My hometown baseball team won the World Series. Big celebrations in my city, which recently spent a pretty penny on a new Stadium for the team.
St. Louis seems like another planet. Yet the murder rate there is higher than here.
Otelo sent a message warning me to stay indoors yesterday. I didn’t need much encouragement to have a peaceful Saturday night. I bought a sandwich at the City Cafe, where a number of Portuguese were turning up for the daily special Arroz de Polvo.
Two hacked to death bodies turned up near Otelo’s house two days ago, and rumors began circulating that Australia was involved. Then this morning one of the daily papers printed the incendiary headline that Australia was involved in the killings.
Many Timorese seem to be almost content that Australia is finally being blamed for the violence.
The UN seems to merely want to keep a lid on things.
Nobody is talking about solutions. Nobody is talking about convening all of the political leaders in crisis talks.
The bases are loaded and there’s only one out. Somebody send in the relief pitcher to get us out of this one.
Headed back to the mountain now on Tuesday, I have to finish working on an article in “Australian English” here in Dili — take out all of my Americanisms and baseball metaphors, and get precious laundry washed.