Well, I suppose I should really describe teaching in Timor - it is, after all what I do each day. LELI, the English school where I teach is well-known in Dili. The locals are hungry for English and companies like ANZ (one of my clients) will pay to have their staff taught.
Facilities at the school are amazing. There may not be a functional sewer outside, but inside there are functional internet connections for up to five staff at one time. A photocopier/print!!! A guillotine. A laminator. A teacher's area. Numerous classrooms. Okay we don't have butcher's paper (more on that later). And the piece de resistance - a bookshelf with catalogued resources.
So far I have taught mainly at the ANZ. Next week I get more classes - the Immigration and Justice departments; and evening class and an acronym whose letters I can't remember. The students are wonderful; very respectful and very keen. Do you want homework? I asked them the first day. Yes!!!! After every lesson!! And mostly they do it.
The main challenge withe ANZ was the lack of a blackboard - I teach my classes in the foyer after the bank is closed. Last week they furnished me with a flip chart. I suppose they suspected it might last a month - maybe more. But I'm a teacher that writes. So often students need to see something and so I wrote . . . and wrote . . . and wrote. By the end of my three lessons there were a couple of pages left. I didn't use the WHOLE thing. This week, I have been furnished with a portable white board - the same size but far more environmentally friendly. I like to think I've done my part for the planet - for a couple of hours at least.
Most of my classes will be at clients' workplaces, so I will be literally scooting between them - yes I have a scooter . . . but more on that another time.
Jen, a fellow CELTA sufferer and graduate from Melbourne is heading back to Melbourne on Saturday and since I will be taking over her classes, I've been sitting in. Yesterday, following the students' request for some music, she used Paul Kelly's From St Kilda to Kings Cross in her class. Students find listening quite difficult and the song got played four or five times. Joses was sitting behind me and by the end of the lesson, he was singing along.
What could be more absolutely poetic than an eager Timorese students singing Paul Kelly on a balmy Dili night. It's enough to make any Melbournian a touch homesick.
Thursday 29 September 2011
Are we preparing for some sort of warfare?
As I sit in Dili Beach Hotel, eating their laksa and accessing their WiFi, the high tide sparkles with the light paths that lead to two ships perpetually docked somewhere off Dili. Music is playing. People are eating and drinking. On the road outside cars, 4WDs and scooters go past in an uncharacteristically orderly fashion.
I haven't looked tonight but there are probably three or four UN vehicles parked below the balcony - there usually are. There is a table of Australian Police. They're out of uniform tonight, but I've seen then in here before. Last night there were a couple of Kiwi soldiers. Is the peaceful persona that I experience on a daily basis simply a facade? Perhaps. Or perhaps Dili is a symptom of the West's over-excitement at the thought of getting something, anything.
Sounds cynical? Hmmmm, walk along the foreshore and spot the embassy. They're pretty easy to identify. If you see a huge building or two mostly hidden behind a concrete wall, usually adorned with spikes and sometimes even barbed wire, bet your house you've spotted an embassy. Most of them are there. Brazil, the US, China, Korea, Japan, Mexico and probably a few I haven't bothered to remember. The Australian embassy hasn't claimed water frontage for it's embassy - that's on Comero Road, one of the main roads. But it has claimed space for the Australian Compound.
I have visited this space on two occasions. The address is described as "between Dili Beach Hotel and Foreign Affairs". That's about as specific as it gets in Dili. The thing about the embassies is that they announce themselves with shiny plaques and huge flags that flutter from stalwart flagpoles. The Australian compound is, by contrast, non-descript. It has the requisite concrete wall and spikes that apparently even the bougainvillea won't dare traverse - or perhaps it's thwarted in its expansion attempts. Got to expose the dangers to would-be invaders.
Behind this faceless facade is the Australian clinic. To gain entrance, you have to have your name at the gate. No just rocking up and getting the doc to squeeze you in. I went on Tuesday for a couple of vaccinations and their EFTPOS/Visa machine was down (Surprise! Surprise! It is Dili after all.). So I had to go back this morning to pay. There was much consternation. My name was not on the list. Did I have an appointment? No, I said. I've just come to pay. Dubious but mildly accommodating, the guards let me in, then called the clinic. I spoke with the receptionist / nurse / money collector. She spoke with the guards. It was decided that I could indeed be escorted to the clinic - which also bears nothing to differentiate it from what I assume are residential houses.
