Timor-Leste
As I’ve mentioned before, Stephen’s job with the WHO,
though based in Delhi, was a regional position. This meant that of the eleven
countries in the SEARO region, Stephen worked with ten. The one country Stephen
didn’t work at all with was North Korea.
We traveled to Timor-Leste soon after our trip to Nepal,
early October 2022.
I knew immediately that I wanted to go to Timor-Leste when
Stephen said he had a “mission” coming up there. (The WHO calls work trips in
the region “missions”.) Little did I know, but our trip to Timor-Leste would be
one of the most amazing experiences of all our many adventures abroad. Years
ago, when Stephen and I moved to South Africa, (our very first international
move), I had a vision in my mind’s eye of what I hoped our life would be like.
Our short time in Timor-Leste was exactly what I had originally dreamed for our
life abroad. It was really the most serendipitous of experiences. (Or maybe
there was Divine intervention.)
Neither Stephen nor I had ever been to Timor-Leste before.
But it’s not just a new country for us, it’s also a relatively new country on
the world stage. Only since 2002 has Timor-Leste been its own country. For many
years it was a colony of Portugal. In 1975 Timor-Leste declared its
independence from Portugal. But Indonesia had other plans and invaded. Under
Indonesian occupation, Timor-Leste suffered such atrocities that Yale University includes it as part of its Genocide Studies. And today Timor-Leste is one of the poorest
countries in Southeast Asia. Years of colonization and violent occupation have
left Timor-Leste with a 20% unemployment rate and an estimated third of the
population illiterate. I didn’t know all of this history before we visited. But
it makes sense that I would feel drawn to a country with just such a history.
Our journey to Timor-Leste started with an overnight flight from New Delhi, India to Bangkok, Thailand.
Flying Thai Airways is always such a pleasant
experience. We arrived in the wee hours of the morning at the Suvarnabhumi
(Suh-varn-na-pumi) Airport. I love being anywhere in the very early morning. The
day is not yet in full swing, few people are milling about (those who are being more
subdued), and it’s generally calmer and more pleasant. (I’m not a morning person,
typically, so it’s only when something forces me to be awake early that I get to
enjoy what the early morning has to offer.) We made the long journey from the
arrival gate to the departure gate using the moving walkways to help, had some
breakfast and coffee, then waited for our connecting flight to Bali.
For our flight from Bali to Dili, we took an airline that had only just begun offering service from Bali to Timor-Leste. The flight attendants of Sriwijaya Airlines were extraordinarily pleasant, greeting us and assisting us in a most cheerful way. The whole flight experience was thoroughly enjoyable. I drew on my iPad,
enjoyed an above average airline breakfast
and watched out of the plane window as we flew over water and islands to reach our destination.
During the flight, I had the strongest sense that I wanted to do something significant in Timor-Leste. Upon landing, I didn’t yet know what that might be. My original plan, when packing in Delhi, was to paint at the hotel while Stephen worked. And I brought with me more painting supplies than usual. But flying into Dili felt almost spiritual. And as it turns out I was not wrong.
From India, Stephen had searched online for a hotel in the
capital city of Dili. He booked a room at the best hotel in the whole country. There was a pool, buffet breakfast, and room
service available through the day and evening. The air conditioner in the room
was effective. But there was no internet to speak of. If we were lucky, we
could sign in, but would only stay connected for a minute or two. I wrote short
notes to my family and friends letting them know I was okay but that I’d have
to communicate more comprehensively once we left the country in a week.
Directly across the street from our hotel, was an open air
restaurant facing out to the sea. They served a wide variety of
food and drinks that were tasty, and we ate
there every night but one.
I knew, before we left Delhi, that we would have a pool at
our hotel. My plan was to swim every day. So, on Monday morning, after Stephen
was picked up by his car, I went straight out to the pool to swim and paint. I
made room in my luggage for lots of art supplies, including travel watercolor
palettes and sketchbooks. Since we lived in Myanmar I have been interested in
“urban sketching”. Urban sketching is like journaling, but in pictures you
sketch and paint yourself. It captures your travels right in the moment in your
own drawings and paintings. That was my plan for our week in Timor-Leste: paint
what I saw of this brand new country. But on the 2nd day, my plans
changed in a dramatic direction that couldn’t have been more perfect had I been
able to script my life like a movie.
