14/2/2008
Things are better.
We're still wound tight. But Timor has been remarkably - almost supiciously - peaceful.
Regular updates on the radio (they've ditched the "remain calm" guy) and SMSed news clippings from friends in Singapore have made the story clearer.
From CNN.com:
[[DILI, East Timor (AP) -- East Timor declared a state of emergency Tuesday... assassination attempt Monday against President Jose Ramos-Horta and the failed attack on Prime Minister Xanana Gusmao.
The country's top fugitive, Alfredo Reinado, and one of his men were killed in the attack on the president. One of the president's guards also died.
...international soldiers and police patrolled the streets of the capital, Dili, where many shops and businesses were closed. There were no immediate reports of unrest.
Reinado was among 600 mutinous soldiers dismissed by the government in 2006 -- a move that triggered gunbattles between security forces that later spilled over into gang fighting and ethnic unrest.
At least 37 people were killed and more than 150,000 people forced from their homes in the unrest, which also led to the resignation of the country's first post-independence prime minister.
Reinado was arrested but escaped from prison after several months.
He was charged with murder in connection with the 2006 violence, but had remained in hiding and had threatened armed insurrection against the government.
The streets of Dili were calm after the attacks, and Gusmao said an overnight curfew was in place. The United Nations, which controls security in the country, said checkpoints had been set up on main roads.]]
I had to squeak through two checkpoints, getting to Dili today.
Just outside laid-back Liquica, it's all smiles, backslapping and "how-ya'-doin". But Dili's fortified checkpoint greets me with the less-than-neighbourly barrel of an M-60.
The Portuguese UN troops immediately single me out for interrogation - the only foreigner, and a bestubbled one with a fancy laptop computer at that. The furrowed eyebrows, unslung rifles and clipped tones quickly dissipate, however, upon a shameless flourish of my stethoscope. Ah, a medic! I'm merrily planted back on my truck with fresh smiles. And another backslap.
Timor's not out of the deep waters yet, but the crisis appears to be over. We're drifting back toward normality.
- raj
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Crisis
11/2/2008
Timor is in crisis. Attempted assassination of the president and the prime minister in the capital Dili this morning.
At least three dead, several wounded. Prime minister has been evacuated to Darwin with bullet wounds. Curfew declared in the late afternoon, we're expecting state of emergency soon.
I found out en route to Dili.
Vehicles being turned away by a new military checkpoint just outside the city. Tension rising among the dozen passengers stuffed into the back of the minivan with me. Ominous snippets filtering to us from shouted warnings of drivers heading the other way: gunfights in the streets, dozens killed, mobs and looting. The women start crying.
Word of violence rapidly puts Timorese on edge - they've been through this too many times. The last outbreak in 2006 saw running gunbattles between the police and mutinous soldiers in Dili's streets, turning into inter-ethnic violence leaving 40 dead and 150,000 in refugee camps.
Our minivan turned back.
Home now.
No electricity, so no TV. The surviving cellphones only do incoming. The radio plays patriotic anthems, punctuated by a grating appeal to 'remain calm'.
Passports, cash and laptops sit in our backpacks, should we need to evacuate (to where?). Yudha gets the golf club, I sleep with the machete. I tell myself that we are fairly safe in Vatunau - agitation rarely reaches this far out into the sticks.
But we legitimately worry for the dozen or so missionaries and friends in Dili.
We worry for Timor. We know maddeningly little about the state of the nation right now, beyond the end of our street. We're sitting on a tinderbox, we don't know if the fuse is alight.
The uncertainty is bewildering.
Timor is in crisis. Attempted assassination of the president and the prime minister in the capital Dili this morning.
At least three dead, several wounded. Prime minister has been evacuated to Darwin with bullet wounds. Curfew declared in the late afternoon, we're expecting state of emergency soon.
I found out en route to Dili.
Vehicles being turned away by a new military checkpoint just outside the city. Tension rising among the dozen passengers stuffed into the back of the minivan with me. Ominous snippets filtering to us from shouted warnings of drivers heading the other way: gunfights in the streets, dozens killed, mobs and looting. The women start crying.
Word of violence rapidly puts Timorese on edge - they've been through this too many times. The last outbreak in 2006 saw running gunbattles between the police and mutinous soldiers in Dili's streets, turning into inter-ethnic violence leaving 40 dead and 150,000 in refugee camps.
Our minivan turned back.
Home now.
No electricity, so no TV. The surviving cellphones only do incoming. The radio plays patriotic anthems, punctuated by a grating appeal to 'remain calm'.
Passports, cash and laptops sit in our backpacks, should we need to evacuate (to where?). Yudha gets the golf club, I sleep with the machete. I tell myself that we are fairly safe in Vatunau - agitation rarely reaches this far out into the sticks.
But we legitimately worry for the dozen or so missionaries and friends in Dili.
We worry for Timor. We know maddeningly little about the state of the nation right now, beyond the end of our street. We're sitting on a tinderbox, we don't know if the fuse is alight.