The paranoia spreads to the Australian Embassy. To gain entrance, you have to put your passport in the little draw. Wait for the guard to scrutinise it. If you pass muster, you're rewarded with the return of your passport and a visitor badge. One by one citizens and other visitors may then gain entrance . . . into a an area where you are wanded for explosives and temporarily relieved of your water. Inside they will charge you $33 to take a photocopy of your passport and sign to say it is real. On the way out, you relinquish your badge and they return your water. It's all very civilised . . . except it's not really.
It's an imposition. The Timorese are amazingly friendly. The overwhelming majority will say hello and some even dare to strike up a conversation with the linguistically-challenged malai (foreigners). This is in stark contrast to the UN vehicles - hulking 4WD, white with a stark black UN on each side, belt up Beach Road, sometimes sirens blaring, rushing it seems to something urgent, urgent, urgent. But the scene is otherwise so tranquil, I'm left to wonder whether the urgency is gastronomic rather than military.
Even visitors, ponder what it is that the UN is doing here. Scuttlebutt is that they're leaving. We are too, apparently. No doubt the embassies will remain though. East Timor, it seems, might just be ripe for the picking. What are all these countries waiting for? Resources? Territory? Only they can tell and the cynic in me says that if we were to ask we wouldn't get an honest answer.
Until then, let's all party up at the Brazillian embassy - I'm told they dispense with formalities and should you dare to grace their threshold, will swing the door open and welcome you with a cheery, "Bon Dia!"
I haven't looked tonight but there are probably three or four UN vehicles parked below the balcony - there usually are. There is a table of Australian Police. They're out of uniform tonight, but I've seen then in here before. Last night there were a couple of Kiwi soldiers. Is the peaceful persona that I experience on a daily basis simply a facade? Perhaps. Or perhaps Dili is a symptom of the West's over-excitement at the thought of getting something, anything.
Sounds cynical? Hmmmm, walk along the foreshore and spot the embassy. They're pretty easy to identify. If you see a huge building or two mostly hidden behind a concrete wall, usually adorned with spikes and sometimes even barbed wire, bet your house you've spotted an embassy. Most of them are there. Brazil, the US, China, Korea, Japan, Mexico and probably a few I haven't bothered to remember. The Australian embassy hasn't claimed water frontage for it's embassy - that's on Comero Road, one of the main roads. But it has claimed space for the Australian Compound.
I have visited this space on two occasions. The address is described as "between Dili Beach Hotel and Foreign Affairs". That's about as specific as it gets in Dili. The thing about the embassies is that they announce themselves with shiny plaques and huge flags that flutter from stalwart flagpoles. The Australian compound is, by contrast, non-descript. It has the requisite concrete wall and spikes that apparently even the bougainvillea won't dare traverse - or perhaps it's thwarted in its expansion attempts. Got to expose the dangers to would-be invaders.
Behind this faceless facade is the Australian clinic. To gain entrance, you have to have your name at the gate. No just rocking up and getting the doc to squeeze you in. I went on Tuesday for a couple of vaccinations and their EFTPOS/Visa machine was down (Surprise! Surprise! It is Dili after all.). So I had to go back this morning to pay. There was much consternation. My name was not on the list. Did I have an appointment? No, I said. I've just come to pay. Dubious but mildly accommodating, the guards let me in, then called the clinic. I spoke with the receptionist / nurse / money collector. She spoke with the guards. It was decided that I could indeed be escorted to the clinic - which also bears nothing to differentiate it from what I assume are residential houses.
The paranoia spreads to the Australian Embassy. To gain entrance, you have to put your passport in the little draw. Wait for the guard to scrutinise it. If you pass muster, you're rewarded with the return of your passport and a visitor badge. One by one citizens and other visitors may then gain entrance . . . into a an area where you are wanded for explosives and temporarily relieved of your water. Inside they will charge you $33 to take a photocopy of your passport and sign to say it is real. On the way out, you relinquish your badge and they return your water. It's all very civilised . . . except it's not really.
It's an imposition. The Timorese are amazingly friendly. The overwhelming majority will say hello and some even dare to strike up a conversation with the linguistically-challenged malai (foreigners). This is in stark contrast to the UN vehicles - hulking 4WD, white with a stark black UN on each side, belt up Beach Road, sometimes sirens blaring, rushing it seems to something urgent, urgent, urgent. But the scene is otherwise so tranquil, I'm left to wonder whether the urgency is gastronomic rather than military.
