June 11 – Era Ulu and Hotalia

I realized that the last time I posted about Ermera, I mentioned it was the coffee district, but not much else about the coffee itself.  The coffee plants are everywhere, all over every hillside beneath what we only know as the canopy trees.  They need to have these trees to grow; otherwise they don’t get enough shade and die.  They are fairly tall plants with dark green, waxy leaves.  Depending on the species they may look a little different, but are all fairly similar.  The berries on them start as a dark green and then ripen into a dark red, which means they are ready to pick.  The coffee bean itself is the seed within the berry, and if I understand correctly, there is another layer to remove besides the berry.    
 

This all used to be done by hand, but it seems like most people or communities have a device which you basically stick the berries in, turn a wheel, and the outer part is removed.  The seed itself is then laid out on a tarp to dry all day.  While they are drying there is a very sweet, pungent odor that is easily recognizable.  Most households will make between $500 and $1500 a year with this coffee, though some of the wealthier ones can make as much as $3000.             

The maps that we’ve seen of Timor-Leste really give you the wrong idea of what the country looks like.  I keep using the word Succo and comparing it to a county, but most are fairly small – maybe 10 miles across with 8 small Alia or towns in them.  Each Succo only has about 2000 people.  Last night and tonight, perhaps tomorrow night as well, we have been staying in a Succo called Era Ulu.  Today we traveled to another called Hatolia to see a water and sanitation project done by the Red Cross.  On the map, it is only about 15 or 20 km away, max, but it took 2 hours to get there and 1.5 hours to get back.  The reason is that you never travel in a straight line.  Not only are the roads terrible, but you are constantly twisting and turning traveling up the side of the mountain.             

We heard from Christoph at the Austrian Red Cross that the road to Hatolia is a little hairy, and to definitely not go there if it was raining.  He was right.  One bridge had a huge hole in the corner, and at a couple of parts at least half of the road had fallen away.  We also crossed at least a couple of bridges that looked like they were no more than old plywood.  It blows my mind that DU will let us travel these roads, but not rent a motorcycle each, which would probably make it a lot safer.             

Every road winds up the mountains, and if you are not at the top, there is probably someone looking down on you harvesting coffee, along with people looking up at you as well.  These Timorese are insane, walking up these small footpaths made from dirt and mud that make me nervous walking on them when I have both hands, and I do my fair share of hiking.  They are carrying huge sacks of coffee.  Unlike most rural areas in America, every 30 seconds you see people walking along these Timorese mountain roads, mostly because they are harvesting coffee.  Every single person waves at you, and depending on the time of day says ‘bon dia’, ‘bon tarde’, or ‘bon note’ – good morning, evening, or night.  A lot of times it is just tarde or something along those lines, but always accompanied by a smile and a wave.  You can’t just enjoy the view while you drive, you have to say hello to everyone.             

Of course, a lot of people also add another word on to Grrm (my new name for Bear Cub or Grant, he looks exactly like George R. R. Martin on the back cover of the Game of Thrones books), PVA, and myself – Mallai.  Mallai basically means foreigner.  It’s not a rude term, just what we are, so it’s always ‘tarde mallai!’ always with a smile.  A lot of the places we have gone the kids have run after the car too when they see us, shouting and laughing.  Even when they have been working all day, climbing up and down these mountains harvesting coffee, both hands full with the full sack of coffee they are carrying and the machete, they still smile and wave.              

Plus every area we go to we can talk to the Chief de Succo with no problems, for usually a couple of hours each.  They are more than willing to share information on the community in general, their water and sanitation, mortality and morbidity rates, what health and education are like, and if they have had any programs from outside agencies like the government, UNICEF, or NGOs.  Not only that, but the data we gathered in Dili is actually matching up with what we are getting here!             

 But I haven’t even mentioned the best part.  This is coffee country.  Everyone we talk to, including the Chief de Succo (we’ve met two so far, basically the mayors of their 2000 people areas), give us coffee.  This isn’t just any coffee, this is as fresh as you can get, grown, harvested, husked, dried, and roasted by their own hands.  Without fail, if we talk to someone for any extended period of time and they have the ability, they give us this fresh, amazing coffee.  We’ve had a few different types too; I’m not sure what they all are, but I know one was Arabic.  It’s almost 5PM right now.  I’m sitting in a comfortable chair on the porch of the Santa Bakhita center, watching the fog roll in over the mountains while the sun slowly sets.  The center is on a hill in a bit of a valley, so I can see a fairly large portion of the surrounding area.  I can see pigs, cows, and horses walking on the communal field below.  I can hear a chicken crowing in the distance and the sounds of kids yelling while they play soccer.  There’s the smell of cook fires mixed with the pungent aroma of drying coffee that people are just now putting into sacks to go on tomorrows CCT trucks out of town.  Plus, it’s a mountainous jungle, so I can see all sorts of different plants and trees.  It’s even starting to get a bit of a chill.  Plus I’m drinking fresh coffee and eating a deep fried pastry.  Now this is field research.