1. Conducting a Census in Timor-Leste: a Challenging Affair

2. World Cup Timorese Style

So, why on earth am I writing about a census (a population count) in Timor-Leste? Well, some of you might not know it, but I’m no longer a United Nations Volunteer, working as a Public Information Officer in tiny Timor’s even tinier enclave Oecusse. Since April, I’m working for the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) as their ”Census Publicity & Advocacy Officer”, which means that I’m based in Dili and responsible for making everybody aware of the 2010 Census, which will take place between the 11th and 25th of July.

My new job is a lot of fun, really. I get to do all kinds of stuff and learning heaps. I’m now used to writing speeches for high-level people (including the President and the Prime Minister), writing scripts for radio and TV publicity pieces, negotiating Memos of Understanding with TV channels and a lot of other things I never thought I’d be doing, and that’s pretty cool!

The first post below, right before the post about my Timorese World Cup experience, is therefore an article I wrote about the 2010 Census in Timor. I’m posting it here as I believe it will give you a pretty good idea about what I’m up to at the moment.

I write ”at the moment” because my current contract expires at the end of October. What I’ll be doing after that? I’ll tell you something: your guess is as good as mine!

Cheers and welcome back to my blog,
Filip

The UN recommend its member states to undertake a population and housing census every ten years, so why would fledgling, far-flung and until recently crisis-ridden Timor-Leste conduct a new census just six years after its first ever population count in 2004? After all, counting every person in a country is a huge and costly task, and financial resources are not exactly abundant in Timor-Leste. According to the 2007 Timor-Leste Living Standard Survey, 49 per cent of its population live below the poverty line.

“The Timorese Government approached UNFPA in late 2007 asking us to support a Population and Housing Census in 2010, just like we did in 2004. With an estimated annual population growth of 3.2 per cent and with a lot of internal migration taking place as the result of a 2006 crisis the Government thought that the population information collected in 2004 was already rather outdated”, explains Pornchai Suchitta, UNFPA’s Country Representative in Timor-Leste.

After more than 400 years under Portuguese colonial rule and 25 years of Indonesian occupation, Timor-Leste finally gained its long-awaited independence in 2002, shepherded by a UN-led interim government between 1999 and 2002. When the Indonesian troops left the country in 1999, there was a lot of bloodshed and most of Timor-Leste’s infrastructure was burnt, destroyed or taken back to Indonesia. The arduous and complex task of rebuilding the country has just started, and updated facts and numbers about the population are essential in order to plan and implement realistic public policies and development programmes.

“The 2004 Census proved to be very useful for the Government and its development partners, but Timor-Leste has changed a lot since then. Everyone involved in developing the country is eagerly awaiting a new snapshot of the country’s demographics”, says Pornchai Suchitta.

In a gesture to emphasize the importance the Timorese Government attributes to the 2010 Census, H.E. Mr. Jose Ramos Horta, the President of the Republic, was the one who launched the National Census Publicity Campaign on 14 May. To regulate the different aspects of the census the National Parliament has also approved a special 2010 Population and Housing Census Law, making the participation in the census a mandatory civic duty.

The planning and preparations of the 2010 Population and Housing Census in Timor-Leste have been going on for more than two years, and for good reasons. Counting the people living in a country with no real address system is a daunting task. Add the difficulties involved in promoting a census in a place where most people live in hard-to-access rural areas, where a large portion of the population is illiterate, where the population speaks more than 30 different languages and dialects and where the reach of mass media is extremely limited and the census challenge looms even higher.

Yet Fredrick Okwayo, UNFPA’s Chief Technical Adviser of the Census Project, is optimistic. “We are a hard-working, competent team and we are well prepared, with census questionnaires translated into four different languages. With the help of aerial photos we have created a lot more than 2,000 maps of the Timorese territory, and the census field staff will be using GPS (Global Positioning System) equipment to make sure that every household is found and counted”, he says.

