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 anything...........uh.............how
about a drink."
But I guess I have two years to figure this shit out. So we'll
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
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.
Corpo Da Paz
Caixa PO 310
Dili, East Timor
(Via Dawrin, Australia)