In a Covid Conundrum – Stranded in East Timor

I was sitting in Baguia, Timor-Leste wondering if I should flee the country and return home before borders close. My other option was to ride out the pandemic for however long that may be in the small, remote village. Most of the friends and family I talked to told me it was a no-brainer. Canada, your home country with a robust health care system, or Timor-Leste, a country who has a health care system, but not much more can be said than that.

It wasn’t as cut and dry for me though. There was something special about Baguia, something intangible that drew me in.

Baguia, Timor-Leste

It’s a quaint village. The church (pictured above) is the center of the community and families walk for up to a couple of hours through the countryside to make it to mass every Sunday. Children do the same to attend school throughout the week.

It’s on the slopes of lush, forested mountains. The air is fresh, and the surroundings are amazingly green. The hillsides are scattered with palm trees, banana trees, and a plethora of exotic fruits.

There isn’t much in town. You have the church, a few schools, and a convenience store built with corrugated metal that held the most basic of goods. A few villagers would sell fresh fruit or vegetables along the main road but aside from that and the homes that people lived in, that’s all there was to Baguia.

Stay safe while on the road. Follow my 21 basic travel safety guidelines.

Most villagers grew or raised their own food and traded goods with their neighbours. Dogs and chickens roamed the village by day, returning to their rightful owners by night. It wasn’t uncommon to see a goat or a pig walking around the village.

Chickens and their owners have a peculiar relationship in Baguia, and Timor-Leste more broadly. At first I was under the impression that the chickens were stray, but I was told that their owners let them wander about the village. This had me curious. Couldn’t anyone just pick up someone’s chicken and take it home with them?

The answer I got was quite enthralling. If someone picked up one of these chickens, it would start squawking. The owner of that chicken would hear the bird and be able to identify it as his own and come running to catch the culprit. Also, if villagers hear this sound, they’ll know that a chicken is in need of help, and they’ll come out to see what all the fuss is about. Here I was thinking that all chickens sounded the same – the more you know.

Not only that, but a chicken won’t accept food from anyone’s hand except its owner. It’ll eat what it finds on the ground, but only out of his owner’s hand. I was pretty shocked when I learned about the complexities of the owner-chicken relationship in Timor.

While I was in the village, I’d attend the church services on Sundays. It’s a Roman Catholic church and, coincidentally, I was raised Roman Catholic. I’m not a practicing Catholic now but I went to church when I was younger so I’m familiar with mass proceedings.

At Timorese mass, I hardly understood a word of what was being said, but the whole procession was the same as I remembered it when I went to church as a child. The hymns had the same tunes, communion was distributed the same way, and we all shook hands with our neighbours to wish them peace just as I had as a child. Being thousands of miles from home, it was a powerful, almost transcendent experience.

The Onset of the Pandemic

After about 10 days in Baguia, the first case of Covid-19 was confirmed in Timor-Leste. The friends I had met earlier were back in Dili and told me how the attitude of the city had shifted. There was an air of tension in the city. My friends, obvious-looking foreigners, were being heckled with “corona corona” while walking down the street.

The virus had been brought in by someone returning to Timor from Portugal, and quickly the virus was being associated with foreigners. My friends were making plans to return home to Germany and Estonia, and they advised me to do the same.

I started looking at flights out so I would be ready to go should I make the decision to leave.

There are only 3 places you can fly to from Timor-Leste: Australia, Singapore, and Indonesia. Australia closed its borders to all foreigners, so that was not an option. Singapore was closed but allowing foreigners to transit through their airport. Indonesia was open, but they had a lengthy to-do list if you wanted to be granted entry to their country.

Some of these requirements included: a written letter of my intentions in the country, a copy of my bank statement, a picture of myself with a red background, a medical clearance form, $50 USD, and copies of my flight itinerary.

I was preparing to fly through Singapore, which would’ve been much easier, when the news came down that they would be closing their airport to foreigners. This is when it struck me that I was in a precarious situation.

The world was closing its borders, and I was in Timor-Leste.

