OK, I haven’t just been hanging around absorbing strange stories lately. I have enjoyed holidays in the Philippines as well, and suffered a few days stuck in a hospital bed. And yes, I have been working, quite a bit, actually.
One of the most interesting things happening in Timor Leste at the moment is the upcoming handover of executive policing power from the UN Police (UNPOL) to the Timorese National Police (PNTL). Since the street rallies, violence and general chaos that broke out in parts of Timor Leste in 2006 (as a result of conflicts between different factions within the Timorese police and the armed forces), UNPOL has been responsible for policing in the country. They have of course worked together with the national police force, but UNPOL has been calling the ultimate shots. During this process, UNPOL has been training, mentoring and monitoring the PNTL, with the objective of gradually handing over power to the national police.
At this point the Timorese security situation has improved significantly, and the training of the PNTL is considered to have been successful. The time is ripe, the UN and the Timorese government believe, to hand over the power to the national police. (This already happened once, in 2005, when UNPOL and UN military personnel left the country, and the result was disastrous. During the security crisis of 2006, the national police and armed forces were not able to maintain law and order and the Timorese government requested the UN police and military personnel to return to the country. Because of what happened in 2006, UNPOL will stay in Timor Leste also after the policing power has been handed over to their Timorese colleagues. They will keep monitoring and advising the PNTL, and be ready to intervene should a serious security situation arise again).
For me and my Public Information Officer colleagues this handover process means plenty of work. In a country where newspapers are incredible scarce, internet even harder to come across, television is a privilege of a fortunate few and where even radio channels face serious problems reaching a significant audience (due to the lack of electricity in many places, few people bother to keep a radio), spreading vital information to the general public is quite a challenge. It means distributing information flyers all over the place, primarily at places where the Timorese tend to gather. The church is such a place, probably the best. Health clinics, schools and markets are others. It means providing reliable information to prevent false rumours from turning into truths. It means listening to the community to get to know their doubts and thoughts about the handover process, and handing this essential information over to the UNPOL and the PNTL.
From a professional point of view, that’s been our main (but of course not the only) task lately, but since I do have a bit of leisure time as well I guess I should mention a thing or two about that. Like my recent, sadly short (10 days) holiday visit to the Philippines (hereafter called PHP to make my life easier).
First impressions count heaps, and PHP didn’t disappoint us (I travelled with a hilarious UN colleague, Monica from Kenya). The Filipinos are a smiling bunch, and their optimism and positive vibes are contagious like some oink-oink flu out there. A favourite encounter was with the taxi driver who took us from the airport to our hotel in Cebu City (we decided to skip Manila, as it doesn’t really seem to be the kind of relaxing place we were looking for). His name was… James. James Barber, to be precise, but it was the James part that made me happy. I always wanted a driver called James, like in those ludicrous British series on the telly. If I ever become a rich man (highly unlikely) I’ll hire my own personal driver, and only candidates named James may apply for the position.
Since time was not on our side, we chose to play it safe when choosing between the mind-boggling number (7,107) of PHP islands to visit. We went to Boracay, a tiny island that is not only the PHP top tourist attraction (among beach bums, that is) but also customarily mentioned as having one of the very finest beaches of the world, White Beach. And yes, the beach is white. It is wide (at least during low tide) and it is lazily stretched out along three palm-fringed kilometres. It’s a dream for anyone who dives, snorkels, surfs or kite surfs – and for anyone who just wants to laze in the sun, eat well, enjoy spectacular sunsets, dance a night or two away, sip happy hour cocktails smoother than silk or gulp down some of the cheapest beers around. We spent six thoroughly enjoyable (despite the occasional heavy downpour, since we came there in a bit of transitional period between dry and wet seasons) days in Boracay, and I know for a fact that I’ll want to come back to PHP to check out at least a handful of other, less touristy islands as well. Not that Boracay was invaded by enormous hoards of tourists, but it’s not exactly deserted either…
Finally, a word of warning. Avoid Hawaiian lomi-lomi massage, or whatever they might call this kind of treatment I had in the place you happen to visit. It is true that it was one hour of pure, sublime pleasure while it lasted. Two masseuses did a kind of dance-like, synchronized massage that just about sent me to heaven. (Monica says that I was in such a blissful state when I returned to our hotel room that I could barely speak).
Now, the price I paid for this hour in heaven turned out to be rather steep (or maybe the massage had nothing at all to do with it, the jury is still out on that one). The next day, when I tried to rise to me feet from the chair from which I’d been enjoying a delicious breakfast, I just couldn’t. I felt such an acute, agonizing pain in the lower part of my back that I feared I’d faint there and then. Luckily enough, the back ache hit me on my very last day in the Philippines. Unfortunately enough, I still had to travel back in this immobilized state of terrible pain.
A couple of flights and a handful of hours in a car on our way back to Oecusse did hell to my already bad back. When we reached the border between Indonesia and Oecusse Monica called the UN ambulance, which took me back on the one-hour-drive on a terribly bumpy road, but only when I’d been given an injection to diminish the pain.
I spent three days stuck in a hospital bed, taking ridiculous amounts of painkillers and other stuff to treat the probable muscular contraction and inflammation that I was suffering from. Now I obviously feel a lot better, but I’ll probably have to take some medication for another few days before I’m totally fit for fight again.
And now: pizza time at the Hard Rock Café Oecusse (our UN canteen, that is).