I went out to the pool Tuesday morning, sketching tools in
hand. My plan was to swim a little first before painting, but as I went to get
in, I noticed another person already swimming. The day before I had the pool to
myself. It was my understanding that the majority of guests at the hotel were
on business trips and worked during the day, so I was surprised and puzzled to
find another guest swimming. I said hello, which was itself out of the ordinary
for me. I generally keep to myself and other people tend to do the same. But
something made me engage. The woman responded fairly cheerfully back and
suddenly we were swimming and chatting up a storm. Really like long lost
sisters. I mentioned that I was an artist and that I was hoping to visit the
international school during our time in the country. “Don’t go to the
international school! Come to my school.” Her “school” was a university. Soon
we wrapped up our conversation, but not before exchanging names and numbers
with a promise to explore the idea of my coming to her university. She left to
go home and I continued to swim a bit longer. What I learned from my fellow
swim partner was that the hotel allows residents of the city the use the pool
for a small fee. Tourism dollars are a little slim, so the hotel makes a little
extra money and residents get to access a pool.
I took my time, enjoying the pool before going back to the
room to shower. My hair was still wet from my shower when the hotel room phone
rang. The receptionist said, “the woman you met at the pool wants to talk to
you”. In the time between when she left the hotel and when she came back to the
hotel to call me from the lobby, she had talked to her superior at the
university and requested that I be invited to give an art workshop. I had shown
her some of my artwork. She in turned had shared it with him. And suddenly we
were talking seriously about a workshop. He gave the go-ahead and before I knew
it, I was in Inna’s Ford pickup driving to the one shopping mall where she
thought she might be able to find some art supplies!
I was hoping to find watercolor and thought I might quite
easily. But much to my surprise and chagrin didn’t find so much as a kid’s
Crayola type palette. What I found instead were some colored pencils and ~
astonishingly ~ soft pastels. I love to show people the magic of colored
pencils, especially when so many people think of them only as a kids’ art
supply. So, I opted for both colored pencils and pastels.
Once Inna and I had collected the art supplies I went
straight back to the hotel to work on my sample drawings and quickly put a
“workshop” together. I actually had my computer with me, which was another
unique thing for me, so I had plenty of photo references to search through.
Inna’s University has a religious affiliation so she requested I tailor my
workshop to a religious-minded student body. I settled on nature, animals, birds,
a seascape.
As is often the case with a teaching opportunity, I threw
myself into the task of creating a workshop for college age students, something
I’d never even attempted before. For reasons still a mystery to me, I was
willing to try to teach art to college age students. In the past, I have shied
away from high school and even junior high.
I guess it was Inna who decided I should teach at two
different times. The first time-slot was in the evening so Inna picked me up
from the hotel at dark and we drove to the University that was slightly up in
the hills. As isn’t that unusual in low resource settings, the power had gone
out. But not letting that stop us, we used phone lights to continue on.
Problem-solving is the hallmark of living and working abroad in the particular
countries that Stephen and I have most often found ourselves.
The camera flashlights added a touch of magic to the whole evening. Students showed up voluntarily for “an art workshop” with me, a foreigner visiting the country. I used my camera light directed at my face as I spoke so students could see me as I shared what I hoped to teach them about art. I spoke in English because we didn’t have a lot of advance notice about the trip and I only had a few language lessons ahead of time. Students were proficient in English to varying degrees. But much like music, art is a kind of language that transcends the spoken word and we got on fine. And at one point I encouraged the group to sing while they drew. It was a highlight of the trip!
I had a hard time navigating the various steps through the
university, (there was not a handrail in sight) but fortunately some of the
young men were happy to lend their support.
The next day I was allowed another time-slot in which to
give an art workshop. The director gave up some of his time with his class of
students for me. It was a wholly different experience with a captive audience
of mostly upper classmen. I am still surprised that I forged ahead undaunted. Keeping
with colored pencils, I showed two pieces that I had drawn for the students to
copy using my methods. I had run out of time and both pieces were still in the
works. And upon reflection, there are many things I could have done and would
do differently now knowing more about the workshop experience. At the end of
our time, Inna miraculously appeared with fine grit sand paper (which I had
requested at the last minute) and we had a fun play around with the soft
pastels. The students all seemed to enjoy themselves more with the pastels and,
were I to return, I would start the workshop with soft pastels and sand paper.
I left the university walking on a cloud. A dream
fulfilled. I made plans with Inna to return for future art workshops. I even
talked to a shopkeeper in India about buying watercolor supplies in bulk to
take back with me to Timor-Leste. The country director of the WHO office in
Timor-Leste loved Stephen and wanted him to return and do more work with them.
So we had every intention of returning. Like so many things, those plans
never panned out. But I will hold Timor-Leste in my heart always.