Even visitors, ponder what it is that the UN is doing here. Scuttlebutt is that they're leaving. We are too, apparently. No doubt the embassies will remain though. East Timor, it seems, might just be ripe for the picking. What are all these countries waiting for? Resources? Territory? Only they can tell and the cynic in me says that if we were to ask we wouldn't get an honest answer.
Until then, let's all party up at the Brazillian embassy - I'm told they dispense with formalities and should you dare to grace their threshold, will swing the door open and welcome you with a cheery, "Bon Dia!"
Wednesday 21 September 2011
Street address? What street address?
Dili is quirky. There's no doubt about it. Melbournians who complain about crap roads should come here. Most residential 'roads' are little more than dirt tracks. Apparently mini-canyons (pot-hole is just too small a concept) work better than speed bumps as traffic calming devices - at least in the residential streets.
Well that's one quirk. Another is the concept of an address. There isn't one. Most 'streets' have no names and the houses certainly have no numbers. It makes finding places somewhat problematic. Although, despite this lack of house specificity we did manage to get pizza delivered to Book Club last night. The trick, apparently, is to use landmarks. Note to the uninitiated - ensure your landmark is not going to be moved e.g. a shipping container, hidden behind a new wall, or torn down. Hey, it happens.
So knowing no one has an actual address it was with great bemusement that I attempted to fill my visa application. There is was in black ink with all the necessary boxes, all neat and pristine as they demanded the following: Address: Number ............ Street.............. Area.............
And visa applications are not alone. The bank also wanted this information. I was so very tempted to ask, "Are you going to post me something?"
In their defense, some paper pusher probably created the form, all gleeful that it was capturing all necessary details. But, like any seasoned ex-pat, I filled in all I could Area - Marconi. That's it. That's where I live. It's all I've got.
Well that's one quirk. Another is the concept of an address. There isn't one. Most 'streets' have no names and the houses certainly have no numbers. It makes finding places somewhat problematic. Although, despite this lack of house specificity we did manage to get pizza delivered to Book Club last night. The trick, apparently, is to use landmarks. Note to the uninitiated - ensure your landmark is not going to be moved e.g. a shipping container, hidden behind a new wall, or torn down. Hey, it happens.
So knowing no one has an actual address it was with great bemusement that I attempted to fill my visa application. There is was in black ink with all the necessary boxes, all neat and pristine as they demanded the following: Address: Number ............ Street.............. Area.............
And visa applications are not alone. The bank also wanted this information. I was so very tempted to ask, "Are you going to post me something?"
In their defense, some paper pusher probably created the form, all gleeful that it was capturing all necessary details. But, like any seasoned ex-pat, I filled in all I could Area - Marconi. That's it. That's where I live. It's all I've got.
The place with no post
Imagine a place that has Facebook, email, Skype, all the modern communications - but no snail mail. That's Dili. To say that the place has absolutely positively NO snail mail is an exaggeration. People have indeed sent and received mail, yet the stories of these tribulations border on folk lore.
On my first day, I gleefully romped into the post office. Dili does have one. It's an impressive building and sumptuously cool on your average Dili day. After much motioning of hands with a woman who was probably inwardly rolling her eyes at another stupid malai (foreigner), I discovered that I could in fact receive mail. Those sending items should be told to include my telephone number and I would be duly called when the item arrived.
When I mentioned this to long time ex-pats they duly chuckled. "Good luck with that," they said. And though I took it to be sarcasm, it could, in fact, have been blind hope that someone, anyone might crack the postal code and open the door for letters and packages for all. Unfortunately I doubt that person will be me.
Gabe, one of my housemates assures me that three-quarters of his postcards made it to their chosen destinations - though he didn't proffer a time frame. Jen, from Melbourne, sent an A4 document through DHL (at the extortionist rate of $60US) six weeks before leaving for Melbourne. Despite this pre-planning, she arrived in Melbourne before it. Then there was the time she got something delivered through the UN - eight weeks. I am hoping to collect more stories; perhaps a coffee table book of postal tales might ensue.
Most people seem resigned to sending and receiving electronic mail - cheaper and despite the horrendously sporadic internet connections, more reliable :-)
On my first day, I gleefully romped into the post office. Dili does have one. It's an impressive building and sumptuously cool on your average Dili day. After much motioning of hands with a woman who was probably inwardly rolling her eyes at another stupid malai (foreigner), I discovered that I could in fact receive mail. Those sending items should be told to include my telephone number and I would be duly called when the item arrived.
