Malae who have been in Timor-Leste a month or more have probably come to realise, and grudgingly accept, that the Timorese are not planners. They live in the moment. And while the more spiritual amongst us might applaud this as an ideal, there are times when a smidgen of forward-thinking wouldn’t be amiss.
At this end of the year such occasions arise quite frequently for the Timorese; a bit like they do for Australians in the first half of the year. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I speak of that time-honoured tradition of the public holiday. Religious, military, historical or otherwise, every country has them; little holidays that become the choc chips in the ice cream of the working year. Ahhhh, the sheer bliss of it all, kicking back with an esky and (for those of us who imbibe) a couple of cold tinnies. Now here lies the Timorese challenge.
Firstly, the President has been known to have a few reds with the imported beef and feeling sated and smug, to impersonate Bob Hawke in calling “any boss who sacks a worker for taking the day off a bum”. Or for those too young to remember Mr Hawke’s now renowned comment, the President declares a public holiday – though in this case it is official as opposed to the unofficial working reprieve proffered by dear ol’ Bob. The interesting thing about this is that despite the fact that the Timorese are rarely up-to-date with their homework, they are all up-to-date on Presidential declarations of days off, no matter how late in the evening they occur. Teachers have on many occasions turned up to teach a class only to discover said class is at the beach. Stupid malae, they just don’t run with the ‘in’ crowd.
But the thing that fascinates me is that not everyone gets each public holiday. It’s not just that service industries work, it’s that certain government ministries do or don’t take particular holidays. The UN, bless their rattan sandals, have their own public holidays; perhaps so they have the beaches to themselves. When a public holiday looms in the distance, teachers are advised to ask each individual class if they are in fact working that day and thus attending their English class. Of course, since the Timorese are not planners, the question requires greater definition of ‘looms’ and ‘distance’.
In Australia, for example, a looming public holiday is one in November that all and sundry will have duly noted somewhere in January. After all, there’s a barbecue to arrange and beer to chill. In Timor it doesn’t quite work that way. Let me give you an example.
This week there are two public holidays – 7th and 8th November. The 7th is the anniversary of the Indonesian invasion; the 8th is the immaculate conception (and don’t get me started on just how immaculate that was since Jesus was apparently eight and a half months premature – or conversely three months overdue). I have four different classes on these days. The evening class, which is at the school was cancelled. The UN apparently work through and ANZ was taking both days off – good for them, clearly what all those fees and charges aim to cover wages on these days of decadence. That only left my class at the Justice Facility. If you think the name implies government ministry, you’d be right. So I fully anticipated that they would be having Wednesday off. Last Wednesday (one week before said public holiday) I asked the two students that turned up, “Next Wednesday is a public holiday. Are you on holiday or working?”
They frowned as though I’d just insinuated that Santa Claus was a myth created by the materialistic west to instil the concept of want, want, want, into children at the youngest age possible. Then they duly consulted their notebooks and apparently their electronic diaries. “No, no,” they assured me, “We are working.”
I wasn’t convinced. The problem I faced was that if I believed them and turned up and they didn’t, they’d be charged for the lesson and it would be taken off their overall number of lessons. If they gave me twenty-four hours notice, the lesson would be added onto the end. I didn’t want them to miss a lesson over such a trivial misunderstanding so I explained my misgivings to my boss who immediately saw the challenge and agreed to email their course co-ordinator. The reply was swift and unequivocal, “We’ll be working.” Righto then. I pencilled them in.
Roll on Monday (two days before said public holiday) when six students showed up to the class. At the end of the class, I gave them their homework and cheerfully added, “See you all on Wednesday.”
Ah, now I bet you’ve guessed what’s coming . . . Exactly! A chorus of “We’re not working Wednesday. It’s a public holiday.” And, I might add a couple of expressions that gave me no pause in considering the thought that was bouncing between them: “Stupid malae teacher. Doesn’t she know anything?”
I wonder if the forty-eight hours that followed were enough time for them to buy and chill the beer? I shake my head. This would never happen in Australia.
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