Being pregnant in Timor has afforded me insight into the perils of pregnancy, as well as the sheer miracle of each and every baby born, and each and every surviving mom. Take a look at the statistics: Timorese women bear an average of 7.8 children in their lifetime; for every 100,000 babies born, as many as 800 women die in childbirth; for every 1000 babies born, 60 won't get to celebrate their first birthdays while 125 don't survive beyond age five.

I tell my husband that he is a true miracle because first, (like all babies in the world) he was conceived after a very competitive and strong sperm struggled upstream ahead of million others to couple with a compatible egg. Then, his mother successfully carried him to term despite her severely malnourished state of health which could have resulted in miscarriage or premature birth. When it was time for him to arrive, his mom was probably aided by local mid-wives who delivered him in less than optimum conditions, laid him on the ground on dirty clothes, severed his umbilical cord with a blade, tied it up with string, and then dried the husar with hot ash from a bamboo. (Watch Feto Nia Funu to see this still being practised in modern days) He could have been infected with newborn tetanus, or severe jaundice, or contracted a million different kinds of diseases that couldn't be treated but he didn't. Instead he thrived.

From the time he was three, the country had plunged into civil war and Dili was right in the heart of it as Fretilin, UDT and other parties were embroiled in a power struggle. When the Indonesians arrived (on my husband's birthday 7 December), they promptly began an extermination exercise - primarily aimed at anyone with Chinese blood (Chinese=communist) or anyone associated with the resistance. Chinese were brutally slaughtered, especially in Maubara. My husband was then four years old. He says his dad dug a hole under a bed and hid him there. His family which is half Timorese Chinese, and half ethnic Timorese miraculously escaped the bloodshed. Food was scarce during the occupation. A. recalls how his father managed to feed the nine children: he would shoo all the kids out of the kitchen before mealtimes so that he could apportion all the little food they had equally. A. laughs when he talks about how his younger brother would distract the little sister in order to pinch food off her plate. In 1979, when A. was 8, he was taken to Australia with his grandmother who passed off as his mom. There, he began a new life as a refugee, separated from his parents for nearly 20 years before finally reuniting with them in 2000.

So, that is why I am constantly reminded of how miraculous each Timorese birth is: when 70% of babies are still born in unclean conditions and when nearly half of those under five years of age are malnourished and too short of their age.

(Figures quoted were fished out from the recesses of my mind. Don't ask me where i quote from cos this is not an academic journal!)

One dollar

With baby's impending arrival, we decided to get out for some twosome time on Sunday at the beach. After church,we sped to the market, grabbed a chicken, then went home to prepare toasted chicken & avocado sandwiches, spicy thai mango salad, and sliced pinpinhos (cucumbers)for our picnic. We were still undecided which beach to hit but when we turned the corner and stared out at Dollar Beach, it was simply too irresistible to pass. So we unloaded and set up our huge beach umbrella and got down to business. A. even brought along a mahjong table which he converted into a picnic table with a nice tablecloth! I was quite surprised. The tide was in making for a gorgeous swim.. the water was so refreshing, the turquoise shades with the white sand just made our afternoon seem quite out of the ordinary. Once again, i am reminded of why i still love Timor even though there are days that get me down. The sea, the sand, the mountains... ah..... Oh why is Dollar Beach called Dollar Beach? I heard that during the first UN Mission, there were locals who used to charge the malaes one dollar for using the beach here. In exchange, the locals built shelters and kept the place clean. But one day, jealous neighbours razed their shelters down and that was the end of Dollar Beach's heydays.

On our way back, i finally mustered up the courage to buy a bag of sea coconuts (do other people call them that?) from the kids along the road. I used to have these in Cambodia but never tried the ones here. So we bought a big pack for $1 and i went home to slave over them.... they are not easy to skin! Basically, these are palm fruits filled with juice and the flesh taste like coconut. They are often processed, sweetened and added into desserts. You have to skin them, take out the seeds and then chill them with honey. I ran out of banin-been so i just added some rock sugar.

The ride out to Dollar Beach also brought us past the Metinaro IDP camp... it's been a long while since i last ventured this way. The camp's really spread out now and the tents don't look like tents anymore, the entire area resembles a village now. I was taken by the numerous Fretilin flags fluttering in the air. It was actually a pretty nice sight if you look down from a high point.

ORDEAL..........

Last night I perfected the wrist and upper arm moves essential to get the maximum breeze out of a paper fan on the right hand, and the wide arm swings to work the mossie bat on the left limb. The power had gone off yet again in Becora at 10pm. Usually it comes back on at midnight but last night, the electric fan didn’t whirl back to life at 12. I sat in the darkness, a candle flickering in the toilet, my husband asleep(he can sleep through any heat), while I nursed a sore back and a steadily rising body temperature.

I opened all the windows but not the slightest breeze stirred through the mossie nets to afford me relief. I fanned myself, nodding off with exhaustion and heat; occasionally jumping up when the mossie bat sparked when it collided with a winged creature that had managed to find its way into our room. ‘Piak piak piak.’Outside on the mango tree, a gecko called out. Their trademark cries always sounded like an expletive to me, “*uck you, *uck you”. I counted the number of times it cried out. A. always said that the geckos don’t go beyond 7 cries. This old gecko always seems to run out of steam by the sixth call, its last throaty vibration trailing off weakly.

