The Party
There are people living in these hills
“Why don’t you like reggae, even the Timorese like reggae”
- Idles (2017) probably
This isn’t a story about reggae, rather a story about Timorese celebration and hospitality. Last week I was lucky enough to go to my first party in Timor-Leste. I have been in the mountainous town of Gleno for nearly a month now. So far I have learned that weekends are often defined by “Fase ropa” washing clothes and family get togethers. Naturally after I get my clothes strung up to dry my host brother tells me today is the baptism for one of his cousins and birthday for another cousin. “Do I need to change?” I ask in Tetun. Nope, we’re already late he replies. I grab my poncho and off we go.
Behind my host family’s house is a beautiful view of cloud covered hills covered in wild coffee trees below towering shade trees reminiscent of Pandora in the Avatar films. Every morning I brush my teeth by the well looking into these hills, day dreaming about roaming under the sun blotting trees and through the brush. Well that is exactly where we’re headed. We do need to cross the river first though. The rainy season in the tropics means the town’s river is absolutely rushing with water and sediment. Fortunately, the banks of the river are in their natural formation, meaning we cross many streams no more than two feet high rather than a narrow and deep body of water. In this moment I realize the poncho and sandals were great ideas.
The hills are vibrant with life, this particular one houses many coffee, chili, banana trees.
The trail we take largely follows the path of where my brother wanted to walk, rather than any premade organized path one would find in a state park. I appreciated the adventure in the journey. In this moment I realize the adventure sandals with all the straps were a great idea. Torrential rain, loose dirt, and verticality hardly make for a secure walkway, but it would take a lot more to stop us on our ascent to the festa. We manage to walk for twenty minutes without one of us slipping and becoming a man size bowling ball down knocking down the pin behind us.
I knew coming into this job that the Timorese not only have large families, but they also take the concept of family very seriously. Still I was not expecting how many people would be here at this baptism celebration. The front porch is the domain of the Tius. The uncles of the party sit, chat, and greet us with the reddest smiles one can imagine from the use of traditional chewing tobacco. Walking into the main room we are initially greeted by the colossal mountain of rice of the table. Looking around the room the pile of grain looks much more reasonable with every inch of the wall lined with adoring smiles wishing us a “botarde” good afternoon. Not a breath of space separates a family member from another. The back hall is arranged in the same manor. The vast majority in the house are very young children with the remainder being the elderly. Despite the disparity, my host brother and I are likely the average age. After I make the effort to greet every single member of the family, I take my seat. Even with plenty of eldery family members in attendance, it’s me who is presented with the nice chair. After the Sysphean walk up the mountain, I appreciate the privilege.
The chickens play no role in the story, they were just looking too hard not to share
The ceremony to cut the cake isn’t too different from what one would find in the US. All the men are handed a can of beer, preshaken, while someone shakes the bottle of non alcoholic bubbly to pop very soon. Seeing the small child we were all there to celebrate cut being propped up like Weekend at Bernies to cut this cake was very adorable. As soon as she did we all cracked open our lukewarm ones and cheersed to the newly baptized one. Not one of the men drank their beer after opening it, I presume due to the shaking. I feigned ignorance and drank my beer anyway as I just had to know what ABC’s (the soy sauce brand) beer tasted like. It tasted like a shaken warm stout. Never any regrets in experiencing new!
After the toast we all fill our bowls with rice topped with a load of sides. The previous mountain of rice withered away as mouths filled and conversation turned quiet. I was sipping my ABC stout in solitude until my Tiu makes the first move to talk to me. I’m glad he does because the rest of the room is finishing their food and have turned to watching me. I’m the guest, I’m the “malae” the popular word to call foreigners. Well in my conversation with my tiu, he tells me I’m no longer a malae, but a “kolega” the Tetun word for friend. My heart is full. My Tetun isn’t too bad, but the ever present language barrier means not many words were exchanged past that.
The cool Tiu
Someone is playing “Take my breath away”. If it wasn’t for the American 80’s pop rock in the room, the silence would be terrifying. I’m still unsure if this is common party practice in Ermera or Timor Leste, but not a single person was talking to another. I assume they were unsure what to say with this smily malae kolega looking at them. My increasingly awkward tension finally breaks as soon as I hear the old MAGIC! song that goes like “Why you gotta be so ruuude” starts playing. I hate this song. When it was unescapable on American radios 10 years ago I couldn’t stand it. Today is different. Here? Now? I am in my zone. Now that the seal is broken, I bust out a little shoulder shimmy. If I can’t communicate with words atleast I can communicate with a meager dance. Can’t hurt right? The room, packed as ever, erupts with giggles. Maybe the kolega is cool? I have to play into it now at this point. Next song to come on is Eminem’s “Not Afraid”. Same deal as the last song. Under normal circumstances, I know better and leave the party. Not today. Today, I reach deep inside to pull out my best 2011 angsty teenager to visible enjoy the song. No one is paying attention to the song, but rather to my performance of enjoyment. The performance then turns into reality as I fully buy into the silliness of the moment. I learn to enjoy myself.
Then it hits me, what if they don’t even like the music? I mean they might. They’re all very popular songs, even if this urban hipster raises his nose at them on most all occasions. Only a handful speak any English so the vast majority of the family won’t know a word of the lyrics. Does it matter? I know the pervasiveness of American cultural products across the world. People love American culture. Most of the time I can’t blame the world, Americans create incredible art. Well that can’t be the case here because MAGIC! is Canadian and I’d find it hard to call white guy reggae pop fusion “art” (I don’t actually believe this, anything can be art, even stuff I don’t like). In that moment, sitting in this room lined with adoring smiles in the rural mountains of Timor-Leste I realized it isn’t about the music. It is about sharing something with a kolega. To make me feel welcome and at home while away from home. Well if that was the goal, it certainly worked. And if it wasn’t, we all still had a fun time.
The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Timor-Leste Government.
My town of Gleno from above with the river visible.
