Mark Konta Estoria IV

From East Timor

What's up everyone,

Hope everything is going well at home. Lately I've been getting some emails asking what the hell I'm supposed to be doing out here. I guess the outhouse stories weren't informative enough. OK, what I'm supposed to be doing is helping local government strengthen its "capacity". The first problem with this is that I don't even know what the word capacity means. The second, and most important question is, how the hell am I qualified for doing this? I really don't know. If your looking for someone who can show a country how to play 18, work the perimeter, or drink until you fall over, then I'm your man. Here is how I picture the conversa! tion of when I arrive to my site.

People: "OK Mark, how are you going to help us get a new school or irrigation system -- because our kids are practically retarded and our water smells like purified poop."

Mark: "Well...uh..I can't. But in case you didn't know the alphabet -- maybe I can show you how to file. Or maybe I can turn on your computer. Other than that I don't know shit about about a drink."

But I guess I have two years to figure this shit out. So we'll see.

I thought that I would tell you a little more about Timor culture. So there was this huge party that took place in back of my house. There were about 150 people living in make shift huts for a week, (this was even worse for sleeping). Anyway, they decided to commemorate the festivities by killing a couple cows 10 feet in front of my front door. To be honest though, I actually thought it would be a lot worse than it was. I was picturing some serious tribal shit, were guys would be dancing around yelling and gnawing on a heart that they just ripped out of some animals chest. In reality they just stabbed it once, and proceeded to hack the shit out of it until there was nothing left -- except for the stench, which was still 10 feet away from my bedroom window!

After the slaughter there was this big dance party type thing. They have one dance move hear -- it's this 3-step waltz type thing. Somehow no matter how lame and easy the dance is, I end up looking like I'm having some sort of epileptic seizure when I try it. So, just like at home, all the girls ended up running away from me laughing and pointing. Even the old ladies were rolling on the ground laughing the next day because of my lack of rhythm.

The second really F'ed up thing about living hear is the constant breast-feeding that goes on. There's just no need for it. I wasn't a big fan of seeing this shit once in a while in the states, but it's really out of control here. Like the other a day, I was reading a book in the back yard and just kind of hanging out with people when #35 starts going to town on his mom. #35 is about 3 years old, and if you ask me, if the kid is capable of jogging over, pulling up his moms shirt and grabbing hold of his moms boob on his own power -- then he is way too fucking old to be breast feeding. And I don't want to get any emails about how it's a natural thing -- because taking a dump is a natural too, but you don't do it right in front of someone's face.

OK, there's been letters flooding in this place. And I like it so much that I've decided to make this a friendly competition. Whoever sends the best shit, gets a free dinner and night out anywhere in Chicago when I get back in March. The winner will not necessarily be the one who sends the most, but the most appreciated. I will post monthly rankings to let everyone know what the other competition is out there. As of now, here are the standings. Best of luck to you all.

1. Catherine "Cathy" Mulrenin. 2. Ross "Bene Ropes" Tornabene 3. Kevin Kijewski 4. Laura Farkas 5. My mom.

Just to let everyone know again, this is my address. Make sure you put the Australian part, because those tricky Indonesian bastards love to steal mail.

Mark Hayes
Corpo Da Paz
Caixa PO 310
Dili, East Timor
(Via Dawrin, Australia)

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