Endings & Beginnings
It’s getting into the winter season here in Timor Leste. Down in Dili, the capital, that’s almost insignificant. Back in the mountains, in Railaco, and especially in the school I teach, the kids are facing up to realities, like colder mornings, stricter discipline, and the upcoming end-of-semester exams, and of course, results and rankings. Nothing moving, really, it’s business as usual — just say a rosary together for good exam results, that’s all.
The sense of malaise is real. I don’t blame them at all. With discouraging youth and young adult unemployment rates — or rather, at very high levels — it’s very depressing to put your energy into studying in an academic system that is geared towards academics, with seemingly little promise of work or a better future. There’s a lack of real and practical directions for them to take. It’s something to address in the orientation of the students at some point in their lives, and the earlier it occurs, the better it should be, I believe, because these students are making decisions, listening to their elders and friends, and weighing up their choices, the best they can.
Some of these choices make my heart break. Becoming a migrant worker, for example, is seen as a very respectable choice. But it’s so wrong on so many levels, according to what I think, anyways. One of the hidden costs of being a migrant worker is the loss of economic activity in one’s home country or locale. The migrant worker helps the economy grow wherever they may be, but the money they remit back home does not immediately translate into building up that economy on a level which can sustain them when they come back home after the end of the contract — if they can leave at will at all. Then there are the social and psychological complications that come with working abroad which many others have probably spoken at length (for blue collar or manual workers, that is; white collar workers or professionals tend to be well-compensated and taken care of, though I’ve come across a case of family problems being faced by an expat engineer whose family was still in his home country).
At the same time, I do feel sad about the seeming lack of development activity in the arts and crafts industry. One of the critics I’ve heard is the seemingly stagnant development of the handicraft here. I could see how that problem is related to the fact that the craft workers are really just working on their crafts alone, part-time, while supporting their families. There’s not enough time, energy, money or contacts, to try something different, to make something experimental, to excite their senses, so to speak. Everything’s the same old, same old. It’s frustrating, it’s deadening, it is an inertia that kills off creativity, inspiration, and hope.
Add to that the hidden lives of the people which I’ve come to know in the mountains, especially the difficulties of dealing with their emotions in these emotionally roaring teenage and early adult years (I teach in a high school, which is replete with the usual romances, dramas and rocking revelations that seem tame in a city, but are scandalous in the hamlets).
It’s the time of the pilgrimage of the Youth Cross, and the “semi-miraculous” statue of the Virgin Mary. In the grounds of Balide parish’s church, a large neighbourhood in the southeastern part of Dili, a steady stream of people come forward, group by group, to venerate and to pray. They bring their sick, their hopes, their old ways of being which are passed down to their children by example. There is praise and worship going on, in lieu of group prayer, sounding like a solo concert instead. Towering floodlights powered by diesel generators fill part of the grounds with bright halogen lights. Altar servers numbering close to fifty or so stand ready at the side with their candle bearers. The people are dressed and perfumed in their Sunday best, even though this is night time, and not Sunday at all. It’s best to impress, apparently.
The road along which the Youth Cross and the statue is to process, has already been decorated, in some cases blocked to general traffic, and washed down in preparation of the big day tomorrow, the big send-off of the Youth Cross and the statue to the next parish, right across town, to Comoro, situated northwest of central Dili. There are little side stations bearing offerings to the Youth Cross and the statue being hastily put up by the men, and decorated ambitiously by the women, young and old. This is Dili, so compared to the mountain villages, no expense seems to be spared.
Times have changed. 10 or 20 years ago, demonstrations of devotions and faith were much more pronounced. People walked for miles up and down hills and valleys to a religious event, including for weekly Sunday mass. If necessary, they came the day before, and slept in or around the church. Now, there are chapels dotting the mountain villages instead, and religious services are held relatively close to home, though still an hour or more away by foot for some. Yet, for all the development that has occurred, their faith is diminished, the ease introduced by development has only heightened their sense of want for more, their sense of lack of more, in their lives, which, unfortunately, they do not seem to know how to address themselves.
This does not mean that people don’t want to progress. Some have tried over and over again, and my heart goes out to them. Yet the prevailing sense is not optimistic, and there’s little hope seemingly in their future. They seem to have lost a sense of direction. But when the procession is scheduled to pass the front of their house, they jump into action without any hesitation or committees. Roads are swept clean of dust, watered down, leaves are disposed of, rubbish cleared, and impromptu offering stations pop-up, even if just less than an hour before the procession comes by. Children, teens, adults young and old, all get involved, it’s such an out-pouring of community spirit it points to the potentiality that is in them — and in any other human person.
That may be all there is to it, each one of them is a human person full of potentiality just like any other. That may be the important message to keep in mind, that laughter, bad jokes, helping hands, a friendly smile, a warm hug, are all there, waiting to come out, waiting to make that connection with another person, to make friends, to make community. Here’s to them, and to ourselves, for hope in trying to keep that light aflame, to make their flames grow brighter, stronger, and make a difference — in the way that they want to, meaningfully.
