Divine Providence

Next, the NGO we were placed with did not show up at the appointed time for an early morning pick-up. When we decided to call them four hours later, we were told that the person who was suppose to be doing the pickup had to go to the suco (village), and we would have to wait till the next day. It was fortunate that our care was entrusted to fellow volunteers upon our arrival. What if the arrangement was to have the NGO pick us up from the airport! Little did we know it then, this was just a little foretaste of what was going to define our relationship with the NGO: forgotten and cancelled meetings without any prior notification whatsoever, we often turn up at the office to find no one there! But it’s not just us. We had come to realise, the same treatment was meted out to their sponsors and funders occasionally.

Be it guilt or, perhaps, gentle prodding from elsewhere – there were a few irate calls made to our poor country coordinator, a late pickup was arranged for that same evening. We were hoping that we could get into Maliana during daylight hours to get our bearings and to set ourselves up in our rental accommodation but that was not meant to be.

We entered the town in pitch darkness, with a driver seemingly bent on getting us there and getting home fast. We had to tell him that we needed food and water; we had not had our dinner yet. He reluctantly stopped at a local restaurant, and a nearby shop in town so we could get the bare essentials to get us through the night.

We were finally deposited on the doorsteps of a house shrouded in darkness. Where we were meant to be was filthy: the floors were not cleaned, rubbish was scattered in little piles, and a soggy pile of clothes was left in the toilet and smelling none too pleasant. And the mosquitoes! Luckily we had the foresight to buy mosquito coils with our water from the local store; they saved us from being eaten alive that first night.

It was also on that first night we discovered the source of the mozzie infestation: the “mandi” – large concrete water container – in the toilet was a mosquito “nursery”; every scoop of stagnant water carried with it wriggling larvae. We had to make do with a little wash using the bottled water we bought that night, and we had to resort to straining the water through a sock the next few nights to remove the larvae for our baths. We had to live with this for over a week before we finally managed to drain the mandi, clean it and change the water. We had to rely on the help of fellow volunteers and a pick-up to help haul and transport the water to our house. Contrary to what we were told prior to our arrival, the house had no running water – it did not even have a tap in the house! – and no access to any nearby water source.

Then came over two weeks of torrential rain, and that was when we discovered the roof leaked badly. Very, very badly. We struggled to find a dry spot in our bedroom as we were being assailed with drips, dribbles and streams from a roof of doubtful integrity. It was somewhere in the centre of the room that we finally found a semi-dry haven. It was here we slept, or tried to sleep, as water plonked into the many pails, bowls and cups surrounding our bed. We spent the better part of two weeks on damp sheets, as the landlady did not feel she was responsible for fixing the leaks and the NGO who secured the accommodation did not seem too keen on helping us resolve the matter either. We were even told that if we wanted the roof fixed, they would call it someone, but we had to bear the cost!

We finally had enough, and started making enquiries for alternative accommodation. Word must have gotten around town when we started actively looking for another place, we were even getting accosted by strangers along the streets of Maliana asking us if we were interested in looking at what they had to offer. Coincidentally, that was when the landlady sent her son up to fix the roof.

The leaks trickled down to just one solitary leak at a corner of the room, and things got more manageable after that. We also managed to catch some sun to dry our mattress and sheets when we were granted a short reprieve from the rain. With a dry room, dry sheets, and our moods mellowed, we reconsidered our plans for moving out. We just needed a few improvements and we can make do, we thought: we’ll ask the landlady to just run a tap into the house, and give us a little wash area outside where we can do our dishes and laundry and not have to do everything in the toilet. All seemed none too unreasonable to us...

We never got the chance to even propose it.

We were told, prior to our arrival, that the landlady would be installing ceiling boards in the house and there would be an increase in the rent as a result of the improvement when we moved in. We were greeted by the bare underside of a zinc roof upon our arrival and assumed there would be no increase in the rent; we were told likewise by the MD of the NGO who arranged the rental. Imagine our surprise when we met with our landlady to discuss our little needs, to be told that there was an increase of USD$50 in the rent the moment we stepped into the house; she insisted that was what the previous volunteer who occupied her place agreed to before she left. And, she said in the same breath, she now wanted to install the ceiling boards and once that was done, the rent will be bumped up by another USD$50! Effectively a two-third increase in our rent over a two month period. Now we REALLY wanted OUT!

In the midst of all this, there was still the little problem of our visas. Our second try were with endorsements from the District Administrator’s Office. Again, it never made it pass the reception counter; our applications were rejected as rudely and instantly as before. This, coupled with our housing problems, and Esther’s mishap when a volunteer decided to drive off before she got out of the car – something which required 3 weeks of treatment and recuperation in Dili, we were wondering if this placement was ever meant to be.

We were down to plan C during Esther’s recuperation – the Catholic Church. The Catholic Church holds a special place in Timor-Leste, as they were instrumental in keeping the language and culture of Timor-Leste alive during the long years of Indonesian occupation. So much so that applications endorsed by them would be viewed upon favourably, we understood.