When I mentioned this to long time ex-pats they duly chuckled. "Good luck with that," they said. And though I took it to be sarcasm, it could, in fact, have been blind hope that someone, anyone might crack the postal code and open the door for letters and packages for all. Unfortunately I doubt that person will be me.
Gabe, one of my housemates assures me that three-quarters of his postcards made it to their chosen destinations - though he didn't proffer a time frame. Jen, from Melbourne, sent an A4 document through DHL (at the extortionist rate of $60US) six weeks before leaving for Melbourne. Despite this pre-planning, she arrived in Melbourne before it. Then there was the time she got something delivered through the UN - eight weeks. I am hoping to collect more stories; perhaps a coffee table book of postal tales might ensue.
Most people seem resigned to sending and receiving electronic mail - cheaper and despite the horrendously sporadic internet connections, more reliable :-)
Sunday 18 September 2011
Continuing my beginning
The days are merging together a bit and I'm not sure if I went for my first motorcycle ride on my first or second evening. This is certainly an experience. Dili has a lot of traffic - more than I would have imagined. The challenge is that there are few traffic lights and largely everything gives way to traffic which operates on a system of merging. You drive and if you want to go left, you just 'merge' to the left. It's sort of like elbowing your way through, except we were on a motorbike. There is also a cacophony of beeping. I think this is so other drivers know where you are. Or it can also mean, "Get out of my way" or "hurry up". I was riding pillion - thankfully because I certainly wouldn't have navigated as well - with one of my housemates Nelson driving and his two-year-old daughter up front. He got a lot of stares and questions from guys I assumed were his mates. And there you have it. My first day in Dili and already scandal.
My Timorese housemates are wonderful. Lorenzo is teaching me Tetun - fortunately he's very patient, at least so far. Shico works for Timor Telecom and he is hopefully getting me a dongle. It's a device everyone needs - a personal internet connection. It could take a while to acquire; things more on Timor Time here. And I totally get why. I never really understood the concept of the Spanish siesta but let me tell you, there have been quite a few nanna naps. The heat really takes it out of me.
I saw part of the end of the Tour de Timor with Tracey, a lovely UK ex-pat who is showing me some of the ropes. I joined her and one of her housemates and friends for an Indian breakfast yesterday. I was a bit sun-affected and last night Nelson drove me to get a massage. Certainly couldn't do that in Melbourne at 6pm on a Saturday night. It was amazing - 1 hour; full body for $15 US.
I suspect though, I'm getting ripped off by the taxi drivers. I'm told it shouldn't cost more than $1 to go most places. The least I've paid is $2. Sigh. I need to ask Lorenzo for some key phrases to use :-)
I'm going to post this now, just incase Intenet Explorer crashes - again. Will hopefully make my next post using my dongle!
Wednesday 14 September 2011
First Day
Well, here I am in Dili, Timor-Leste. It is warm, though perhaps I personally wouldn't be so hot if I hadn't spent most of the day exploring on foot.
I landed at 6:35am and Mark, from the school where I'll be teaching picked me up from the airport and we went for coffee. It may scare some of you to know that he seems to think like I do . . . particularly with regard to the capture and sharing of information. I am hopeful that my role will not include reinventing already invented wheels.
After coffee Mark took me to my accommodation. I am sharing with three cats! Oh and some lovely people. But cats!!! Who could ask for more?
My list of things to do today included getting a mobile phone and number, finding a post office and getting a postal address and opening a bank account. I have so far managed to accomplish all three which is actually an achievement. I set off without a map and using only my memory of the maps of Dili I'd seen on the internet. Those of you who know me well are probably rolling around laughing right now. Scoff if you choose, I have accomplished my goals . . .
I set off in the direction of the ANZ bank. Dili, it seems doesn't operate on actual addresses the way other places might. Pfft, who needs addresses - probably the same person that actually really needed a map. Nonetheless I attacked the streets with gusto. Interestingly there are lots of cars and motorcycles on the road. I'm grateful I'm coming from a big city because I have practice dodging traffic. This is a necessary skill which involves little legs speeding across the road and approaching drives beeping horns. There are lots and lots and lots of taxis, all of whom are keen to take you wherever you'd like to go. I thought this might have proven problematic because I wasn't actually sure of where I wanted to go.
