Tricky Wondalund…

I look up and see an almost full moon tonight. It has a yellow brilliance quite unlike any other night that I have seen it before. There are few clouds, only a few thin tresses that scatter about the skyline. I see a million stars. They look just like sprinkles that belong on top of an ice cream sundae, except these are yellow studs and not chocolate flakes, like how I am used to.

 I look down at my feet. They are covered in a thin film of dust. I see heat streaks in front of my eyes. I burrow deeper under my oddly large straw hat. The sun shines mercilessly. As I wait for my ride, I dig my feet deeper into the burning concrete and native sand of West Timor. I had arrived in the capital city of West Timor, Kupang, after 7 hours of transit and flights.

 It is just a day after the Easter weekend and there is still an aftermath of celebrations on the streets. Young teenage bands with home-made hi-fi systems drive through the streets in their open top lorries, blasting rock music. I like this town, they love rock. Who doesn’t love rock music?

Sunset on the waters

 West Timor is a large island – about 275 km in length (approx 600km if you count East Timor), housing some 800,000 inhabitants. It is also one of the most impoverished regions in Indonesia. Yet, the rolling green hills, the large expanse of blue ocean that is lined with dark sandy beaches make this a breathtaking place, in a rugged but forgotten fashion. As I drive out of the airport, I see two bush fires raging; the sun and parched grass all together, doing nature’s work. It is harvesting season now. Most of the rice farmers are gathering all their produce for storage. There is only a window of another month for them to complete their work. And then…nothing. Nothing till November when the weather turns. In these interims months, there is no water, no rain, the grounds crack and the soils turn porous. Nothing grows. There is no lack of drought. If there could be an analogy to my life presently, this was probably it. There is no lack of drought.

 My kind host, Pak Budi, tells me how grateful he is to God that they now have a paved road leading up to the orphanage. Small wonders make people’s day. The population here is 95% Christian. Easter is a huge holiday. There is much singing. The children sing songs of praise, churches are full and the smell of barbeque pork fills the air. The city center is unattractive, dusty, run down. Salvation comes in the form of a full-sized KFC outlet (there is only one in the whole of Kupang) and one air-conditioned mall. Good to know. A city girl like me must always know where I can buy a made in china handbag while eating KFC of course.

 I hear stories about how difficult life here is. That the government does not support its inhabitants, that the owners of the orphanage I am visiting picked up children who were left by the side of the streets, left to beg or die after the war in Timor, discarded by their mothers just hours after they are born. These are sad stories and all of my years of economic training and analysis, belief in free-market theories cannot stop me from thinking…why is capital allocation so inefficient? How hard is it to build irrigation systems to this part of the world? Why does our capitalistic system make no room for humanitarian causes? And why do humanitarian causes always have to involve high net worth individuals whose dark and secret world will never be able to shine a light on good operators such as Pak Budi? If free markets are really not free, then the markets for the NGO world are certainly tied. The group has spent a tireless 2 days, chopping, grinding, cooking for 700 poor villagers and children. In the goodwill spirit of Easter, there is nothing greater than being able to share in the simple joys of food.

 I take all this in. I take it all in. I look up at the moon, it’s now been obscured by clouds. Bright lights get blocked out by dark spots too. Everyone has gone to sleep. It’s me and moo moo. Sitting out in the veranda, taunting the errant mosquitoes. There is no running water, no air-conditioning, no fans, no flush systems. Showers are a luxury. I am back to using a pail, a scoop and taking two minute baths. The last time I did that was in Mongolia – that was far more desperate since showers really just meant that I was washing my hair with water out of a 2 litre water bottle (I left 0.5 litres for a quick face wash).

Me and moo moo hit the beach

Moo moo and me like being with each other….they say pets and owners often look alike.

Nonetheless, it is liberating, because the payoff is great food like this…I in particular, really love the magi mee with French beans. What a recipe. Over-the-top saltiness coupled with good dose of fiber. Heh. My mother would be so proud.

Salty noodles and beans...soooo good.

And yet, I recognize that I am glad, that I have the opportunity to be here, to make a difference and if not anything, eat 100 kinds of keropok, devourer bbq pork, ikan bakar, play with the kids, and hope to help this orphanage. I try to remind myself that yes, brights lights get blocked out by dark spots too. That is what the last few months of my life has been. And the skies will clear and the moon tomorrow will look larger than ever, much like a very edible lollipop. There are people out there that love me and want me to be happy; there are people out there that I love but will not love me, and beyond all this, I realize I have much love, energy and strength to give. And through this all, I will receive much love and kindness back in return. I think, I found a genuine smile today. And there is no finer time to do that than starting with 50 kids, 1 orphanage, and the amazingly beautiful island of Timor.

 Selamat malam….