Big 50

It was my host father Seiko Metans fiftieth birthday party yesterday.  And I had texted Sarah China six times to make sure she was bringing a camera to our celebration.  Mine had been lost or stolen.  Each text was at the bidding of my host mother and Sarah China was not well pleased.  She texted back, “Do you only want me for my camera?” and I  imagined what she would look like in a wonder-bra full of macaroni and cheese.  “It’s my family.” I text back and she understands.

The party was a smashing success, four whole Malaes in attendance and a visit from two others, pictures taken of the whole family. People came from all over and there was a meal and loud music.  My own donation was some American fire water courtesy of Jumar.  We wore our festive clothes and had delicious naan carou (cow meat).  In the evening all of the girls went to the clinic of our nearby Cuban doctor to protect them from my reputation.  And I went to sleep.  Later I heard yelling coming from my back yard.

Seiko Metan yelled his own name.  He wasn’t alone, a chorus of voices went up yelling as well.  And then he fell into the guttural language of mumbai or some form of Bahasa  I am not familiar with.  He is forcefully pounding out his sentences.  Other people are yelling too in support of what he is saying.  And I want to see but I do not want to go outside.

I need to tell you all about my pee tube, and how it became a mirror stick.  It may be that we have some people who, convinced by my stunning narrative, might want to become a Peace Corps volunteer someday.  If so you may have the opportunity to build your own pee tube.

Say you live in a place like Timor and it has gotten so you don’t feel safe going out at night, what with the buffalos and the ghosts and the rats and the guys in your town with the big guns.  Just because you don’t want to go outside doesn’t mean you don’t want to pee.  Now a rookie mistake would be to just pee out your window.  That’ll get you caught.  The outside of your window will start to smell like ammonia, and the goats will congregate there.  I learned that from one of the crazier volunteers who came here before me.

Another rookie mistake is to pee into a bottle, seal it and dump it out later.  This takes a lot of washing in an area that doesn’t have much privacy.  Plus if your family sees you taking a bottle of tang to the Santina they’ll think you’re wasteful.  Best make a pee tube.

My pee tube took eight water bottles, some hard won duct tape and a pair of scissors.  It’s pretty basic you cut the ends off the water bottles and use a slit in the ends to fit them over each other and then tape the joints for stability.  Now you’ve got an eight foot tube and you can pee in a radius that won’t make people suspicious.

  But Tc doesn’t that smell?  It did, but I took the ends of the water bottles and made air tight caps.  So I only smell it when I’d be smelling it anyway.  I use it for everything, left over beer, palm wine that’s gone bad, every so often I run some bleach or cleaning stuff through it.  One piece of advice, don’t get it to near a candle.  You might end up shooting a fire ball into your room and having to replace your mosquito net. 

So I heard what was going on and wanted to see, but I knew there were guests sleeping on the kitchen floor.  The fire in the back yard had burned to embers.  I could only see a dull red glow around the corner of the house.  So I took my warped child’s mirror and taped it to the end of my tube then lowered it gently out my window.  It was harder to control than I thought but I finally got a good angle.

There was Seiko Metan shirtless standing in the light of the dying fire; large katana in hand.  He was exhorting several people sitting in a circle.  His arms were out as he talked and they were leaning in to hear him.  I couldn’t hear what he was saying.  Suddenly he reared back and slapped an arm across his chest.

“HAU SEIKO METAN!” (I am Seiko metan)  and they replied a couple of them raising their arms.  “Seiko Metan!”

I don’t know what about it disturbed me so much.  I pulled back in the tube and pulled off the mirror.  It was one of those things that I can’t quantify or understand.  Perhaps I was watching the Timorese version of a gangsta rap and that was his chorus.  But it seems darker than that.  I know I’m safe in that house, but I see more empty houses in the areas around Dilli where the Mikrolets stop, two of the stores I frequent have put down their shutters.  And the rumors fly.

I don’t know what’s going on.