Standing On The Outside Looking In

Tonight, after dinner, we somehow found ourselves at a small local bar in Dili. We were the only women. And the only malae (foreigners).

The bar was playing loud Latin American music. An incredibly drunk old man was dancing alone on the footpath. Around a dozen other men sat on plastic chairs outside the bar, drinking, laughing and talking.

It was the music that stopped us; made us stare.

It was the men who welcomed us, gave us seats, beers and asked us where we were from. They wanted to know why we were in Timor, welcomed us to their country, and asked us to dance.

I spoke with the owner, who thankfully could speak English. My Tetun is so incredibly basic.

He said we should stay for a drink and come back anytime. At this bar, he told me, everyone is happy. Always happy, always laughing, always dancing. Happy 24/7.

He told me that they don’t get very many malae at the bar. I asked him why, since it seemed like such a fun, happy place.

Malae, he told me, don’t seem to want to be happy. They work too hard, and don’t dance, laugh or relax enough.

I’ve had these moments in so-called “developing” countries before. The moments that make me question what I’m doing. The moments that make me wonder if development, my chosen field, leads people to life that is less simple, less happy. The moments that make me wonder if “they” have it right, and “we” have it wrong.

There is, what I think to be, a misconception about people in developing countries – a belief that misery abounds because they don’t have dual flush toilets, flat screen TV’s and iPhones.

I often find the opposite.

I don’t have the answers and I’m not sure if there are any. Maybe “we” have it right, maybe “they” do.

But, for tonight, I didn’t need answers.

 I had happiness.

And about a dozen new Timorese friends.

 

 

The people. The preparation. The Idealist.

Among the flurry of preparation, phone calls, and checklists I was working on today, I took a few minutes to read the first few pages of the two new books that arrived in the mail this afternoon. The books that I hope will keep me somewhat entertained during the two four-hour, overnight layovers I will be forced to endure in two weeks.

I am about to embark on a journey. A journey in which I will undertake the fieldwork required for my PhD. In two weeks, I will leave Adelaide for Dili, Timor-Leste and this blog (I hope) will help me to vent, remember, and add to my field notes.

Unfortunately, this journey involves long layovers in both Melbourne and Darwin. Books were a necessity.

The first book, Living History, is Hillary Clinton’s autobiography and the first few pages inspired the title of the blog. The following line from the Author’s Note (p.XIII) leaped off the page:

“I believe that the people and places are important, and what I learned from them is part of who I am today.”

It stood out to me because it’s true. I’ve travelled. I met people from around the world. And every single person and place has made an impact on me, has changed me in some way. Some of the impacts have been profound, some I might not have even noticed. But they have all contributed to who I am today. And this next adventure, to Timor, will be no different.

The first few pages of the second book offered thoughts that might not have been so philosophical, but brought back memories of past trips, and were so accurate it was almost spooky. The book, Hello Missus, by Lynne Minion, an Aussie who caught the humanitarian bug and found herself in Timor-Leste.

“Realising dreams comes with risk… After all, that’s what makes them dreams, otherwise they’d just be occurrences. Yes, realising dreams requires bravery… but at this moment I’m wondering if they also require enormous fucking stupidity.”

Yep, been there before. There again now, actually.

“Is this idealism, or is it madness?”

Yep. That’s it in a nutshell.

Idealism. It’s a big word. A loaded word. A word that all those who have done as I have, studied the class notes, spent hours on research, wrote the papers, and finally decided on a career in international development know all too well.

My idealism is usually kept secret. Buried away, under all of those “I know better than to think I can save the world” essays and discussions I’ve had over the last 5 years at university. But it’s there. It has to be.

Or else I wouldn’t be embarking on this journey in the first place.