Luckily for the security guard I had one of my longer sleeps which means he slept almost to 6am. As I put water into the kettle I could hear him rolling up his cardboard from the cement balcony immediately at the front of my door. I opened the door to ensure it really was one of the security guards and it seemed to be. Glad he got some sleep.
Daily to sleep on hard cement? And even in this tropical build up to wet season the cold would seep into your sleep which in turn would remind you of each bone that ached from the unforgiving surface.
My privacy has been imposed upon, with this newer arrangement of some of the guards using my balcony.
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| the downstairs makeshift pallet for sleeping |
However my security has increased. The UNPOL (United Nations Police made up from many donor countries) Spanish pair who live downstairs in their separate house but in the same house yard as me, pay for the security guards. Up until the months I was away in Australia, the guards used to always sleep outside the downstairs house. When I got back to Dili I noticed that the guards now use my balcony during the day and also at night.
Part of me wants them gone. I have to start to wear clothes just to go to the toilet in the middle of the night or I need to get heavier curtains. I must put back up the kitchen curtains as that window was safe from street level eyes. But now a great view for someone on the balcony. Yet who am I to complain?
I already have so much. Each time I sleep in my lovely bed in my well decorated and pleasing master bedroom I know people are sleeping on cement. Why does that not bother more people in the world, is more of a bother? Besides there was violence between young men mid morning yesterday which involved one badly bleeding man seeking sanctuary at the house of the police commander who was out at work but it’s well known as his residence. The group violence as young men armed with metal stakes, machetes and short timber posts shouted and ran and chased each other, sent local families scattering and the large metal gates in everyone’s driveways were clanging shut behind those not involved in the manhunt. The rest of the day Timorese and some occasional UN police were patrolling the street long after the sirens from the ambulance had faded.
Part of me still wishes for the return of my privacy where there is no young man sleeping literally at my front door. Part of me is glad that the UNPOL lads downstairs have arranged that our joint house compound has these guards nearby and who am I to quibble over where they choose to sleep.
