Juliette = probability of rain

When I landed in Phomn Pehn two years ago, it started to rain. One of those tropical downpours that it is impossible to get around in. That time, Anita loaded her bicycle onto a tuk-tuk so that we could leave for our hotel.

Yesterday, in East Timor, I experienced the same kind of rain. It was a couple of hours after I arrived, but the intensity was the same. Good thing I had my new robin's-egg-blue rain jacket tucked into my purse.

Bob Crane (a former colleague from Housing Policy) is an East Timor pro, and met me at the airport. Stepping off the plane was refleshing, exotic, and familiar all at once. I wanted to be somewhere warm. I got that in spades.  It's currently 31 degrees with 78% humidity (or it was half an hour ago at 9am). When I walked off the plane, it was roughly the same.

So after Bob's Timorese friend Janu dropped us off, we went to the mall to get my SIM card. I grabbed my jacket because it was clouding up. By the time I had secured said SIM card and found a power supply for my apple devices (I left mine in the Bali airport), the skies opened. Rain bounced off the ground. That wonderful tropical smell of wet dirt multiplied. It was fabulous. Or it was what I could expect when visiting the equator in rainy season.

I still haven't figured out how to add pictures to the blog on my iPad. When I have the computer, it should be a snap. So today I can't show you pictures from our first tourist "sight" or the spectacular view from breakfast this morning. You'll have to make do with word pictures.

Yesterday afternoon, Bob and I went to an exhibit in a former torture prison of the Truth and Reconcilliation Commission. The commission was started only one year after the independence vote ("the ballot"), and took testimony for four years. The years between Portuguese withdrawal and independence -- about 30 years -- were hard for many.  The current population of East Timor is 1.18 million, and the number of Disappeared is about 18,500.  An equal number starved to death in the hills avoiding various oppressors and militia.

When the Portuguese left, they set up the possibility of an independent state. Indonesia didn't agree. As in many conflicts, teenaged boys were targeted.  Many were told they were going to Jakarta and instead were taken to a hill cliff to be pushed off. The spot is known as Jakarta 2.

Today, the prison looks like an innocuous place. I told Bob the outside reminded me of a private hospital that Anita and I went to in Kericho, the heart of the tea district in Kenya. The cement buildings are white with blue trim. There are tropical flowers in a courtyard. It's benign.  Until you see the cell block. Absolutely no light. The number of people in an eight by ten foot cell would depend of the size of the party that arrived.  If you came with ten people, your cell accommodated ten people. If you came with 24, that's how many were in the same size cell. The people were small, since everyone was malnourished.

The evening lighted up. No rain. A nice bar overlooking the beach. Great conversation.

It's a good life -- at least for this visitor.

Today, I'm off to see a garden. I'll tell you about it later.