As I was biking back along the coast during my morning ride it stuck me how differently I address the people I briefly interact with while en route. For instance, if I am approaching a group of international men who are out for a morning run, I usually smile and wave hello. But if I'm approaching a group of Timorese men who are usually sitting on the side of the road, I'll shift my bike to the other side of the road and divert my gaze to avoid interaction. I’m especially weary of young Timorese men. Noticing my polar opposite reactions to these men made me reflect upon my racial sentiments. Is it racist if I only feel this way about the young men and I’m perfectly happy waving and greeting the Timorese women or elderly men? And if I behave this way towards the Timorese men and not the internationals, why do I expect the people who look like me to act like me?
Logically, the international men should be more of a threat because I feel comfortable to approach them with ease, despite the fact that they are much bigger than both me and the Timorese men. However, my interactions with the local men are sometimes more confusing, therefore a little scarier. These brief interactions often consist of them shouting “mister, mister” or asking “where are you going” as they stop whatever they are doing and stare. None of these things are considered rude in Timorese culture, I just haven’t yet become indifferent to it all (especially the staring). Therefore, if I ever had to choose between running up to a Timorese male and running up to another international male (who didn’t speak English or Tetum and wasn’t white for arguments sake) I would probably still pick the international male despite the fact that I have a better chance of properly communicating with the Timorese man.
I think this preference is because as I approach these two men I automatically look for similar ground. I instinctively ask myself, “What makes him like me?” And with the international man the common ground I find is that we’re both strangers in this country. We’re outsiders. And he being an outsider like myself makes me feel like I know him a bit better and thus more willing to approach him. It’s interesting to realize that I don’t feel as comfortable around the Timorese men because simply of where he was born. He’s an insider, I’m an outsider and until I can get to know him on a personal level, that will influence my interactions with him.
An example of the insider/outsider relationship has become no clearer than in my interactions with the Pakistani guards. These UN soldiers guard the road that leads up to the President house which also serves as a prime exercising spot for internationals. Daily I’ll bike/run/walk past the guard booth, often stopping to chat and drink some water they leave out for me and my friends. When I first arrived in TL I instantly knew that these armed soldiers would be friendly so I approached them with confidence and ease. However, if I imagine myself in Pakistan coming across the same group of soldiers for the first time, I see myself feeling far less confident in our instant friendship. In the first case we are both outsiders, thus in a similar boat and in the second case, I’m the outsider, I don’t belong or completely understand and thus our relationship needs extra effort to become a friendship.
It was on another one of my bike rides that I realized just what that extra effort might look like. Whether they knew it or not, the young Timorese males had become a point of anxiety for me and I was wondering what I could do about this. As I was mulling this over a thought wandered into my mind and said, “Mariesa, just give them a coke”. After thinking about this for a moment I realized that instead of lecturing each obnoxious man on manners (which was my initial plan), reaching out to some decent normal Timorese men might go a long ways towards healing the fight/flight instinct that I had developed thanks to a few interactions with obnoxious local youth. So the next day as I went into the grocery store I counted four Timorese men hanging around the outside selling phone pulsa and passion fruit. As I finished up my shopping I bought four cokes and handed each of them one as I walked to my motorbike. It was the best $2 I have ever spent. Although I’m still weary, the smile of appreciation on their faces has gone a long ways towards me seeing the approachable and friendly side of most of the local men.
Another fear I have developed since being in TL is a fear of small, mangy dogs. I don’t think that this will continue once I’m back in North America, but certainly while in TL, I keep my distance. Unfortunately because there are so many of these creatures, keeping my distance is harder than I’d like. Most of these mangy pups are just hungry bitches that are trying to protect their nursing litter. We have two dogs at our home that sleep all day so that they can stay up all night barking with no intention of leaving their perch on our porch bench. However, I have had a few nasty interactions with some of these small dogs with big barks and sharp teeth so I’ve taken to running with rocks in my pocket. Those instances have left me very skeptical of the friendliness of these dogs and very thankful that I got my rabies vaccination.
I’m not the only one with fears in TL. Recently the Timorese in the districts have been extremely worried about ‘ninjas’ that are rumoured to be responsible for a number of murders in the districts (no one seems to know exactly how many). They have been described as a group of Timorese men, dressed in black and wearing black bandannas. It is also believed that they murdered a woman by first cutting off her breasts and another man by slitting his throat. The stories about these ninjas have many people in the districts paralyzed with fear. At one of our schools the teachers refuse to teach night classes because they are afraid of walking home, our female students want to leave the school, and we have been advised not to go out for evening walks.
It’s difficult to determine whether these measures are extreme or not. Some people say two or three of the murders were done by a group of ‘ninjas’ but now every criminal in Timor is being label a ‘ninja’ so they are receiving more credit for their terrorism than they deserve. I have also heard that the UN believes that because it is expected to pull out in 2012, some wealthy Timorese who benefit financially from their occupation have organized the ‘ninja’ gang to create havoc and force the UN to extend their stay. There are also rumours that the chief of the TL national police is being paid off to defer investigation and that any investigation into the matter has created more human right abuses as national police are being accused of beating up suspected ninjas as part of their interrogation process. Finally, others say this whole thing is nonsense and the ninjas don’t exist. However, as these stories fly around one opinion keeps on resurfacing, that this is exactly how the 2006 crisis started... Perhaps if I come across a ninja I could offer them a coke as well.
Besides the ninjas, the TL government should be fearful about what will happen in 10 years when 50 % of the population reaches working age but jobs availability remains low. With 50% of the Timorese population under the age of 15 there are a lot of children here. I mean a lot. While I’m driving home from work I’ll often see a sea of varying school uniforms as children walk home from school. While walking through a village out in the districts dozens of children will seemingly pop out of nowhere to wave at me from their from their front yards. The amazing thing (and brace yourself because this will sound very inhuman) is that they are all loved. And not just loved, but the babies are cherished by everyone, their mothers, neighbours, older siblings, extended family, everyone carries and tends to the babies. I marvel at how the parents keep track of everyone and their endless patience. The Timorese women have set a very high standard of parenting that I aspire to, although on a smaller scale.
But back to worrisome unemployment: The number of children in this country begs the question of what kind of employment opportunities the Timorese population will have in 10-15 years. Currently the unemployment rate is 50 – 70% (depending on how unemployment is defined). The growth of the economy will not be able to keep up to the demand for jobs and when the UN pulls out there will be even greater unemployment. The solution may be to export labour (this is already happening: Korea has a language school in Dili which teaches Timorese Korean so that they can work as manual labour in Korea. Many Timorese also immigrate to Ireland to work and send money home). One idea is to create a system similar to the nanny exportation in the Philippines. The Dom Bosco Salatian Sisters are currently training young women to be seamstresses, secretaries or nuns. With support from the government and Catholic church the Sisters could prepare young women to be nannies/housekeepers in foreign countries. If I were the Timorese government this is where I’d be focusing in order to avert the problems that come with masses amounts of idle youth.
Having fears does not mean TL is unsafe. Although I don’t think I’ll ever totally understand the Timorese culture and I don’t think I’ll ever become completely comfortable with people staring at me, I do know that some of my best friends in the world are Timorese and I’m so thankful to be here.
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