The 2010 Census is estimated to cost USD 4.2 million and is jointly financed by the Government of Timor-Leste and UNFPA. Apart from assisting the census operation financially, UNFPA is also giving the Government technical, logistical and administrative support. So far, technical experts from more than ten countries have participated in the census process. UNFPA has also engaged a large number of national staff to work with Government counterparts.

Approximately 4,000 people, including 2,630 interviewers and 615 GPS coordinate takers, will be working in the field to make the 2010 Census a successful one. Some key field staff members, like the Publicity Messengers, are already making their indispensable contributions in the 13 districts of Timor-Leste. Their task is to create census awareness in the country’s many remote villages (sucos), and there is only one way of doing it. “There is no such thing as a publicity shortcut to the faraway villages. These places lack electricity, newspapers and TV, and very few people have a radio. In fact, in some isolated places you can’t even listen to radio, which means that the only way to inform the villagers is to go there and organize community meetings”, says Filip Andersson, UNFPA’s Census Publicity & Advocacy Officer.

The 2010 Census in Timor-Leste is a good example of the UN family working together, especially when it comes to publicity issues, Filip Andersson says. Various sections and units of the United Nations Integrated Mission in Timor-Leste (UNMIT) have been assisting UNFPA and the Timorese Government with part of both the production and the dissemination of census publicity material.

In 2004 Timor-Leste had 923,198 inhabitants. Six years later, the estimated population is 1,155,000, with 43.2 per cent being under 15 years old. The median age of the Timorese people is a mere 18.3 years.

Filip Andersson
Census Publicity & Advocacy Officer, UNFPA/NSD (National Statistics Directorate)

Two main factors make following the 2010 World Cup in Timor a both different and fascinating experience. One is the massive UN presence, which means that there are people from pretty much every World Cup nation here in Dili. So what, you may think, isn’t that true of London, New York or any other major cosmopolitan city? Well, of course it is, but Dili is different. The city is so small (some 150,000-200,000 inhabitants) and the options of places where to watch the games are so few that UN staff from all countries tend to end up enjoying the games in the same places. This means that people share the same experiences from the same places, which makes for great football conversations and quite a bit of friendly football rivalries at the UN compound. There’s always someone to console, to encourage or, most likely, to give a hard time!

(Last night I desperately wanted Brazil to teach Portugal a lesson, but even more desperately I wanted Brazil to avoid an unexpected defeat. There are, of course, lots and lots of Portuguese people around in this former Portuguese colony, and they would have become absolutely unbearable with a Portuguese win over football Big Brother Brazil. As you probably know, the game ended up being a not very thrilling 0-0 draw. Oh well, at least now we can trust Spain to kick out Portugal in the next round!

The second factor is the fact that the Timorese are extremely football-crazy – and absolutely “anarchic” in their way of following the World Cup. It might seem surprising that the Timorese are so passionate about a game they hardly ever get to play on an international level. After all, Timor-Leste has never participated in World Cup qualifying games (the country gained independence as late as 2002 and has faced its unfair share of social, political and civil unrest since then) and there is no organized national football league, so where on earth does the football frenzy come from?

One convenient answer would be RTP International, the Portuguese broadcasting company. Since chronically understaffed TVTL, the only Timorese broadcasting company, doesn’t have the resources necessary to broadcast more than a few hours per day, the programmes transmitted by RTP International are shown by TVTL, probably for free. This means that you can catch not only Brazilian telenovelas (marathon soap operas) but also football games from the (not very inspiring) Portuguese league.

A more convincing but also a lot sadder answer is that the Timorese are definitely not spoilt for entertainment choices. The simple truth is that there is not a whole lot of other things to do, and if all of a sudden you can watch World Cup football for free during a month, that’s what people will do. All the time, no matter who is playing or at what time they are playing (quite a few of the games start at 3.30 am).

