An old man, a dead cock and some puns on the board

As mentioned previously I’m on a path to win the battle against my feathered friends; Roosters United. Well, in unexpected and slightly traumatic news I’ve a few more runs to report.

Not a member of Roosters United.

  M.Hero (4) Vs Roosters United (2,453)

View over the Los Palos town from the water tower. Completely unrelated to the current conversation.

Some background. I moved into a new house about 3 weeks ago and have been slowly coming to terms with life on a normal sleeping pattern. You see, I spent the past 10 months living in a house with 3 roosters perched about 3 metres from my bedroom window. This meant I’d be woken up by a chorus of ‘doodling' from anytime between 10.30PM and 6.00AM.

3 roosters X 10 months - Quality sleeping from dengue fever = 2,762

Times were tough back then; I was starting to have nasty dreams about killing all the roosters, I wasn’t happy with the world, I needed something to change. So I started to get my own back at them, something which I am determined to do until I beat their score count and claim ultimate victory. I admit that it has been a fairly slow start, but I’m getting there…

One day I went to the Los Palos Water Treatment Plant and the operator (pictured in one of the best government uniforms around) gave me a tour. It was another happy day for me in Los Palos. 

1; I heard a thud

One day I came screaming around the corner on my way out of Baucau to see a white feathered flash out of the corner of my eye. That’s all I saw. Nothing more. I felt a thud as something went under my back tyre and the gentle caress of some feathers against the exposed areas of my feet (my rubber safety shoes, i.e. thongs/flipfloopers/jandals, don’t provide much protection against grazes from renegade rooster feathers). While I can’t guarantee that it was a rooster, or even that it’s time has ended, a smile crept across my face as I finally had a run on the board…

2; they don’t taste nice.

A while ago I had the pleasant dining experience in Bobanaro of eating the stringy, grey flesh of a rooster killed specifically for our meal. It wasn’t tasty, but it was enjoyed in the company of Ice Man and Goose (see the following post) and the presence of the drumstick on my plate meant that the world was one rooster closer to being brought back into the harmonious balance that we all so dearly want…

The road outside the office which I work at. Also unrelated.

 3; don’t ride one handed

So yesterday was my latest encounter with my feathered frenemies. It was closer then I wanted. I’m going to call it a near death experience (for me). As I was slowing down to a sleepy 30km/h coming into a village, with one hand resting on the accelerator while the other tapped on the petrol tank when a rooster darted out. I’m sure it was premeditated. It dove into my front tyre. My heart leapt through my mouth (as it seems to like doing during most of my motor trips around these parts when animals come to say hello) as my front tyre was kicked to the side and I wobbled but managed to not die. I didn’t even flinch on the outside, preferring to pretend instead that the event didn’t happen. I was going to stop but then the thought of being swamped by people demanding compensation for the honor of their cock nearly killing me made the evil voice dominate and I kept going. 

I do feel bad, I don’t like leaving the scene of an animal being injured but sometimes it has to be done. So maybe I’ll tell a nice story about a rooster now. 

Ouso Saturday market in District Viqueqe. 

4; Roosters have bad hearts

The nephew of my Timorese friend died a few months ago and as he was quite young and was the second child to die in the community over a short period of time the families needed some resolution through cultural discussions (Note: this isn’t the happy part of the story). I was invited along for the day and watched as the elders in the group first talked about what they needed to do to resolve the cultural rift (a strong belief in spirits/ancestors exists in the village) that had caused the deaths. As is the common practice for this community the heart of a goat and a pig that had been killed for the day’s events were examined to see if there was anything bad/upset with their hearts.

After looking at the hearts the men decided that ‘yes’, something was wrong which meant that a rooster had to be sacrificed and it's heart examined. This made me happy as one less rooster in the world means everyone is happier and I was confident that the men had made the right choice in which heart the problem lay. So the roosters heart was removed and it wasn't good either (I wasn’t surprised at this outcome and i don't think the men were either!) which meant that there was to be another event in a few weeks to continue the discussion. 

The kitchen where the food for the day is being prepared. This photo is related.

Once the cultural discussions were finished for the day we moved onto the highlight of eating pig over a fire and drinking local whiskey. BBQ pig stomach is very moreish when a kilogram of salt has been added and the food was great. Soon enough the sun was setting, a warm glow had filled my cheeks and it was time to ride the 2 hours home along the beautiful coast line that is Lautem.

Not long into the ride I saw an old man hitchhiking on the side of the road (Note: start happy story now). He had just finished taking his pride and joy, his feathered cock, to the local cockfighting session. The old man seemed perplexed at the idea that a grinning malae (foreigner) on a motorbike was offering him a lift, but he wasn’t one to be shy, so with the agility of a 21 year old gymnast he sprung onto the back of my bike and nestled his rooster on his lap. We smiled at each other as only two men can when the sun is setting and there is a cock between them, and we started on our journey. 

The colors in the sky were amazing and the atmosphere was completely beautiful; honestly, I was in a happy place. It was a moment. I never knew the happiness that I could experience with a warm cock pressed against the base of my spine and an old man’s hands on my hips while riding a motorbike away from the setting sun in a whiskey haze. 

It was bliss… everyone should have a go. It was a good day in Timor-Leste. 

Site of aforementioned moment. He didn’t even know my name…