After half an hour or so I saw Timor Telecom. I crossed the road, entered the blissful air conditioning and asked a polite young man if I could buy a sim card. He said what I thought was, "We don't have any. They are finished for today. Come back tomorrow." After several attempts to clarify I had heard correctly I absorbed the sad reality - I had heard correctly. Resolving to return on the morrow, I stepped outside and turned left, right into the path of a hand that was waving a wad of what looked suspiciously like sim cards. We were part-way through the transaction for a sim card, phone and credit when I looked down the street and saw it was "sim-card alley". It dawned on me that the reason Timor Telecom had no sim cards left was that the street vendors buy them all up and sell them from their little stalls. I assume they add a mark-up but since I got the sim card, a phone and $10 credit for $50, I was a happy camper.
Locating ANZ proved rather more problematic. I thought it must be in the vicinity because surely I had walked the length of Dili. I must have missed it, because surely it wouldn't have a big neon sign. So I retraced my steps and then some. I was about to give up, assuming I'd retraced too far when I spotted the Australian Embassy. Those sweet people gave me a map and clear directions on where to go. It seems that while I thought I had already walked the length of Dili, I had actually only reached halfway. Despite assurances that walking to ANZ would "take you quite a while", I set off once again with gusto. It did take a while. I was way, way, past the Timor Telecom shop. But I had a map now and the map very conveniently had the post office marked. Yippeee!!! A small diversion on my way to a new bank account.
And now, I am ensconced in an air-conditioned internet cafe, posting my first update. That's it for me. I will try to post regularly, if only to update you on my progress in winning over the felines :-)
I landed at 6:35am and Mark, from the school where I'll be teaching picked me up from the airport and we went for coffee. It may scare some of you to know that he seems to think like I do . . . particularly with regard to the capture and sharing of information. I am hopeful that my role will not include reinventing already invented wheels.
After coffee Mark took me to my accommodation. I am sharing with three cats! Oh and some lovely people. But cats!!! Who could ask for more?
My list of things to do today included getting a mobile phone and number, finding a post office and getting a postal address and opening a bank account. I have so far managed to accomplish all three which is actually an achievement. I set off without a map and using only my memory of the maps of Dili I'd seen on the internet. Those of you who know me well are probably rolling around laughing right now. Scoff if you choose, I have accomplished my goals . . .
I set off in the direction of the ANZ bank. Dili, it seems doesn't operate on actual addresses the way other places might. Pfft, who needs addresses - probably the same person that actually really needed a map. Nonetheless I attacked the streets with gusto. Interestingly there are lots of cars and motorcycles on the road. I'm grateful I'm coming from a big city because I have practice dodging traffic. This is a necessary skill which involves little legs speeding across the road and approaching drives beeping horns. There are lots and lots and lots of taxis, all of whom are keen to take you wherever you'd like to go. I thought this might have proven problematic because I wasn't actually sure of where I wanted to go.
After half an hour or so I saw Timor Telecom. I crossed the road, entered the blissful air conditioning and asked a polite young man if I could buy a sim card. He said what I thought was, "We don't have any. They are finished for today. Come back tomorrow." After several attempts to clarify I had heard correctly I absorbed the sad reality - I had heard correctly. Resolving to return on the morrow, I stepped outside and turned left, right into the path of a hand that was waving a wad of what looked suspiciously like sim cards. We were part-way through the transaction for a sim card, phone and credit when I looked down the street and saw it was "sim-card alley". It dawned on me that the reason Timor Telecom had no sim cards left was that the street vendors buy them all up and sell them from their little stalls. I assume they add a mark-up but since I got the sim card, a phone and $10 credit for $50, I was a happy camper.
Locating ANZ proved rather more problematic. I thought it must be in the vicinity because surely I had walked the length of Dili. I must have missed it, because surely it wouldn't have a big neon sign. So I retraced my steps and then some. I was about to give up, assuming I'd retraced too far when I spotted the Australian Embassy. Those sweet people gave me a map and clear directions on where to go. It seems that while I thought I had already walked the length of Dili, I had actually only reached halfway. Despite assurances that walking to ANZ would "take you quite a while", I set off once again with gusto. It did take a while. I was way, way, past the Timor Telecom shop. But I had a map now and the map very conveniently had the post office marked. Yippeee!!! A small diversion on my way to a new bank account.
And now, I am ensconced in an air-conditioned internet cafe, posting my first update. That's it for me. I will try to post regularly, if only to update you on my progress in winning over the felines :-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)