Now, your average Timorese football fan is rather different from most other football fans I’ve met. I’d say that an overwhelming majority of fans roots for ONE team: their own national team (if it’s participating in the World Cup) or some other country that you particularly like. Sure, lots of people also have some mild sympathies for one or more other countries, but they still do tend to support only one team whole-heartedly, with passion, right? I mean, in this World Cup I have, for different reasons, positive feelings about a variety of participating teams (Ghana, Denmark, Spain, Holland, most of the Latin American teams, any team playing against Argentina or Germany), but there is only one team, Brazil of course, that makes my heart beat faster and my voice go missing. It’s almost like an unwritten rule that you can only FULLY support one team, isn’t it?

Well, not so in Timor. Here people tend to be rather anarchistic football fans, faithful like the neighbourhood Casanovas, loyal like stray cats. Some Timorese feel, much to my dismay, equally strong about Brazil and Argentina. I try to explain that it’s biologically, genetically impossible to support BOTH of these teams, but my Timorese friends don’t understand what I’m talking about. Others, a majority of the Timorese, support Portugal but will no doubt, without batting an eyelid, shift their full passion to another team (Brazil, Argentina and England tend to be the other nations having a rather big fan base here) as soon as Portugal is eliminated (and if you ask me, that can’t happen early enough . They’ll go all in, during the whole World Cup, for one team at a time!

So far, they have gone absolutely bananas every time Portugal has played. The random and incredibly noisy processions of hooting cars and motorbikes start roaming the streets a couple of hours before the Portuguese games, they will reappear during the short halftime break and they’ll take to the streets for another couple of hours after the games. I promise you: you’d have been excused for believing that Timor-Leste had won the World Cup Final after Portugal’s 7-0 thrashing of poor North Korea!

(So, why do so many Timorese support Portugal in the World Cup? Now, that’s what I’ve been asking myself. After all, Portugal ruled Timor-Leste for more than 400 years, and while not as brutal as the Indonesians during their occupation of this tiny country, nobody can claim that Portugal did much to develop Timor, so why support Portugal now? Most Timorese fall silent or just giggle when I mention this, some have even, good anarchists as they are, shifted their support to Brazil! So far, the best answer I’ve received is that Portuguese football is the only football that most Timorese people know, because of the RTP broadcasting Portuguese games on Timor’s national TV channel. Maybe the support of Portugal will decrease over time, as more Timorese get access to satellite channels showing football games from the English and Spanish leagues).

I have to admit that this “disrespect” of normal footfall fan ethics sometimes annoys me, but the more I think about it I realize that these Timorese anarchistic supporter nomads are doing exactly the right thing. They are simply making the most of every second of the 2010 World Cup, enjoying every game as passionately as possible, using the World Cup fiesta as a much-needed, much-deserved opportunity to relish, to think about anything but the dire circumstances of everyday life. Maybe it has bothered me a bit because I secretly, deep down inside on a subconscious level, wish that I could be that anarchistic and “unfaithful” myself? Maybe we are all Timorese football fans at heart but too rigid to admit it? Well, until the unlikely event of myself coming out of the anarchistic supporter closet, I’ll keep rooting passionately for Brazil. Vamos, canarinhos!

Try it and love it!

If I’ll take over Walti’s house I will also take over the two cats (and a jungle-style garden, full of all kinds of funky insects and an army of giant bumblebees previously mentioned in this blog. Oh, I almost forgot to mention her two security guards! In the name of gender equality, Walti opted for female security guards. One of them I’ve never seen. Maybe she’s even smaller than the other one, a young, frail, feather-weight woman the size of a Swedish sixth grader). I suspect that it is my potential house and cats take-over that made Walti ask me to take care of her cats while she’s gone. I know a test situation when I see one! I’d simply have to prove myself worthy of taking care of her cats (and living in her beach front house).

On my first day of catsitting I decided to give the two furry ones a real treat: I brought a can of tuna with me in the car. The little beasts sniffed it – and walked away from it. As I knew they should be starving, their snubbing my can of tuna broke my heart, annoyed me – and worried me. What on earth would I feed them if tuna wasn’t good enough? In a place where cat food is unheard of.

