just Add Water has noted that diving facilities will be a key criterion in determining acceptability – one of the options fares rather poorly in that regard. And Three Strokes would reverse-disinherit me if I tried to go somewhere a little dubious. Like Afghanistan, Iraq or Pakistan. So places like that aren’t on the list. Although I am told that the hazards are somewhat overstated.

The dry season has arrived at last. Only no-one has told the weather, so the rainfall this week has been torrential.

Just Add Water is still in Australia and will be for a few more days. She’ll be thoroughly dehydrated by the time she gets back. And she acclimatised to Canberra’s cold awfully quickly, so I suspect she’ll be suffering a bit when she gets back.

I’ll try to get out for more Timor colour, but I appear to be working 7 day, 90 hour weeks at the moment.

A picture is worth a thousand words…

...but sometimes even that is not enough.

I was walking to work, and the sky was spectacular. Even that is too weak a word. Across a pale azure ceiling, someone had thickly spread a swathe of glowing lava, with a palette knife half the width of the sky. It was sharp edged, entirely artificial and gloriously natural.

Blessed are the early risers. We have already inherited the earth.

I think the air is alive.

I work in an office with 10 women. Two are currently pregnant, one gave birth 6 weeks ago (and has now been back at work for a fortnight) and I suspect one more is starting to show. Two are grandmothers and may be largely past childbearing age, although I wouldn’t be laying any money down.

Four are unaccountably not pregnant.

At least visibly.

Today.

When success is failure, and failure success.

We were talking the other day about the quandary that faces most serious developers of capacity in any culture which has had long term aid programs. Decades of well meaning (I shan’t enter that debate) intervention often leads, not to a nation developing a robust system of responsibility, accountability and bedrock bureaucratic competence, but instead a disempowering of national staff in the face of international expertise.

Very often, the better the technician, the worse the capacity builder.

Of course, there are real traps here, because perverse incentives get built in. For national staff, while there is an advisor to take work off your hands if it is not up to standard, it is easier and safer not to do it well and push both the effort and the risk of failure onto the advisor. With a never-ending stream of advisors and a philosophy that seems common amongst agencies to ‘churn’ advisors, no one is there long enough to catch on. Or they are incapable of allowing failure. Or maybe they even play along too.

So what happens when the rules change? The advisor, hired nominally to build capacity, actually attempts to do so. She folds her arms and says “Not good enough, do it again. Or don’t. I am not going to do it for you, so I advise you to do better, for your own sake.” If she is alert enough, she won’t be fooled by a quite alarming number of strategies coming forward to shake her position, including stealthy resubmission of basically unchanged work, attempts to have other advisors take over the work, appeals to deadlines, appeals to urgency, appeals to friendship etc.

That is when failure can happen. If she has judged matters well, the failure will be painful but not fatal, and the errors will not relate to mission-critical work. She will not be popular, and the blamestorming will be intense. The failure may work well enough to shake up some entrenched dependent behaviours. Of course it needs to be supplemented by support mechanisms (for the very people vituperating her) and development strategies.

If she misjudges either the people or the situation, she may be sacked. Despite forcing a capacity build, she will almost certainly be endangering any extension of her capacity building contract.

No wonder some take the easy path of doing all the work and bemoaning the inability/incapacity of national staff. The system reinforces dependencies, institutes a round-robin of reports proving those dependencies and shores up the position of aid agencies abroad.

The rewards to nationals of taking responsibility are unclear and often uncertain. We are not looking to incentivise the system, and the perverse results remain.

This post is more asking the questions than proffering answers. I’m not trying to offend aid agencies – I work to one that is serious about trying to develop capacity, not just pay lip service to the concept. I just wish there was more consciousness of this and less reliance on systems and methods that seem to have such a poor track record.

In the meantime, my arms are crossed. My national friends can – and will – do better and will be better off for it.

I hope they eventually forgive me.

Limpeja, round 3.

Dili’s emu parade is still on, with the President exhorting the UN and diplomatic agencies and non-government organisations to join in. About the only group not included in his call is the unemployed who would probably leap at the chance if offered a couple of bucks and a brush every week.

He wants the place to be clean and tidy, “like Singapore”. Some malae fairly acidly observe that the problem is not in the cleanup, the problem is the littering that immediately follows.

If Ramos-Horta seriously wants the place to be as clean as Singapore, maybe he needs to take a leaf out of Lee Kuan Yew’s book – make littering illegal, make the penalties both severe (stiff fines) and humiliating (caning) and enforce them.

Medical doctors often prefer to attack the disease rather than treat the symptoms.

Just sayin’.

In the meantime, Friday morning should be a relaxing stroll with a broom or a bag.

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.