The uncertainty is bewildering.
Back In Timor
5/2/2008
Back after 10 days in Singapore/Batam. Feels like I've returned home.
Top 5 things I've missed in Singapore:
1. Hot showers
2. Cold coffee
3.
4.
5.
Well... can't think of much else, really.
- raj
Back after 10 days in Singapore/Batam. Feels like I've returned home.
Top 5 things I've missed in Singapore:
1. Hot showers
2. Cold coffee
3.
4.
5.
Well... can't think of much else, really.
- raj
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Traffic
20/1/2008
We've had quite a turnover of assorted animals through our household lately.
The chicken population has exploded, thanks to new-year presents from several villagers. At its peak, we had fifteen chickens of various sizes running amok in the yard. It's down to a (slightly) more manageable 12 now. Two were curried, one fried.
Pak Leo, the village headman, has temporarily parked his scowling cow in our front yard, as the river that runs by his house is in danger of overflowing its banks.
We've had quite a turnover of assorted animals through our household lately.
The chicken population has exploded, thanks to new-year presents from several villagers. At its peak, we had fifteen chickens of various sizes running amok in the yard. It's down to a (slightly) more manageable 12 now. Two were curried, one fried.
Pak Leo, the village headman, has temporarily parked his scowling cow in our front yard, as the river that runs by his house is in danger of overflowing its banks.
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[Picture: Scowling Cow]Our two piglets have died. To be more precise, one died (malaria?); and the other looked moribund, so we killed and ate him. 'Tis life.
.JPG)
[Picture: Moribund Pig.]
Bagong, Pedro and Darling we picked up from the new litter at Pak Leo's. It's a challenge to get my slippers on every morning, with a trio of month-old puppies suckling my toes.
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[Picture: Disgustingly Adorable.]
Sadly, two of our other dogs have met untimely deaths under the wheels of some 4WD hurtling along the road in front of the house. Chocolate, we buried. Taus, eaten by our neighbours. Ouch.
Of course with this many animals loose in the compound, the primary question to ponder is, 'but does it bite?' The answer, I've discovered, depends on the particular specimen's personality as much as on the species it belongs to.
So far, I have survived three chicken-bites.
-raj
It's a boy
18/1/2007
Deliphina De Nunes delivered her first child today in somewhat better surroundings than Maria did (see "It's a girl", 30/12/2007).
Labour began at about 5pm. Baby delivered at 8, on a couple of sheets thrown upon on the earthen floor in the corner of the bedroom. Mama Leonarda, the village chief's wife, was again by my side to help; but no sign of El Mustachio this time round. I walked her through the delivery and aftercare, I wonder if she'll be able to do this on her own when I'm gone.
The neighbours' wives gathered outside the door were an opportune target for my routine sermon on breastfeeding - a subject I've become a rabid advocate of.
Having learnt my lesson from the shock of being asked to name the last baby, this time I had come prepared with a list. Sadly, proud mum and dad had already thought of a name. Oh well.
'Reuben', Hebrew, meaning "see, a son."
-raj
Deliphina De Nunes delivered her first child today in somewhat better surroundings than Maria did (see "It's a girl", 30/12/2007).
Labour began at about 5pm. Baby delivered at 8, on a couple of sheets thrown upon on the earthen floor in the corner of the bedroom. Mama Leonarda, the village chief's wife, was again by my side to help; but no sign of El Mustachio this time round. I walked her through the delivery and aftercare, I wonder if she'll be able to do this on her own when I'm gone.
The neighbours' wives gathered outside the door were an opportune target for my routine sermon on breastfeeding - a subject I've become a rabid advocate of.
Having learnt my lesson from the shock of being asked to name the last baby, this time I had come prepared with a list. Sadly, proud mum and dad had already thought of a name. Oh well.
'Reuben', Hebrew, meaning "see, a son."
-raj
Earth
18/1/2008
I had never really understood, back in med school, why so much time was spent learning about 'soil micro-organisms'. I think I do, now.
Earth, like air, is an ubiquitous part of life here in rural Timor. Most are born on the bare earth, spend their early years playing in it, expend the major part of their life working it... and finally laid to rest in it.
Not surprisingly, a significant proportion of the sicknesses we treat in our clinic are soil-transmitted.JPG)
.
Every other kid has a belly full of worms. The symptoms aren't too impressive: intermittent stomach pain, constant tiredness, the occasional disturbingly mobile bowel movement. The greater, more permanent damage lies in the stunted growth. The worms compete with the already malnourished kids for their limited food.
I dish out albendazole like candy. But the deworming meds don't stop the kids from running around barefoot and picking the worms right back up, the very next day.
Earth also features prominently - and frustratingly - in many traditional remedies.
I spent an excruciating hour last Saturday cleaning out the left ear of a resolutely noncooperative two-year-old. Her mum had packed it to the brim with soil and leaves, to treat a budding ear infection the week before. By clinic day, of course, the infection was positively fruiting. An unappetizing experience for all involved.