An acceptable solution, I found out, is to collect chicken bones from those of my colleagues who order fried chicken at our Hard Rock Café. This is what I have been doing, twice a day, for a number of days now. Twice I have managed to find someone selling fresh, tiny fish in the street. Once, last Sunday when everything was closed, I drove 15 kilometers to a market to find the much-needed fish.

Now, one would think that feeding a couple of cats (although I seriously believe they are lions in disguise when I see them devouring a huge heap of chicken bones) is a matter of minutes per day. Think again, my friends. Considering the number of starving stray dogs living in the neighbourhood, I also have to stay to see the lio…cats eat, otherwise the dogs would steal their food. Adding the time (and patience) necessary to collect the chicken bones (or drive around until I find someone selling fish), I have probably spent almost three hours a day as a bone collector, take-away driver, waiter and security guard for the cats. But not anymore! Tomorrow Walti is supposed to come back to Oecusse, and I honestly think I’ve passed the test with flying colours. I deserve the house!

Everyone deserves an opportunity to take a defensive driving course with a 4WD, learning how to negotiate really rough roads and crossing muddy rivers (at least in the dry season). It is SO much fun! I know, because I got a chance to take such a course when some 30 UNMIT staff members were called to do this mandatory training. “Defensive driving”? I seriously don’t know about that. All I know is that everyone turned into 10-year-old boys (well, there were at least two women participating as well) when racing around in a (very shallow) river, and on the two muddy river banks, full of stones. It was serious fun, as I believe you can tell from the photos below.

Apart from feeding cats and torturing a Toyota Prado 4WD? Well, I have to admit that my mind is already in Sweden, although I still have a bit more than a week to go before I take off. Three weeks of Swedish summer nights, family, friends, my girlfriend Larissa, good (not to say varied!) food… I think I can live with that Now, please make sure the sun comes back to Stockholm no later than July 24!

These guys have nothing to do with defensive driving training.

Loooots of fun!

Yes, some people did get stuck in the mud...

With one HUGE exception, that is. There is no way that I can resist the temptation of telling you one of the most bizarre and tragicomic, and true, stories that I’ve heard, so here we go again.

Some seven or eight years ago a couple of Jordanian men living and working here in the district of Oecusse made it to the international limelight, at least in Australia, and probably in lots of other countries as well. I dare say they wish they hadn’t.

Anyway, one of those Jordanian men somehow, possibly due to the general lack of available women around here, took an odd liking to… a goat. As the liking grew more intense, our Jordanian friend decided to rape/fuck/make love to the goat. Now, while bestiality is both disgusting and totally unacceptable to most of us, it’s (sadly enough) not as uncommon as one would like to think. It happens.

More unusual is what happened next. The Jordanian man got a bit too attached to his darling goat. Literally speaking. He simply didn’t manage to… disconnect himself from the goat after an intimate session together. I tend to believe that the poor man tried everything to separate himself from his four-legged partner, but to no avail. He was forced to call for help. In fact, he was so badly stuck that he had to be taken to the local hospital. I can imagine that the people already in the waiting room at the emergency entrance let our Jordanian friend jump the line.

Now, I don’t know whether the local doctor wasn’t able to solve the problem, or if he simply refused to do so. At any rate, the tight couple had to be transported by helicopter to the capital, Dili, where the two were finally separated. I don’t know exactly how (and somehow I don’t think I would like to know, either) this was done, and I don’t know if the goat survived the procedure or not. A colleague of mine commented that “it must have been a pretty messy affair”, and I’m inclined to believe she is right about that.

The multinational employer of the Jordanian man, now with a badly injured penis, did a remarkably good job at covering up the story. Somehow the incident never made it to the media.