Should I Stay or Should I Go NOW?

It’s Sunday March 20^th, flights around the region are being cancelled left, right, and center. Airports are closing like Blockbuster Videos in the 2000s. My only option to get out of Timor-Leste is to make my way to Dili, the only city with an international airport in the country, and then fly to Bali, Indonesia.

To enter Indonesia at this time they had a long list of pre-requisites in order to be granted a visa. The embassy was only open on weekdays and they’d need my application along with my passport for 2-3 days to process the visa, should it be accepted. To make the Sunday flight on the 29^th I’d have to receive my passport back on Friday, meaning I’d have to submit it on Tuesday, or Wednesday at the absolute latest.

Dili is only 165 kilometres from Baguia, but the bus ride takes about 10 hours. You have to go around/through mountains, and the connecting road is the most treacherous road I’ve ever taken. I felt like my odds of making it through without falling down the side of a mountain were an honest coin flip. If I didn’t crash on the way to Baguia, surely the way back would be the end of me.

The word throughout the country came down that the airport and borders were going to close next week for an indefinite period. Flight options were getting scarce, and the only option I had was a flight on Sunday the 29^th of March that departed Dili and arrived in Bali. From Bali, I’d be able to connect through Tokyo and arrive in Winnipeg nearly 72 hours after leaving Dili.

But I had to decide within the next 2-3 hours whether I’d stay in Baguia for the duration of the pandemic. In order to get everything organized and completed that Indonesia was requiring for entry, I would have to leave that night. The other option I had was to stay in Baguia, with no indication of when I’d be able to leave the country.

The family I was staying with, God bless them, was more than willing to house me and feed me for as long as I needed, so long as I was willing to keep working as a teacher in the village, which I was more than happy to do. At the same time, they also understood if I had to leave.

I spoke quickly with some family back home and they all urged me to return. Granted, if you tell someone in Canada you might be stuck in Asia’s poorest country for months if you don’t take the chance to leave now, they’re gonna tell you to get out. The days leading up to this decision I had made my mind up 4 or 5 different times. I was constantly flip-flopping. One day I’m leaving, the next I’m staying.

The family that hosted me was really one of the most welcoming groups I’ve ever met. They opened their doors to a complete stranger and took me in as one of their own. They were my family while I was there. Mana Leowas the principal at the middle school in the village and I taught some of her children there. I shared dinner with the family in the evening and tutored the kids at night.

Mana Leo’shusband was killed during the Indonesian occupation, but his memory lives strong in the family. He was a local leader of the community, much like Mana Leo. There was no official mayor or leader of the community, but I would say that Mana Leo shared this responsibility with the town priest.

When Covid-19 first became a concern in Baguia, Mana Leo was the one making the restrictions and providing advice to reduce everyone’s risk of contracting the virus. We discussed how this should look and I shared with her the Government of Canada’s recommendations to its people, and we largely based the advice she would give to the town on what Canada was recommending in mid-March 2020.

The family also taught me a great deal about Timorese culture, history, language, and values. I witnessed a dowry negotiation between the families of newlyweds, joined their celebratory feast afterwards, and played sports with the children during downtime (mostly soccer, volleyball, and basketball).

This is what made my decision difficult. I wouldn’t just be leaving a country to return home. I was walking away from a family that had opened their doors to me, fed me, and integrated me into a community and a way of life that I’d have never otherwise experienced.

In that sense, I knew I couldn’t make a bad decision. Returning home was a good option, but so was staying in Baguia. I would be safe regardless of which path I took. I’m very fortunate and grateful for this.

Push came to shove though, and I had to choose. I eventually heeded my family’s advice, though it wasn’t easy to turn my back on the village and walk away. I don’t regret leaving, but I wish I could’ve left on my own terms.

Maybe I can return one day, but they left a lasting impression on me that I won’t soon forget. 

Alas, there was no time to wait and see how things played out. If I was gonna try to get back to Canada, I had to make my way to Dili that night.

To be continued…