I was so tired, I desperately wanted to crawl into bed but the moment I touched the bed, beads of perspiration broke out on my back. I fanned even more vigorously, giving me some relief but I knew the ‘exercise’ would make me even hotter. I can’t lie on my back these days as the ‘ball’ in front of me is simply too heavy and presses right into my back. So I tried to lean to the left but baby has a mind of his own, he hates this because his legs are squashed. He protests by kicking and stretches widely in all directions, stepping on my bladder and made me so uncomfortable I had to get up.

I’m back on the plastic chair, both hands in motion again, praying silently that the power would come back on. Another gecko called out. This time it’s a younger gecko. How could I tell? It just sounded more energetic and it actually made 7 cries robustly. Wow! Is this my lucky night then? Perhaps the power might come back soon. But no, the gecko’s cries were met with more silence. The full moon cast its light onto our bed, shining like a faint torch onto A’s legs. He slept so peacefully. I cast a jealous glance at him, wishing I could be the same but instead I was fretting over mossie bites while drenched in sweat.

I grew more and more desperate. I asked myself, ‘What if you weren’t pregnant? What would you do?’ I knew that I wouldn’t care less if I got bitten if I weren’t preggers, and I probably wouldn’t be heating up like I was. Suddenly, hot tears of anger sprung from my tired eyes. My breath was caught, and I started sobbing, the frustration flowing out. I thought to myself, ‘You can’t even deal with this heat, what would you do when baby is back in Timor with you and the power is like this again?’ At that thought, I got even more depressed and the sobs grew louder. Suddenly, A. stirred and got up. He sighed heavily, took over the fan and mossie bat and began his sentry duty. I felt so awful having woken him up, but also half glad because I wasn’t alone. At first, his unpractised hand could not yield a good breeze but after a few minutes, a cooling breeze swept over my hot body. I manage to calm down and enjoyed the moment, lying on my side while apologising for waking him up. He grunted in response, still half-asleep. I don’t know how long he fanned but eventually he got tired and I took the fan back. He fell back to bed and was in dreamland promptly.

Alone again. I was not as hot as before so I kept as still as possible to maintain my body temperature. Then I felt an itch on the sole of my feet and realised I had been bitten. Frustration swept over me again, while I used the other foot to relief the desperate itch. Ahhh! I felt like screaming. Then suddenly, something stirred to life – the fan! The lights in the rooms flickered on and the air-conditioner woke up. Yes! I hurried to shut the windows and fell back onto bed to enjoy the moving air. My joy was short-lived as five minutes later, silence greeted me again. By then, I was too exhausted to care, lying on my bed in defeat; miraculously 30 minutes later power came back again. I caught a glance at the time, 2am, and finally fell off into slumber.

I’m such a wimp.

p/s: the power sucks these days cos the 4.5mgwatt generator is down and the government is still in the process of repairing it. 4 more generators will be purchased by end of the year. I got this info from the newspapers yesterday...in case anyone is wondering why we're living in the dark ages here in oil rich timor.

The Hand Part II

'was browsing through my old entries and was amused by the one about A & my attempt to make humus from scratch. So yesterday while making avocado-garlic bread we decided to make Part II of THE HAND. Avocados are in season now but they're expensive in Dili, if we were in Ermera, a whole basketful sometimes only cost $1! But here, 5 of them can cost $1.

Growth spurts

It's Saturday and i've just had a glorious 1.5 hour swim in the saltwater pool at the Esplanada.. This week the pool's been cleaned so i actually dared to put my head in for a good legs and arms workout! Over the months, the staff there have seen my progress and how the bub has grown significantly larger. The past 4 weeks have been particularly spectacular I must say, with my weight also going northwards. I've decided to stop wearing my maternity-cum-nursing tops so i won't overstretch them, and thankfully J passed me a whole bag of maternity hand-me-downs 2 weeks ago and i've found new treasures in them.

The growth spurt has had me a 'lil worried as i've been gaining more than the 0.5kg a week - sometimes 1kg a week! Doc J has cautioned me to watch my diet and take note of my blood pressure in case i develop pre-eclempsia, a common condition that occurs at about week 30 (which is now!). Strangely, i've not felt more awkward, instead more energetic, and could even climb up to Cristo Rei twice at a time (that's once more than my dear husband!). I've also not been eating my usual 5 meals a day but have dropped back to 3 meals...still the scales have been giving a stubborn upward trend (for the last week i have measured my weight daily with 2 different electronic scales!) So i can only conclude that the 'lil man inside of me is really packing on the pounds. Perhaps it is the uber-nutritious herbal chicken soup and the birds nest i've been taking every week that's making him grow so quickly? I don't know. Anyways, i've put on 11 kg so far! I still remember how people used to remark how small my tummy was when i first began swimming at Esplanada... back then i worried that i was too small, now, i worry i'm too big! I just know that it's never easy to predict if a person will get a big bump or not judging from the first 4 months.