At this point you should be asking yourself what happened to the second Jordanian man, who was a colleague of the first guy. The answer is as simple as it is unbelievable: exactly the same thing happened to man number two. Yes, it is true. The goat, the man getting stuck, the trip to the hospital – the story repeated itself (and I keep wondering what on earth the first guy told his friend about his experience). Whether the victim was the same goat as in case number one is unclear, but if it was I reckon the poor thing must have lost whatever faith he or she ever had in humankind…

This second time there was no way of covering up the incident. Once was bad enough, twice was just too much. The proverbial shit hit the media fan and the scandal was a fact. The story was so embarrassing for the Jordanian people that the Jordanian king personally visited Oecusse to make up for the misdeeds of his fellow countrymen. As a beautiful irony, the king decided to help the dirt poor people of Oecusse by donating funds for the construction of a… hospital.

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).

For non-Swedish speakers I guess I need to explain the tie. NO, it’s not my tie, and NO, it wasn’t my idea to have a tie (as a principle, I only use ties for weddings, and if I can get away without a tie at a wedding, I will) when I had my photo taken at a photo studio in Dili. It’s the law! I know, it sounds like a joke, but it’s true: in Timor you drive with style. No tie in the photo = no driving license.

Another funny thing about my license (see photo): I had to change the colour of my eyes. When I filled out the mandatory form with my personal details, eye colour was one item. I had to tick one of two boxes: “castanhos” (brown) or “pretos” (black). “Azuis” (blue) was simply not an option. For some reason I chose brown, but in retrospect I wish I’d opted for black. It just seems a lot cooler, doesn’t it?

I reckon I should also mention that I had to state not only my eye colour but also my height. Whether I need glasses or not to be suitable for driving was, however, of no interest to the Timorese Transport Department. I could be virtually blind for all they care, as long as I know how to move a car a hundred meters forward (doing a slight curve) and then reverse the same distance without touching any of the old car tyres lining both sides of the (grass) “road”. And as long as I wear a tie for the photo, of course.

Apart from that, what’s cooking in Timor? Well, the air and the sea have been pretty much boiling the last few days, with temperatures hovering around the 40 degrees mark. It’s been a busy week and weekend, with lots of work, including the inauguration of the first ever fire station in my district, Oecusse. (I have no idea how they used to extinguish fires before, and to tell you the truth, I haven’t dared to ask, either). From the opening ceremony at the fire station I actually managed to snap a few funky photos. I might even make an effort to downsize a couple of them and put them on display.

More news? I have formally extended my current contract as a UN volunteer by another six months (until the end of the year). I’ve killed another scorpio in the house that I’m now sharing with two Aussie UN policemen, two Portuguese UN policemen and a Chilean UN nurse.

I have also heard a tragicomic, and true, story about a poor Timorese man who recently had his dearest member bitten off by an apparently starving pig living right under the whole his was sitting on while taking a crap. (Yes, the pig should be living there, but in his job description it says that he is supposed to only eat what FALLS down from the hole, not what’s HANGING down from it).

My Senegalese friend Albert, also a UN policeman, wants to go to the village, identify the wee-wee chopping swine and sentence it to immediate barbeque, on the spot. He says he MIGHT spare the pig (at least for another few weeks) if it turns out to be a she, as the motive in this case could have been sexual rather than blood thirst (and hunger for meat). (To be politically correct, one might add that the reason for the attack could have been purely sexual even if the pig turns out to be a he).

My Timorese colleague Hipolito, on the other hand, affirms that these accidents are quite common over here. He found the story completely normal. This statement makes me think that we, as Public Information Officers serving the local community, should immediately launch a public outreach campaign focused on toilet safety measures.

That’s all for today, folks, but if anyone happens to have any good ideas and advice about travelling in the Philippines, do feel free to let me know, ok?