We approached the Diocese of Maliana to endorse our application, presenting ourselves for a “job interview” with Fr. Norberto, the Diocesan Treasurer one rainy afternoon. Upon sighting our credentials and references, he had no hesitation in taking us on. Diocese of Maliana is a very young diocese (established only in 2010) and is presently trying to establish proper systems and processes for the administration of the Diocese. The needs of the Diocese matched with our skillsets and previous experience – with the Diocese of Daru-Kiunga in PNG – perfectly. All that remained to be established was whether we could get our visas and how we were going to split our time between the NGO and the Diocese.

Even with the backing of the Church, we decided it was better to be prepared for the worst. With barely a week left on our final visa, we readied ourselves to fly out if this last attempt failed (After that, it will be crunch time: Do we fly back and try something else or do we call it a day for Timor-Leste?). We moved all our stuff down from Maliana to Dili; terminated the rental on the Maliana house, citing visa problems as the cause to the landlady. As we left, she told us to come back once we resolved out visa problems, we can have the place with no increase in rent now!

With the endorsements from the Diocese, and a change in status from volunteers to lay missionaries, we presented ourselves again at the immigration department. We approached the reception counter strangely at peace, with no expectations and our fate entirely in the hands of the lady who took our applications. She flipped through our applications and endorsements and simply asked, “Why are these not signed by the bishop?” “The bishop’s away,” we replied. She just nodded, clipped the documents together and put it in her in tray. “Ok, come back in a week,” she said when she finally looked up. We couldn’t believe it. But it was true; we secured the coveted approval for our visas at the end of that week.

When they finally accepted our passports for the endorsement, we hurriedly called the house we were eyeing but could not commit to; there was too much uncertainty. It was a nice little house rented by a consultant whose contract had just ended. And he was nice enough to negotiate the new lease for us before he left (our Tetun wasn’t up to the task); we were getting the place with no increase in rent. But we were also aware that an international NGO was interested in the same house for volunteer accommodation. We kept our fingers crossed when we made the call. The house was still available and vacant and we can move in immediately if we wanted. We said yes instantly.

In one fell swoop, our visa and housing problems were resolved. Three months of uncertainty, anguish and frustration suddenly evaporated.

‘That was divine providence; didn’t you realize a light was being shone on the Diocese; that you were being pushed in that direction?’ a more spiritually inclined friend remarked.

We did not dwell on the thought, the feeling of permanence we had and being able to finally get down to work pushed everything else out of our minds. It was decided that we split our time equally between the NGO and the Diocese. Our weekly timetable was discussed and agreed on by all concerned.

And it was when we go immersed in the work and daily life of Timor-Leste that we were hit with déjà vu. We did a two-year stint with the Diocese of Daru-Kiunga in Papua New Guinea before coming to Timor-Leste, and the many similarities we see between the social and political milieu of both countries were too hard to ignore: both countries presently suffer from the ‘Resource Curse’ [1]; both countries have administrations that are neither functioning efficiently nor efficiently nor entirely above board; both countries have no basic infrastructures; and both are seemingly headed towards the status of ‘failed states’.

Two especially disheartening similarities are, firstly, the apparent failure of the educational system. With a population base so young (half the population under the age of 18.5 years) [2], an under or un-educated citizenry is the guaranteed outcome for the next generation and beyond, with that ignorance being closely followed by the poverty it engenders. Secondly, the deference paid to a person’s rank or status in the pecking order. This is akin to the bikpela mindset in PNG. I feel this just feeds the growing malignancy within the social consciousness, encouraging the acceptance of corruption within the social fabric; where politicians’ chicaneries and governmental corruption are viewed as the rights of power. [Read ‘Running into Walls’ for more].

Granted, I have been told that the histories of both countries are vastly different, that both had travelled and taken vastly different routes to independence. Yes, the routes vary, but are they just not different tributaries leading to the same river? A river that takes failed countries, and their people, into oblivion? We can’t help but sense that Timor-Leste has waded into the same waters that PNG dived into a few decades back.

Like PNG, the endemic corruption and mismanagement of donors’ funds have made funders wary. Too many fingers have been burnt and transparency and accountability is now demanded before funds are handed over. And that’s where Esther and I come in: we need to help set up systems and processes that embraces these principles. But it has to be a system that takes into account local capacity; it has to easy enough to teach and be understood, and at the same time robust enough to remain honest and ensure service delivery.

We are also well aware that it might be too much to hope for; to be able to change a system that has been a few decades and generations in the making in a short two years. Sorry to say, divine miracles are not in the job description.

So, we just have to keep reminding ourselves: our jobs are to plant the seeds of change and hope that real change will come about… somehow… someday… but sadly, not in our lifetime.

Under the circumstances, how can we be sure or still believe that our work somehow matters? We’ve been asked. I guess we just have to take that on faith.

And so too with divine providence, we'll just have to take that on faith too.

References:

[1] http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/features/2013/10/can-east-timor-dodge-resource-curse-201310211384898341.html

and https://crawford.anu.edu.au/news/4419/mixed-blessings

[2] http://www.indexmundi.com/timor-leste/median_age.html