In the weeks before Christmas something strangely disarming occured, groups of young men gather in the street. Since there is over 50% unemployment (some say 80%), it’s not hard to imagine what might be going through their minds as the festive season approaches; particularly if you’re of a materialistic western bent that demands unaffordable presents for all. Apparently though, their thoughts were less on personal destruction and more on external construction. Miraculous as it may seem in a city where a large proportion of the population take shelter under their carts, as Christmas approached structures appeared. Structures fit for a king – at least in the Biblical sense.
There are stables and stars and painted figures of Mary, Joesph, baby Jesus, the three wise men and definitely some sheep. There is usually a star. The industry and dedication is a marvel. These are real structures! There is money too, for the construction - $1000 for each sub-district. With over 400 this equates to almost half a million dollars. Well spent? I think so. Why? Because sometimes the most precious gift you can give someone is hope.
I’m not religious; but it was uplifting to see the throngs of Timorese dressed in their best clothes trekking on foot to or from (we weren’t quite sure) the churches. This is their faith and their faith gives them hope. Their faith inspires them to build structures and yes, while they are religious the workmanship is practical, solid and something that the nation might embrace and truly build upon and with. In short, seeing the ingenuity, the dedication, the work ethic that goes into these nativities shows that there really is hope for the future of this fledgling nation; and perhaps it’s up to the nations who embassies grace the best real estate here, to provide aid that inspires and excites rather than that which simply placates public officials with a not-so-surreptitious lining of their pockets. Bah humbug!!
Now back to the heroes of our story . . . .
We went out to photograph them and though the Timorese were at first cautious about Malae examining their work, a single word of appreciation had them stepping aside of photographs – and in some instances, becoming part of the frames themselves.
One guy told us he was a taxi driver. He’d stay up with his structure, music playing, lights beaming until about midnight when he’d turn everything off and take a few hours sleep before joining the yellow army of metal creeping crawlers that beep their way through Dili’s streets. His display was amazing. A friend, he told us, painted the figures. They were excellent!!! He had lights and painted sheep and a little Christmas tree that he pointed to and dolefully admitted, “Too small.” He shrugged his shoulders, “I couldn’t afford a bigger one. Maybe next year.” I had to smile. Not to patronise or belittle this worthy aim, but because not two feet behind the “too small” tree sat a pair of speakers that came at least to my waist (and yes I know I have a low waist, thank you for the reminder) and blared doof doof music! But then, that’s Timor!
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