My Timorese license

Alltså, vad gör jag här, rent yrkesmässigt? Enkelt uttryckt skulle man kunna påstå att jag i min roll som ”Public Information Officer” fungerar som ett slags brohuvud mellan UNMIT (namnet på FN:s fredsbevarande mission i Östtimor) å ena sidan och allmänheten i distriktet Oecusse å andra sidan. Detta innebär att en av mina huvuduppgifter är att förmedla så mycket samhällsnyttig information som möjligt till lokalbefolkningen här. Det handlar om information som kommer från FN:s olika verksamheter i landet, men också om information från Östtimors regering, olika myndigheter, information som kommer från Östtimors internationella samarbetspartners och från andra så kallade ”stakeholders”.

Min andra huvuduppgift är den motsatta: att vara UNMIT:s öra mot marken ute på fältet: vad tycker och tänker folk egentligen om tillvaron, om diverse utvecklingsprojekt, om ny lagstiftning? Vad är folk oroliga över eller rädda för? Vad harman för förslag till förbättringar? Vilka klagomål är det som brukar dryftas? Sådan information är det meningen att jag och min kollega Hipolito, en timoresisk kille som pluggat i Filippinerna och är både musiker och ljudtekniker på sin fritid, ska snappa upp och föra vidare till lämpliga förgreningar inom FN-systemet.

Förmedla samhällsnyttig information till lokalbefolkningen i Oecusse, vad innebär det? En hel del. Det handlar om att nå ut till människor med information om nya lagar (och med tanke på att landets lagstiftning fortfarande befinner sig på barnstadiet stiftas det lagar så det står härliga till), olika regeringsinitiativ, sociala projekt i FN:s eller NGO-världens regi, vaccinationskampanjer, information om kommande kommunalval och hur man som medborgare går tillväga för att rösta, trafiksäkerhetskampanjer, alfabetiseringskampanjer (så sent som 2004 var bara dryga 30 procent av befolkningen i distriktet läskunniga) och en hel del annat. Man skulle rent av kunna säga att jag ska fungera som ett slags ambulerande Anslagstavla med stort A, som i SVT:s klassiker med samma namn.

Att hålla ungefär 60 000 invånare ajour med sådant de bör känna till är inte helt enkelt i ett distrikt där ingen har tillgång till internet, där ytterst få (möjligen ett par procent) har teve, där stora områden saknar el (och de som har ström får nöja sig med sex timmars elförsörjning per dygn), där relativt få har radio, där det inte finns några tryckta medier över huvud taget och där en majoritet av befolkningen består av analfabeter. Uppdraget underlättas inte heller av det faktum att folk bor utspridda i småbyar, inte sällan uppe i bergen, dit det inte är helt enkelt att ta sig på de få ”vägar” som finns. På sina håll kan det ta en timme eller mer att köra två mil.

Hur går man då tillväga? Vi distribuerar FN.s veckonyhetsbrev (och en hel del information från andra källor) till strategiska platser i distriktet. Vi tar oss till skolor, präster (i Oecusse är folk vansinnigt religiösa) vårdcentraler, polisstationer, marknader och andra platser där många människor rör sig. Vi hoppas att lärare, läkare, poliser, präster och andra ska sprida nyhetsbreven till så många medborgare som möjligt. När tillfälle ges organiserar vi workshops eller filmvisningar, där vi infomerar inbjudna nyckelpersoner (ledare för byalag, lärare etc) om sådant som är aktuellt för stunden. Till filmvisningarna släpar vi med oss en blytung (minst 100 kilo), dieseldriven generator, laptop, projektor och skärm för att visa FN:s lokalproducerade informationsfilmer om allt ifrån HIV-förebyggande åtgärder till nya lagar som innebär att det är förbjudet att låta boskap driva omkring fritt.

Att arbeta som Public Information Officer innebär också att iklä sig rollen som reporter på en lokalredaktion: att bevaka kurser, seminarier, kampanjer, kommunala ärenden, rättsfall och allt möjligt annat som händer här i krokarna. Jag fotograferar, antecknar, intervjuar, spelar in radioinslag (för FN:s eget radioprogram) och filmar (material som ibland används när FN producerar sina informationsvideos). Åtminstone varannan vecka publiceras något jag skriver i FN:s veckonyhetsbrev. Man kan alltså säga att delar av den information jag distribuerar har jag också producerat.