Traditional Timorese first aid for cuts while farming: handful of soil, dry leaves, hearty mouthful of spit. Mixed evenly, then slapped onto the bleeding wound before proudly presenting it to the doctor. Bad-tempered doctor then painstakingly cleans away the muck while delivering a long and animated dissertation on 'germs'. When the bleeding is controlled, I just dress the wounds - any attempt to stitch the skin after such overwhelming contamination would only worsen the infection.
Convincing a community that invisible germs exist, that earth is best left on the ground and not on or in their kids, is not an easy task. We teach, we teach, we teach. But until those ideas take root, someone'll have to continue cleaning the ears and the wounds, and dispensing the albendazole and antibiotics.
-raj
I had never really understood, back in med school, why so much time was spent learning about 'soil micro-organisms'. I think I do, now.
Earth, like air, is an ubiquitous part of life here in rural Timor. Most are born on the bare earth, spend their early years playing in it, expend the major part of their life working it... and finally laid to rest in it.
Not surprisingly, a significant proportion of the sicknesses we treat in our clinic are soil-transmitted
.JPG)
.Every other kid has a belly full of worms. The symptoms aren't too impressive: intermittent stomach pain, constant tiredness, the occasional disturbingly mobile bowel movement. The greater, more permanent damage lies in the stunted growth. The worms compete with the already malnourished kids for their limited food.
I dish out albendazole like candy. But the deworming meds don't stop the kids from running around barefoot and picking the worms right back up, the very next day.
Earth also features prominently - and frustratingly - in many traditional remedies.
I spent an excruciating hour last Saturday cleaning out the left ear of a resolutely noncooperative two-year-old. Her mum had packed it to the brim with soil and leaves, to treat a budding ear infection the week before. By clinic day, of course, the infection was positively fruiting. An unappetizing experience for all involved.
Traditional Timorese first aid for cuts while farming: handful of soil, dry leaves, hearty mouthful of spit. Mixed evenly, then slapped onto the bleeding wound before proudly presenting it to the doctor. Bad-tempered doctor then painstakingly cleans away the muck while delivering a long and animated dissertation on 'germs'. When the bleeding is controlled, I just dress the wounds - any attempt to stitch the skin after such overwhelming contamination would only worsen the infection.
Convincing a community that invisible germs exist, that earth is best left on the ground and not on or in their kids, is not an easy task. We teach, we teach, we teach. But until those ideas take root, someone'll have to continue cleaning the ears and the wounds, and dispensing the albendazole and antibiotics.
-raj
Skin And Water. And Skin.
9/1/2008
Nothing frustrates me more than the endless line of filthy kids with skin diseases that attend our clinics. Rashes, sores, pustules and abscesses in assorted combinations. Nearly all of them preventable with just one intervention: soap and water.
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Timorese kids don't like soap any more than kids anywhere in the world. But the biggest factor contributing to the universally poor skin hygiene is the lack of water.
Vatunau has a population of 2000, five wells, and a patchwork water piping system from the two rivers that flow through our village. A few households have small tanks rigged to the pipes, but most families still walk several hundred metres a day to fetch water. A precious commodity, not often expended on extravagances like daily bathing.
Various NGOs and government bodies have assisted with the water piping system since the late 80s, PPH has contributed to significant improvements in the last two years. Work in progress.
I can't, however, attribute my own rashes to a want of showers.
Right now, my legs are sporting five dressings over sores of various shapes and stages of evolution. Annoying, but not comparable to the awful 'cellulitis' skin infection crawling up my left ankle over Christmas - resolving now, thanks to the self-prescribed antibiotics.
No thanks to the bug bites from the garden, which likely got the infection going in the first place.
In the balance of things, I should be grateful for my cellulitis - it's made me more sympathetic now to the unwashed kids.
-raj
Nothing frustrates me more than the endless line of filthy kids with skin diseases that attend our clinics. Rashes, sores, pustules and abscesses in assorted combinations. Nearly all of them preventable with just one intervention: soap and water.
Timorese kids don't like soap any more than kids anywhere in the world. But the biggest factor contributing to the universally poor skin hygiene is the lack of water.
Vatunau has a population of 2000, five wells, and a patchwork water piping system from the two rivers that flow through our village. A few households have small tanks rigged to the pipes, but most families still walk several hundred metres a day to fetch water. A precious commodity, not often expended on extravagances like daily bathing.
Various NGOs and government bodies have assisted with the water piping system since the late 80s, PPH has contributed to significant improvements in the last two years. Work in progress.
I can't, however, attribute my own rashes to a want of showers.
Right now, my legs are sporting five dressings over sores of various shapes and stages of evolution. Annoying, but not comparable to the awful 'cellulitis' skin infection crawling up my left ankle over Christmas - resolving now, thanks to the self-prescribed antibiotics.
No thanks to the bug bites from the garden, which likely got the infection going in the first place.
In the balance of things, I should be grateful for my cellulitis - it's made me more sympathetic now to the unwashed kids.
-raj
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