East Timor: Karyn Hay
East Timor Diary
Karyn Hay
Day 1
I've been reading John Martinkuss A Dirty Little War:
East Timors Descent Into Hell, 1997-2000 so Im mentally prepared
for the worst. I cant believe how East Timor was ignored by the
international community for so many years. Its a long
journey. The streets are quiet: its Sunday. East Timor is Roman
Catholic (from its Portugese heritage) and most people are
attending church. My first impression is that its very
run-down but
beautiful. No jungle. I think I was expecting to step straight off
the plane into a steamy jungle scene. Take my first anti-malarial
pill; the four wheel drive Im travelling in is swimming in
mosquitos: all full with blood!
Day 2
My driver's name is Manuel and hes a laugh. Loves the
ipod which were playing through the car radio. The roads are
treacherous the further we get up into the mountains. Its cold up
here and a very different feel to Dili: very primitive. Children
line the roads, most of them smiling; a lot of them are under five
and too young to have seen the violence the country has witnessed.
I begin to sense an undercurrent to the smiling faces: this is a
nation in shock.
Day 3
The food in East Timor is surprising, delicious. We eat
buffalo, chicken (organic of course, no growth hormones here), and
tons of vegetables: snow peas, strips of pumpkin, and plates of
mustard-tasting greens. In Maubisse I spend a night in a
beautiful Portugese villa on a hill overlooking the town. There is
a flower garden at the villa; flowers arent something you see very
often in East Timor. The town below is an entirely different
matter: extremely poor, and quite threatening. I think back to the
reality of the war, and imagine how utterly terrifying it must have
been for these people.
Day 4
Oh yes, the great Mt Ramelau how could I forget this part
of my journey? The last time I climbed a mountain it was Mt
Te Aroha and I was a Girl Guide. We stay in a freezing guest house
at the base of the mountain. Alex, a former resistance fighter is
our host. His philosophy is to forgive the Indonesians for what
they did to the East Timorese and his country. Manuel who has
been listening to our conversation tells me afterwards:
Karyn, I can never forgive them. Never. I can see his point.
Some of the worst crimes perpetrated in the 20th century have
occurred here, on a scale with Nazi Germany.
The mountain awaits. Up in the cold and the dark at 3.30am, no
breakfast, and the track up the mountain has been destroyed by a
landslide, so we are basically climbing up a goat track in the
dark, 3000 metres of it. My torch gives out and Im surprised my
heart doesnt. I surprise myself by making it, and the sunrise from
the top is nothing short of breath-taking, or was that the
wind?
Days 5-6
Ive read a lot about the Suai Massacre in Martinkuss
account of the war, but the reality is very strange. Strange in
that everything is relatively normal. (Surely this couldnt have
happened here?) Alberto Moniz survived the massacre (he was 18, 23
now) and shows us the alter under which he hid, whilst friends and
family were slaughtered all around him. It was 1999 and two days
after the national referendum in which 80% of the
population voted for independence from Indonesia. Hundreds of
people were sheltering in the church grounds when members of the
local militia, the Indonesian military and the police attacked. I
ask him how the local militia (many of them East Timorese) could do
this to their own. Money, he replies, and a drug the locals called
mad dog. The Indonesian military would slip it into their drinks
and within minutes they would be acting crazy. Alberto now teaches
English at the school here. The children run around happily,
peering from the top floor of the unfinished cathedral, the same
spot that women and children were thrown off, alive.
Day 7
A reprieve. On an island no less. The boat trip over is
pretty hairy to say the least. The hand-operated bilge pump is
seeing a lot of action. I chose to ignore imminent drowning at sea.
Atauro Island has a holiday resort which is eco-friendly an attempt
to get tourism off to the right start.
Day 8
When we arrive back in Dili the streets are deserted.
Theres been a protest by the Falintil (former members of the
guerrilla movement) demanding reform of the police force. Tear gas
was fired. Its nothing compared to whats happened here in the past,
when the militia and military would walk up and down the same
streets killing people randomly.
Days10 -11
My first overnight stay in a nunnery. Goodness. Certainly
it wasnt what I was expecting. (Im not sure what I was expecting to
tell you the truth.) Compared to the rest of East Timor everything
is very clean and organised and I imagine its quite a blessing to
live and study here, if only for the fact that your day is
scheduled, theres food on the table and a bed to sleep in (albeit
dreadfully uncomfortable). Theres no power in most of East Timor
and the generator gets turned off pronto at 9pm.Goodnight and God
Bless.
Days 12
Los Palos. The Village of Widows is depressing beyond
belief. Most of the men have been killed and theres no money. There
are some community development projects underway including the
soap-making factory we visit. This is a tin shack with no
windows and they have one cardboard box of soap.
Day 13
We visit Jaco Island: it is stunningly beautiful,
glorious. The contrast couldnt be greater.
Days14-15
Back to Dili and the relative comfort of the Tourismo
Hotel (a hotel that features highly in all war correspondents
accounts of East Timor; the Indonesians used to terrorize
journalists staying here, and theres a story floating around every
room). My Itinerary states that its a time to reflect on all the
incredible experiences youve had in peaceful and independent
Timor-Leste, East Timor. Indeed. This journey has been has been a
life-enhancing experience for me. I am going to send books to
Alberto for the school, and on a lighter note a copy of the Pogues
for Manuel. It made him laugh.