Min andra huvuduppgift, att snappa upp vad människor tänker, tycker och känner och vidarebefordra denna information till olika förgreningar inom FN-systemet, hänger intimt samman med det utåtriktade informationsarbetet. När min kollega och jag är ute på vägarna för att distribuera FN-material ingår det i jobbet att fråga byalagsordförande, lärare, NGO- och folkrörelsefolk (jordbrukskooperativ, organisationer som arbetar med kvinnofrågor etc) och andra vad de har på gång i form av aktiviteter och vad de egentligen tycker, eller har begripit av, ett aktuellt lagförslag.

Ett konkret exempel: idag har vi hjälpt distriktets valkommission att distribuera informationsaffischer om hur folk ska gå tillväga för att registrera sig som röstberättigade medborgare, eller ändra befintliga personuppgifter i vallängden. Under ett antal svettiga timmar på obefintliga vägar passade vi samtidigt på att dela ut nyhetsbrev och att fråga ”mannen på gatan” vad han eller hon egentligen känner till om den nyligen påbörjade process som innebär att polisens verkställande makt gradvis ska överföras från UNPOL (FN-polis) till den nationella (och mycket dåligt tränade) poliskåren PNTL. (Att distribuera information om Östtimors valförfarande är givetvis, i likhet med mycket annat, något som egentligen ska göras av de lokala myndigheterna, men eftersom dessa saknar resurser får UNMIT, vars budget sannolikt är större än hela Östtimors, rycka ut).

Det är både skrämmande, tragiskt, hyperintressant och spännande att befinna sig i ett land vars demokrati och institutioner befinner sig på nybörjarnivå. Det känns som att allt kan inträffa i det här landet, och det är påtagligt att det ständigt är tusen samhällsförändrande processer på gång. Lite skrämmande är det att bristen på kvalificerad och välutbildad arbetskraft är så stor (har man rätt kvalifikationer kan man gräva guld som rådgivare åt olika ministerier, tro mej!) att även en sån som jag, med än så länge ganska ytliga kunskaper om Östtimor, faktiskt har en reell möjlighet att påverka saker och ting.

Vid något annat tillfälle (påminn mej gärna) får jag återkomma till andra delar av mitt arbete (däribland att i mån av tid vara någon form av mentor åt lokala journalister) och frågan VARFÖR är jag egentligen här: what’s in it for me?

Läggdags här. Ett imaginärt diplom till alla som läste ända hit utan att ge upp eller falla i djup sömn! Era tankar och frågor är, som alltid, varmt välkomna.

Inte utan avsevard dramatik, ska tillaggas. Mitt forsta forsok att backa tillbaka de dryga hundra meter innanfor en forbannat smal “vag” avgransad av gamla bildack pa bada sidor gick at fanderns. Jag blev for ivrig, och sag redan framfor mej mitt skinande blanka, kreditkortsliknande korkort. Resultat: jag backade rakt over dack nummer fem (av kanske 20) pa min vanstra sida.

Andra forsoket. Jag tog nagra djupa andetag, koncentrerade mej – och backade som en gud som inte gjort annat under ett par handelsefattiga artusenden i himmelriket. Mitt dammsugarforsaljarleende ville liksom aldrig ta slut, eller lata sig hindras av mina oron, nar jag triumferande passerade forbi de tva sista dacken. Da hander det. Kontrollanten fran Osttimors motsvarighet till Vagverket pekar pa ett dack pa hogersidan. Han pastar att jag har nuddat vid dacket och visar hur det lutar en liten aning som de andra dacken inte gor, vilket enligt herr kontrollanten bevisar att bilen har varit i kontakt med dacket.

