Early Morning in Maliana
I awake to a cacophony of sounds. The roosters compete for the loudest crow, and inevitably the one outside my window wins first prize. Their song is soon joined by the sound of incessant sweeping as children far and wide complete their daily chore of cleaning the porch and front yard.
The scene that presents itself as the sun rises over the hills is one of both beauty and chaos. Chickens, pigs, cows and buffalo roam freely, but with no desire to escape, in grassed areas that are not fenced and have no gates. In contrast dogs roam the streets with no respect for boundaries or vehicles. Cars and motor cycles slowly meander along roads with no signs or traffic lights to guide them. A family of four sits on a single motorcycle oblivious to danger. Dad holds baby, whilst the oldest son and daughter hold on to each other, fully trusting their Dad's ability to protect them and get them safely through another day.
Yet despite this chaos the world seems both in order and at peace. A young calf runs excitedly around a field with no fence but has no concept of breaking free. A pig ignores the calf's enthusiasm and focuses on finding some exotic but ever elusive scrap, whilst a chicken finds her breakfast by pecking away at a cows stomach. The cow remains static either through apathy or because it has grown to enjoy this morning ritual.
The clear morning becomes increasingly hazy as the morning fires, that are heating water, push smoke across the sky. Soon a regiment of children troop past on their way to school. They wear spotlessly clean uniforms, shiny faces smelling of soap and immaculately scraped back hair. An old man emerges from his hut to tether his cow and move it to another piece of grass. The cow puts up a token struggle and the old man stumbles and curses, as if this daily ritual is something he has grown tired of. The act continues as if in slow motion and one senses a feeling of affection between these two beings who rely on each other for company.
All the while the sun continues to rise, the fires become less polluting and the world continues to progress as it was meant to do - in chaos but in harmony.
Sibuni
Felien meets us at the top of the hill and immediately explains why his left arm is a stump. In 1975 the Indonesians had attacked Suai from the air and his arm had been severed. The Catholic fathers had amputated it he adds, he was 10 years old.
He has reported that his Suco is suffering from excessive food shortage due to the constant rains. We are here with a team from the World Food Programme to verify his report.
On arrival at the Suco hall there is some semblance of order as we are introduced to an elder who describes his first memories being of the Japanese post on the hill. He describes a similar post a little higher being erected by the Indonesians. We can assume that in his eyes we are just another foreign force - but at least this time we don't occupy a post overlooking his village. We estimate that he is 75 but he has no idea. I try to get his impressions of life in Sibuni during his lifetime, how has the weather changed, how have the crops varied, how have the families grow? There is no dry season, the maze crop has failed and the families are growing.
Soon the order his replaced by chaos as an increasing number of elders, youths and children take their place to listen. I try to get their perspective - but in turn I get the same three answers and suspect that we are listening to a well rehearsed script.
I decide that instead we should visit the crops and store houses to get their story. First we are taken to a field of weeds and told that nothing has grown there for two years. Why? Because nothing dries it is impossible to clean the soil. They cannot complete the annual burn, or even pull out the dead plants. So why not dig? No answer. I turn to a young man who looks shocked to be involved whilst his mates laugh at him from the safety of an overlooking hill. I ask him what he does? The elder states that he works in the field, the young man echoes his comment. When does he work in the field? From 7 till 5 the elder says. The young man echoes again. Is this a day off? No answer.
Next I ask if they get advice on crops and they all point to the lone figure watching from afar. I beckon him to join us and he informs me that he is from the Agricultural Department and has shown them how to grow beans. Where I ask? He points into the distance. What about here I point to the untouched field. No answer
We now move into the village. We don't stop at the houses with smiling Mum's and shouting kids, but instead climb endlessly till we reach the top of the village where an old women stares into the distance and appears shocked to suddenly be swamped by a large group of foreigners.
After a rapid exchange of words from the elder we are taken through to the cooking area and storeroom and find a pile of rotting yams and a few cobs of corn. We are starving they say and I have no doubt that this is a very poor family. I ask how many live here and receive three different answers - finally they settle on the elders figure of 12. Their eyes tell me a different number - but I have got the point.
Next door we get a better impression. In the cooking area there is a large pile of yams, but little else and the children's extended stomachs tell a story of malnutrition. The bellies are full but only of carbohydrates and little protein.
I ask them to sing and then I will sing. They sing the national anthem and I sing My Way. Much laughter and applause and just maybe I have provided some light relief. Again the conductor of the Choir is the elder who has provided the tour and all the answers!
As we climb back down through the village it is obvious that there are those who have and those who have very little.
I shake the elders hand and know in my heart that he is part of the problem. I see the young men watching and know that they are also part of the problem. I see the Mum weaving and know that she is working every day to solve the problem, and I see the lone man from the Agriculture department standing on his own and know that he can solve the problem, but no one wants to listen!
Some Observations from Timor
Some Observations from Timor
A friend of mine who is the blue berets in Timor sent me this, It's very out of character for him to write in this vein. I wonder whether it can be taken as a generalised comment on the process of poverty relief and international aid, in a country where the international community appears to be doing all the right things. Apologies for the length, but I didn't feel competent to edit.
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ToshoftheWuffingas
- Posts: 1579
- Joined: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:34 pm
Inanna, thanks but they are not my words, I am just the postman, they were written by a good friend of mine who has seen service around the world in Siniia, Afghanistan, and Timor, when it was East Timor, the email hit my inbox this morning and I was surprised. What struck me was I had recieved testimony from a first hand expert witness which I wanted to share
eborr, I got that this was a friend of yours. I meant it as a general observation, although I realize that I wrote it as a compliment to you.eborr wrote:Inanna, thanks but they are not my words, I am just the postman, they were written by a good friend of mine who has seen service around the world in Siniia, Afghanistan, and Timor, when it was East Timor, the email hit my inbox this morning and I was surprised. What struck me was I had recieved testimony from a first hand expert witness which I wanted to share
Its a compliment to your friend.I hope he will tell you more. I am curious to know about what he really thinks, finds out, what they do. If he can share....
'You just said "your getting shorter": you've obviously been drinking too much ent-draught and not enough Prim's.' - Jude