I relate these 2 stories as told and have no doubt they are true.

The first concerns an expat who lost his mobile phone, presumed stolen.

At the time, he was amongst a group of Timorese and he really wanted his phone back. One of the Timorese told him to see the local witchdoctor (matan do’ok), so he did. After a few minutes of wailing and eye fluttering, the witchdoctor told him the name and address of the person who had his phone.

In order to flush the thief out, the witchdoctor organised a little ceremony with all the people who were in the vicinity at the time of the theft. In what seems to be a standard ritual, all present were required to hold a burning candle and swear that he or she did not steal the phone.

The thief trembled and shook but still managed to go through the pledge, but shortly after returned the phone.

The second concerns the Com resort which is about 200kms east from Dili. This resort pipes water in from the hills a few kilometres away but on a regular basis, experienced cuts to its water supply. Some local people objected to this resort in their area and had taken to destroying the pipe and at one point, the resort was forced to close.

The resort turned to the local witchdoctor. I don’t know if money changed hands (although I presume it did), but the doc conducted a little ceremony involving a small wooden coffin the size of your hand. According to his incantations, anyone who destroyed the pipe would die and shrivel up to fit into this coffin.

They never had water problems again.

Over a week in the hotel now and have already been found wanting when asked to “bring food” to social events. It has now been 3.5 months of living out of the backpack.

But we have been invited to a Christmas picnic down on the beach. In deference to our kitchen-less state, we have the task of doing the beer. I can do that.

As TL has no functioning postal delivery to street addresses (ie there are no street addresses) this option is severely limited. Most of our mail actually arrives in a DHL bag and we do not expect the next one until next week, so we have the grand total of zero Christmas cards. Nor have we sent a single card – partly as we would have had to send them before we even got here if we wanted them to arrive in foreign parts for Christmas.

Most of the local population are Catholics and the church provides a key focus. I had thought there might be a bit more of the commercial version of Christmas (as practiced in the modern western countries) but there is almost no sign of that commercialism (which I happen to find distasteful anyway). One thing you do see is “nativity scenes”. Dotted around all over the place are small constructions put together by family units. These nativity scenes will typically include a bit of the usual glitter, but mostly they are home-made efforts made with local materials. Given that the makers of many of these scenes live in little more than bamboo huts, these are significant efforts.

Of course, the OZ embassy (a quite large edifice) has tactfully created one of the bigger ones, but in true OZ “taking the piss” style, has a dash of humour, with a kangaroo carrying baby Jesus in his pouch. And a shepherd kneeling down perilously close to the hindquarters of a sheep.