Okay, gotta get back to work now.... (the original reason why i went back to the office!) and then home to make more yummy chicken soup and hit the mat for prenatal yoga! Go girl!

Updates.............

On the dastardly Timor Telecom - I finally managed to get through to Apoio TT at 6pm yesterday and was told that the $20 i topped up had already been accepted but their SMS system was in such a haywired state that they couldn't inform us. But wait, at 6pm, I had $42 in my account.....with $40 of that due to the top-up. Now... that's impossible that i only had $2 before i topped up. Strange... and i heard unconfirmed rumours that TT slapped on a double charge for sms and phone calls on 17th october. Is that true? I don't know but man.... this whole anniversary celebration has been a fiasco...

On a brighter note, just wanted to point out that Jason has some wonderful pictures of Hope Orphanage from his recent visit. Click on these links to see his blog and his photos! Nice pictures Jason! Wished you were back here for longer and also that you had informed me earlier! Come back soon.........

jammed

so Timor Telecom really sucks..... it sent out this message on 17th October promising a 100% recharge value for anyone who tops up their pulsa on the day - to celebrate its anniversary . what do you know? the telephone lines got so badly jammed up the ENTIRE day and night that i could not even call people at all. I had to sms to stay in touch the entire day and by the evening, smses were coming back to me about 4 hours delayed. Needless to say, the 2 forlorn $10 cards i bought still cannot be recharged (it's 930am on 18th October!)SCAM i say! TT - if you intend to give something to the people, make sure your bandwidth is sufficient! There were also hordes of people jampacked at TT shops yesterday as they got the news that only pulsa charged up at the shop got the one-on-one offer. so you can imagine the mayhem TT set off. interestingly, during the 2006 crisis when things went haywire, the sms service was still better than yesterday's dismal performance. So TT what happened???

Arrghh.... the bane of monopoly!

tick tock the clock doesn't stop

yikes.............. the days are counting down...as my lillypie ticker indicates but also because of the increasingly few days left at my work place since i have to get on a jet plane home before i get too 'big' and may be banned from flying... so i've been desperately finishing up work - - which is a loooot of writing and editing for the magazine that i am responsible for..

it's been a real joy to work on my brainchild - i never thought that one day i would have so much 'control' (power!!) over a publication and have that opportunity to decide what others get to read... but it also means needing a critical eye to look at my own writing to ensure that it's not crap i'm spewing out cos it will be read by so many others! This year, i took the leap to write a 2000 word article - my longest feature so far - and I think it's not a bad job! I don't think i would have ever gotten this chance to 'grow' in this sense had i not left home 2 years ago and landed on the shores of Timor. Only in this 'wild wild west' do impossible stuff happen. i don't know if you get what i mean, but yeah... your dreams can be realised here because this is a place of opportunity if you grab your chances.

But while it's been an elation, it's also been quite stressful too due to the lack of other writers i can tap on. For months i have been looking for interested writers (malae or local) through the Centre for Journalist but alas have found no one. i've at least gotten two locals in the office to contribute their writing which they did so with much hesitation - after I had arm-twisted them to write in Tetum. (p/s: these are timorese who were ex-journos)

Thankfully, i can read tetum (waaay better than speak it) and was able to translate their writing for editing purposes. While the content is great, i have to say that they really do need a lot more exposure to writing styles because of the banal stuff they are exposed to everyday in the dailies. What i've observed is that there's always the distinctive preamble of Timor as a sovereign state that regained its independence in 2002, some self-effacing statements, plus the rhetoric (almost poetic) lamentations of injustice..... and of course the lengthy sentences that seem to go on forever. It's probably unfair to judge with 2 articles, but hey, it's like that in the dailies too. The best Timorese writing i've read so far (i admit i have not read a loooot) was a piece from a senior high school student from St Joseph's College at Balide. A youth journalist who contributes to the STL, Ivonia wrote movingly (and without platitudes) when i asked her to relate her experience as an IDP in last year's publication. So there is hope....

i should stop writing now.... i still have 2 more articles to conquer by day's end...this was just a break from that... until the next entry, adios! (p/s: Timor Telecom is offering a one-on-one offer if we recharge our phone cards today!! yippeeee... i'm going to top up my phone now now now!)

Dili 1967

'was sent this picture from a colleague. I'm sorry i don't know who the photographer was and therefore cannot duely credit him/her. So if anyone knows, please inform me. Tks! Besides the Palacio, you can still see Acait building, and the site of the former Hello Mister was filled with trees! THe entire area near Mercado Lama and Balide was also full of trees. I am just glad that for now, there are still some big trees in the vicinity of the Palacio - the roads there are the shadiest and i really hope there'll be no more hacking down of old trees! Dili needs the fresh oxygen that they create! I heard from some colleagues that Dili also was greener during Indonesian times and also cleaner - on fridays there used to be mass cleaning up of public areas.... now, sometimes at night, i have seen people lobbing off old trees possibly to burn for firewood! sigh.......