This week marks my seventh week in Dili, Timor-Leste. It’s not long and yet in some ways it's a lifetime – sometimes figuratively and sadly, in places like Timor-Leste often literally. For me, it marks the end of the beginning.
Two of my classes finished last week and I will only gain one more. In fact, I’ll be teaching the same evening class as previously, except at a higher level. I was promised no evening class as having one means I work five nights a week which makes a mid-week social life difficult. Sure the youngsters can stay out until all hours, but we . . . vintage folk prefer earlier nights and more staid activities. On Monday we had a feedback session on their end-of-course exams and one of the girls asked after class, “Are you teaching an evening class next term?”
“Yes,” I said, still bemoaning my ailing social life.
“What level?” she asked.
“Seven,” I said.
She beamed and clapped her hands. “We have her again,” she told her friend. Her joy was humbling. I’m not sure exactly what I did to deserve such enthusiasm, but I am sure that it’s definitely students like that that keep me upright at the end of a twelve hour day.
This term though, I have lost a class and so instead of having four classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, I’ll only have three. This equates to a five and a half hour break between 10am and 3.30pm. I’m hoping it dilutes the effect of finishing late by giving me time to recharge or plan or shop or clean.
I feel more in control in terms of what I think I should be doing – always a bonus. I am certainly not getting as lost as I have been known to in the past.
I have also moved house – ironically into a neighbourhood dominated by big arse four-wheel drives. And yes, most appear to have those two most terrifying initials – UN. The possible upside to this is that I’m surrounded by domiciles housing men with guns. The possible downside is that their firearm abilities might well mirror their driving abilities. I’ll keep you posted.
The house is in the Portuguese-style and is bubble-gum pink. The loungeroom is also vivid rosé, though fortunately my bedroom is cream with a mottling of peeling paster. It’s in an area called Delta Two that is in a side street off one of the main roads and until now my vehicular nemesis – Comoro Road. Fortunately there is a set of traffic lights at the intersection which makes getting across the traffic much easier. Otherwise, I’d be taking a picnic lunch to eat and ear plugs to muffle the vigorous horn honking from locals incredulous at my lack of driving skill. “What is she waiting for?” I can hear them asking, “An embossed invitation in the mail? Doesn’t the woman know we don’t have a formal postal system?”
The supermarket is also across the junction and in visiting it today, I realised that I have always ridden in the exit. No one has stopped me though, so perhaps the exit is for motorcycles and the entrance is for big-arse four-wheel drives.
My lone housemate is Adam, an English guy who’s a diving instructor here. After I’d moved in he told me that although I’m meant to have my own bathroom, his is under repair and so we’ll be sharing until it’s fixed. That was no biggie in the “things you need to know about the new place” stakes. What I wasn’t expecting was: “The cats in the street get into the roof. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, they’ll start fighting and er, sometimes, they fall through the panels.”
Good to know. Especially since the beasts, no doubt hearing that a newbie had moved in put on a stirring performance at 2am. Not that I could see it, thankfully. But I heard it in all its howling, screeching glory. I also felt the tremors as the terrors tore around the ceiling; watched the panels ripple under the thudding of their paws. I rolled from side to side on the bed, hoping to miss any plummeting puss. Fortunately the ceiling panels held. Must remember not to feed the locals felines. I don’t want them getting too heavy for what looks to be very thin chipboard.
On Friday I hope to take possession of my desk and my move will be complete. Not only that, I will truly feel more settled, more focused and more organised. Until then, I shall sit in bedroom and tipping tap away in air-conditioned comfort.
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