Jag trodde inte det var sant. Mitt leende dog ungefar som en dammsugare nar man rakar dra ivag med apparaten lite langre ifran uttaget an vad sladden medger. Det kandes som att jag just hade fatt ett avgorande VM-finalmal felaktigt och skandalost bortdomt. For brakdelen av en sekund forestallde jag mej hur en imaginar publik “rasade” mot domaren, for att anvanda ett lojligt kvallstidningsord. Faktum ar att jag fortfarande inte tror att de ar sant. Jag tror helt enkelt att kontrollanten SJALV lutade en liten aning pa dacket for att pa sa vis kunna pasta att gringon med pengarna hade misslyckats.

Jag gestikulerade vilt, slet mitt har och tittade vadjande pa Vagverksmannen. Han foll atminstone halvvags till foga och bestamde sig for att ge mej en tredje och sista chans att klara testet. Vid det har laget var mina nerver dock i uppenbar obalans, jag var bade nervos och forbannad. Ingen lyckad kombination for koncentrationskravande ovningar, och mycket riktigt gick det at helvete. Finito, tyckte Vagverksmannen. “Mais treino, depois outra tentativa”, sa fuskepellen pa taskig portugisiska. (Mer traning, senare kan du gora ett nytt forsok).

Det var da som plan B, min medhavda lilla svarta plastpase, visade sig vara guld vard. Jag hade blivit forvarnad av timoresiska kollegor: utan en liten “present” som ett tecken pa min uppskattning for det harda och samhallsviktiga arbete som Osttimors Vagverksman utrattar skulle det bli svart att bli godkand pa uppkorningen. Min timoresiska kollega som korde mej till Vagverkets lokaler tecknade att det var dags for plastpasen med fyra kalla olburkar plus ett paket cigg, och en omsorgsfullt ihopvikt tjugodollarsedel. Jag gav honom sedeln och plastpasen och kollegan forsvann bort med Vagverksmannen. Han gjorde tummen upp och viskade att Vagverksmannen skulle komma pa andra tankar.

Exakt vad som hande nar de bada timoreserna drog sig undan pa egen hand vet jag inte, men jag misstanker starkt att de delade pa gringobytet. Hur som helst kom Vagverksmannen tillbaka ett par minuter senare och tecknade at mej att satta mej vid ratten igen. Jag hade kopt mej ytterligare en chans.

Jag tackar gudarna for att Vagverksmannen lat mej slippa backtestet pa dackbanan. Jag ar helt enkelt inte saker pa att jag skulle ha klarat av det under de radande, pressande omstandigheterna. I stallet fick jag ge me ut pa den riktiga vagen och visa att jag fixar att vaxla, hantera blinkers och andra basic grejer. Han avslutade med att testa att jag kunde hitta bilens draglage i en mindre uppforsbacke, och det fixade jag galant. Vagverksmannen log, sa att jag hade klarat min uppkorning och bad mej kora tillbaka till hans kontor.

Mitt tillfalliga korkort kommer om ungefar en manad (sager Vagverket, i alla fall), nar man ar fardiga pa huvudkontoret i Dili, att ersattas av det permanenta rodvita, kreditkortsliknande korkortet. Givetvis med ett korkortsfoto dar jag ar utstyrd i slips och kavaj som jag fick lana i en sunkig fotostudio i Dili. Forst nar det det definitiva plastkortet blir klart far jag gora FN:s egen uppkorning, och nar det testet har klarats av far jag ANTLIGEN kora den FN-bil som har vantat pa mej sedan jag kom hit. Jo, jag ser fram emot det. Verkligen.

For ovrigt blev jag brunogd pa kuppen. Nar jag skulle fylla i blanketten med mina personliga uppgifter (som kommer att finnas med pa korkortet) skulle man utover langd ocksa kryssa i en ruta for ogonfarg. Svarsalternativen som fanns? Svarta eller bruna ogon… (Nar vi nu anda pratar om ogon kan jag ocksa konstatera att man i Osttimor formodligen kan vara rejalt synsvag, och utan glasogon for att korrigera problemet, och anda fa ett korkort. Nagot syntest kravdes hur som helst inte).