action/example :: Spotlight :: Peace Corps in East Timor Pt. II

by Teresa Michael

(To Read Part I, please click here)

March 2, 2004

(<--Teresa and her host family)

Here we are, in the midst of the rainy season. While some of us are breathing relief due to a break from the sun, unfortunate others are mourning the loss of loved ones, since the rainy season brings malaria (did you know that malaria kills a child in Africa every 30 seconds?). Death seems to be a present force during these months, and you cannot hide from it. A black flag outside a home means that an adult has died, while a white one pays homage to a child who has “returned”. When a small child dies, it is said that he/she returns to heaven since they hold the innocence of an angel. The white flags always make me stop in my tracks.

My host fathers’ younger sister died after giving birth to her third child. She was only 28. She lived in Dili with her husband and kids, but her body was brought to her hometown, Manatuto (my town). And so the custom is that when someone dies, their body is put on a table in the home, and friends and family come to see, pray, cry, or grieve over the body. This happens for about two days, and then the body is buried. I had never met this young woman; nonetheless it was equally startling to see her dead body lying on a table with lit candles on the perimeter, a circle of women draped in black, wailing in the corner. I went with my two host sisters, whom I adore terribly, and seeing them cry really tore up my heart. In front of them lay their aunt, only years apart in age but now worlds away. Colorful flowers, food and tears were replete, but they didn’t compare to the love. I’ve seen the strength in the families here and how supportive they are of one another. Families live in close proximity of each other, physically and mentally. It’s heartwarming, and while it really makes me miss mine, I’m realizing that this is a good pain to have. To miss people that I love implies a huge blessing of having it to begin with. Sometimes you have to go far to realize what you have right in front of you.

Walking home from the wake, I realized that in the six months I had been living here in Manatuto, I have been to two funerals of people in my circle. I haven’t attended one funeral back home in America in the 25 years I’ve been alive…

A couple of days ago, I went over to hang out with my close group of girlfriends to teach them how to make friendship bracelets, the way I had learned at their age in Girl Scouts. After about an hour, I asked where my favorite girl was, Shina. The others replied that she was quite sick because she had malaria. So I went into her house to see her, and I couldn’t believe what I saw…is this the same energetic kid with whom I can never keep up? 11 years old, fearless, always laughing, bouncing around and entertaining everyone - she lay motionless and had a glazed, fixed stare. Her mom came next to me and said they had been trying to take her to the hospital but she was scared, and didn’t want to. This girl needed to see the doctor right away, she was so weak. So I turned to her and asked her if I went with her, would she go? I promised there was nothing to be scared of and I wouldn’t leave her, “I’m a friend of the doctor“ I said. She nodded yes! I almost started crying out of how touched I was that she trusted me so much. So we went, her uncle carrying her, me holding her hand, and some of the family following. I stepped back to observe and I became overwhelmed in a good way.

In the clinic, under the fluorescent light, I held her hand as we waited for the doctor, and I was telling her jokes and stories, and telling her that even when she’s sick she’s still so beautiful. And she’d communicate with her eyes by smiling, as she was too weak to talk or laugh, and I could FEEL my heart overflow for her. I was being brave for her, and I couldn’t show her any traces of my fear or concern. And I thought of my mom always doing that for me when I was a kid. Telling me (so convincingly) that everything would be fine when I now realize she was more scared than anyone but was SO STRONG to never show it. Her strength soaked up any of my fear. My eyes welled up because here I was at the circle again, understanding something from the side I’m not used to being on. It awakens something inside, and makes me so aware of the presence of my soul. The thing that feels, that connects to things you can’t touch or see, but you know are there. Anyway, Shina spent two nights in the hospital, was treated and is currently recovering. She’ll be back to her wiley ways before we know it.

My latest success is my health promotion classes in the schools here with my Timorese counterpart Engracia. Topics range from “Why is it important to wash your hands with soap?” to “What is mental health?” Can I tell you how easy it is for me to be scared to death when I walk into a classroom of 40 kids with the intention of talking about health in a foreign language (Tetun) for a whole hour?! Oh my lord, it’s so easy for me to be like “forget this!” but I kinda just laugh to myself, swallow and say “Bondia Klase!” Good morning class! – and the louder I say it, the more nervous I must be. But the louder I say it, the louder they reply “Bondia Senhora!” “Good morning Ma’am” (Me? A ma’am?? Sure, I guess so, but at that moment I feel just as big as them in their small chairs and pigtails and pencils) and they louder they reply, the easier it is for me to ignore my fright. So I just churn that fright into confident energy and before I know it, an hour has passed and it’s time to go.

This last session was awesome. When we finished, school was letting out for lunch, and I found myself walking in the midst of tons of kids (so cute in their uniforms), hand in hand with two girls, one on each side…looking up at me with a big grin, asking if I can come back later that afternoon! One Monday not too long ago, my counterpart and I had a meeting with a bunch of teachers to coordinate our schedules to do health promotion, and I was severely impressed because 1) the meeting started on time (a severe rarity in Timor),2) everyone showed up for the meeting (even more of a rarity) and 3) my counterpart practically ran the meeting. (Peace Corps is all about capacity building, and her running the meeting was the epitome of that concept) so I was very pleased by that. In the afternoon, I went snorkeling with a bunch of American friends from University of Hawai’i, 20K west of my town. We also had a BBQ catered by an Australian dive shop, and they brought top of the line gear – awesome quality flippers and masks. So we ate like kings and then went to swim with the fish. And swim with the fish we did. Big brilliant fish, bright blue starfish, amazing coral….and what gets me everytime is seeing the sunlight dance on the ocean floor.

Heading back in the late afternoon, I sat in the back of the car, looking down at my feet in my flip-flops covered in sand. Looking up, I caught a glance of my face in the rear-view, particularly my sun-kissed rosy cheeks – with that and the grainy feeling of sand under my toes, I thought to myself – this is probably the best Monday I’ve ever had – in my entire life.

My cup runneth over.

2004 1-42 Online