Present perfect

The Timorese will tell you that Timor is not like Australia; Australia has money.  The US has money.  England has money.  Everywhere else is rich by comparison, at least to Timorese eyes wearied by the heat, the dust, the sight of the unemployed, or the underemployed, the dysfunctional sewerage system, the roads that in places are more off-track adventures than expeditious thorough-fares.  And yet . . . and yet . . .

There are many reasons why Malae come to Timor-leste.  Having come, many outstay their initial plans.  Why?  Why indeed when Australia is so rich, the lifestyle so much easier, the electricity infinitely more reliable, the traffic more ordered?  The list might be lengthy for someone with a mind to itemise the challenges of living in Dili.  But Malae come and Malae stay. 

I can’t speak for other Malae, only for myself and for me I am almost in tears every day.  Not tears of frustration or deprivation or longing to be somewhere else.  No, my emotions are evoked by how the simplest of things, the things we so blithely take for granted mean so much.  Here I am rich, not just in money, but in world experience and most importantly English.  I have something that is so easy for me to give that in Australia it would be almost disregarded but here, I am sadly almost a Goddess.

People ask, “What do you do?”  and the words, “I teach English” incite a reverent, “Oh you teach English.”  It is embarrassing.  It is humbling.  And I feel privileged to be able to share my language with these ever-eager students.

Last Friday, after my last class of what was a long (and largely electricity-bereft) week, one of my students came up to me and said, “Today I am so happy.” 
“Why are you happy?” I asked, thinking his reply, in his mind at least, might be, “It’s Friday and me and my mates are goin’ out on the piss.” Or “Wallabies play the Springboks this weekend.  It’s gonna be awesome.” Or “I sent my girlfriend flowers.  I’m pretty sure she’ll put out tonight.”  Well, you get the idea. 

He said, instead, “I am happy because I have learnt this.  I need to learn how to speak in English and you have taught me this.”  He gestured towards the board where notes about the present perfect and past simple still graced the portable white board.  “Thank you,” he added.

I smiled.  “You’re very welcome,” I said.  But what I was thinking was. “Oh my god, can I give you a hug?  What a precious gift you have given me.”  Who’d have ever thought that anyone anywhere would revel in learning the present perfect?  (And be honest – how many of you don’t even know what the present perfect is?  I do now, but I never used to.)

Again today, my student worked very hard.  He is the gardener for Conaco Phillips, a mining company.  They pay for one-on-one English lessons which he relays to his eight-year-old son.  My student worked very hard today.  There was lots to remember – we worked on the rules of making plurals.  Yeah, something you probably don’t think twice about.  He has to think twice, three times, four times, five times, sometimes even six or seven times.  It isn’t easy.  Sometimes I find my patience waning.  I remind myself that he is here.  It is difficult.  It is difficult and yet he comes – on time, every Friday afternoon.  At the end of the lesson I said to him, “You worked really hard today.  That was very good.  I’m impressed.” He said, “I have good teacher.”

And last night . . . well last night I probably broke the rule of not giving English lessons outside of my clients.  It’s a reasonable rule.  Basically our school doesn’t want its teachers poaching its clients.  It has become impossible for me not to in this one situation – ANZ.  As I’ve mentioned before there is a security guard outside and one inside.  Basically the one inside sits just outside the circle of my students.  He can hear every word, yet can’t participate.  Fair enough.  He’s there to guard the bank.  But it’s after hours and the only people inside the bank are staff, contract cleaners, a security guard and an English teacher.  I can’t speak for myself, but the others certainly can’t be considered shady characters.

Last night the guard was young.  He was paying attention and so, as I was giving out the exercise sheets, I slipped behind my students and offered him one.  He took it.  He filled it in.  I gave him one of everything we did, even the homework.

As I was leaving, he came up to me outside.  He wanted to clarify some of the answers to the homework questions.  He got them right.  I wanted to hug him; to thank him for listening, for wanting to learn, for allowing me the privilege of perhaps expanding his job opportunities and maybe in moments when I let my daydreams turn fanciful, even enhancing his life in ways I could never imagine.

The Malae come to Timor-leste for various reasons but they stay because Timor-leste offers them something Australia seems to have lost the ability to provide – a sense of contribution; that feeling that what you do each and every day matters.  Here, in Asia’s poorest country, the simplest of things truly do matter and the gratitude of the wonderful Timorese is a priceless gift and certainly a drug that many Malae are happy to trade  for reliable electricity, good roads and a functional waste disposal system.  It’s an unfair trade.  We get so much more than we sacrifice.