Far From Home

It’s been three days since I’ve had internet access, a very good thing for helping me cure an addiction. And when I got back on it today, somehow it wasn’t so great. Too bad since I’m uploading some large files and so am sitting here with internet access for 3-4 hours, and it would be great to love the internet right about now.

Today, my penultimate day in Oecussi, was spent doing some photography for Oxfam. The other day as I was walking around town, I stumbled upon the Oxfam office, and I walked in to introduce myself and offer a day of pro bono photography, as I’ve long been an admirer of their work. And I guess that there’s some cache in perhaps being the only professional photographer within a hundred mile radius, because first he said it would be impossible since they had meetings on Monday and Tuesday, and then made a few calls and told me that they’d pick me up at my hotel at 9AM. By 10AM, I had written them off, and started to walk out to explore on my own when right then their truck pulled up. One asked “are you Mo from America?”, and we were on our way. The driver spoke some broken Portuguese, the main Oxfam dude, Otto, some broken English (both rare in this part of the world), so I learned in a roundabout way that we’d be visiting three communities and seeing three of their programs: water and sanitation, economic development, and one other that might have been health or agriculture.

At the first location, we visited a rain-collection project with a cistern that provides year-round water. I saw women washing clothes, kids bathing, and all of the drain water fed into three pools where they’re farming fish. Towards the end of our time there, Otto asked if he could introduce me to the crowd that had gathered. He explained that I was a photographer from America working with Oxfam, and they oohed and aahed a bit. Then I asked them, via translation, what they knew about America, and they said “that it is good”. I asked why, and they responded that America had supported East Timor in their fight for independence (after actually supporting Indonesia in its invasion of East Timor nearly 30 years earlier, I am told), and has given it some development assistance. I wanted more. I asked if they knew who the president of the United States was, not that I know who the president of their country is. To my surprise, none of the 20 or so people did. I asked them if they knew any US actors or musicians, and said that they should but didn’t. So then I started listing some names: “how about Michael Jackson?” The response was nothing. “Arnold Schwarzenegger?” Blank stares (these two are normally big everywhere around the world). I thought, maybe it’s the women they favor, so I rattled off Brittney Spears, Madonna, and Beyoncé, but nothing. I was a bit dumbstruck, yet perfectly thrilled at the same time. This was a rural community, but certainly not primitive by any stretch of the imagination. Their livelihoods are tied up in the same global economy as yours, they pray to the same god as most, they have access to other communities, some media, yet Michael Jackson and Madonna are not part of their lives. And the mention of Barack Obama gets me nowhere with them. Imagine that!

In both the first and second communities, both in the mountains, I was successful in making most of the children under 2 years old cry. I think that it was more the camera than my face, but whatever it was, the parents were very understanding. The fear of cameras seems to pass quickly enough, and I was quite a hit with the 5-15 set. In fact, at one point, I counted 31 kids following me around village #2, and they would explode in applause every time that the flash went off. I also got to see some preparation for a corn growing ritual where they were going to slaughter 4 pigs and have a big celebration.

At the last community, this one on the coast, we visited a fishing collective, and got to talk about gender roles. This group is hoping to have their fishing become successful enough so that they don’t have to also farm. They told me how the men go out each evening at sunset and stay out until they’ve caught their haul. None of the women fish, and they themselves justified it by saying that they ‘can’t swim and don’t know how to handle the boats’. Instead, it’s their job to clean the fish and cook. The men said that they DO know how to cook, but don’t do it. I wondered what happens when a man or woman is not married, and they surprisingly told me that there is not a single person over the age of 20 in their community who is not married. Every single one of them. So I guess it works. Then they asked me about my wife, and I told them that not only was I unmarried, but I lived alone, cooked for myself, and sometimes even for my girlfriend. They were shocked that somebody ‘as old as 42’ was single and without children. I told them that I was waiting for the perfect woman, which put a bit of quizzical look on their faces.

All of this talk of coupling brought me back to a scene from this morning, eating breakfast and watching the pet pigeons at the hotel hopping and flying about. Now I don’t know anything about pigeons, but it just seemed like there was a dude pigeon following around a chick pigeon everywhere she went, and every so often, trying to stick it in. And it made me think, what’s the appeal for women to put up with us men (in both the pigeon and person world)? Either giving too much attention or not enough, lacking sensitivity and communication skills, and being biologically programmed to want to hump even when she just wants to eat. What’s in it for her? Perhaps it’s more understandable in the hunter and gatherer world, or even in rural America, but I’m not hunting or gathering anything for my girlfriend. I’m not buying her nice jewelry or taking her out to nice meals. I’ve not bought her a house, nor should she expect one. What really am I good for? What are any of us men good for? I’ll have to watch the pigeons a bit more closely tomorrow morning to see if I can figure it all out. Otherwise, maybe one of you out there, the 15-20 people who read this blog, can venture a guess.