Asakiyume mita

There's a woman from Timor-Leste I follow on Facebook, Esteviana Amaral, who shares beautiful, sometimes funny, sometimes touching reflections on daily life. Kirsty Sword Gusmão put me onto her with this video (in which you can hear Tetun spoken beautifully). Since then, I've been enjoying--and sometimes translating--her work. Here is one from last Thursday. (Her original post)


(The photo is the one Esteviana shared with the post)

Her words:

Iha momentu balu ita presiza tuur no haree de'it natureza halo nia servisu, udan monu ba rai, kalohan nakukun no loro-matan sa'e.

Momentu sira ne'e bele repete maibé kada minutu ne'ebé liu ho nia istória rasik. Husik natureza hala'o nia knaar no buka tuir ó-nia ksolok rasik.

My translation:

In some moments we need to sit and just watch nature doing her work, rain falling to the ground, dark clouds, and the sun rising.

These moments will repeat, but each minute passes with its own story. This self-same nature carries out her duties and seeks after your joy herself.

Kirsty liked my translation and shared it on her Facebook page!

These questions are a mix of Tetun and English. Where they're in Tetun (probably riddled with errors), I've supplied English, but I haven't attempted to translate my English-language questions into Tetun. Similarly, where Nando answered in Tetun, I've translated the answers into English, but where he answered in English, I haven't ventured a translation. Ha'u husu deskulpa tanba la bele tradús hotu ba Tetun 😓

Nando da Costa Pires


Nando da Costa Pires is the author of "Mr. Mau Leki Meets an Eel," which you can read here.

(Nando da Costa Pires mak hakerek na'in "Sr. Mau Leki Hetán Majiku Husu Tuna," ne'ebe mak bele lee iha ne'e (okos).)

I asked him some questions ...

Can you tell us about reading when you were growing up in Ainaro?

Tuir ha’u nia hanoin kona ba reading iha Ainaro ladun le’e livru barak tanba livre ba le’e la to.

(According to my view, many in Ainaro didn’t read books because books were not available for all, but some people did find a way to read books.)

When I was a child, I didn’t read any books because I didn’t have any. Sometimes I asked other people to show me some to help me do my homework, and sometimes I borrowed my friends’ books to read.

When you were a child, what things did you do each day?

When I came back from school each day, I spent my time helping my family a lot on the farm.

Follow-up Question:
Bainhira Alin Nando sei ki’ik oinsa mak ajuda ita-nia familia iha to’os?

(When you were little, how did you help your family on the farm?)

Wainhira hau sei kiik, hau ajuda hau nia familia mak hanesan hamoos duut ou kuru bee lori ba hau nia inan aman hemu no hili ai hodi tein ba meiudia sira han.

(When I was little, I helped my family by doing things like weeding, or fetching water for my parents to drink and gathering wood to cook everyone’s midday meal.)

In school, what subjects did you like? Were there any subjects that you did not like?

In my school, I liked math and science. The subject I didn’t like was talking about politics.

You told me that your grandmother told you the story of Mr. Mau Leki and the eel. Did she tell you many other stories?

Nia konta istória só iha tempu espesiál ka beibeik ka?

(Did she tell stories only on special occasions or all the time?)

When I was a child, my grandmother told me many stories. She would tell me stories two times a month, or sometimes three times a month.

Who else in your family told stories?

My parent and my uncle (my father’s brother).

You told me “istória nee realidade akontese duni” (“this story really happened”).
Ha’u fiar ita, tanba mundu ne’e misteriozu no buat hotu (ema, animal, ai-hun, rai, lalehan, klamar) mak ligadu malu

(I believe you because this world is mysterious, and everything (people, animals, trees, earth, heaven, spirits) is connected to each other.)

So, I want to ask: What important things do stories like this one teach us?

(Istória hanesan ne’e hanorin ba ita buat importante saida?)

Istória nia importante mak hanorin mai ita atu kuidadu ita nia natureza sira, no karik ita hetan milagre husi natureza nia forsa, ita bele uza forsa ne’e bele tulun fali ita nia maluk sira ne'ebé presiza ita nia ajuda.

(This story’s importance is that it teaches us to take care of our natural world, and that if we obtain miracles from the forces of nature, we can use that power to help our families and friends when they need our help.)

Liu husi istória ne’e ema bele hadomi liu tan sira nia ambiente.

(Through this story, people can come to love their environment more.)

Hanorin ami atu oinsá atu ajuda ema seluk, karik sira presiza ita nia tulun.

(It teaches us how to help other people, if they need our help.)

Follow-up question:
Alin Nando dehan, “karik ita hetan milagre husi natureza nia forsa, ita bele uza forsa ne’e bele tulun fali ita nia maluk sira ne'ebé presiza ita nia ajuda.” Alin Nando rasik iha esperiensia ne’e?

(You said, “if we obtain miracles from nature’s power, we can use that power to help our families and friends when they need our help.” Have you yourself had that experience?)

Iha, tanba hau nia avo hetan duni milagre balun husi natureza tanba nia kura duni ema balun ne’ebé hetan moras no nia tana hodi siik ema nia moras no nia fo aimoruk tradisional ba ema moras nee.

I have, because my grandfather has indeed experienced various miracles from nature, because he has truly cured a number of people who were sick, and he performs divinations in order to understand people’s illnesses, and he gives traditional medicine to these sick people.

Is this the first time you have ever written a story?

Yes. It is the first time for me to write a story.

Do you read many stories? If yes, what types of story do you like?

Yes, I do read stories, but not many. I read some stories in Tetun from Revista Lafaek.

In your opinion, what is the difference between reading a story and listening to someone tell a story?

In my opinion, reading stories improves our comprehension about the things the story is talking about. We learn something from the story, and we come to know about interesting places. And also, we can read the story to our family.

In my opinion, when we listen to someone tell a story, we must listen carefully to the person so that we can understand the meaning of the story.


You studied math at university and now help students learn math. What methods do you use?

Yes. My experience is this: first I must prepare worksheets for the students, and then give them some examples and explain it to them. I must give exercises for student do in the class, and then I must check if they understand how to do it. And I must give them homework to reinforce what I taught, and later I must check their homework.

Follow-up question:
Kona-ba estudante ita-nian: sira-nia idade saida?

(About your students: what are their ages?)

Kona-ba estudante sira nia idade husi idade 8 to 17.

(About the students: they range in age from 8 to 17.)

Obrigada barak ba intervista ne’e no ba istória furak ne’ebe mak ita hakerek.
Ha’u hein katak ita hakerek istória barak tan!

(Thank you very much for this interview and for the wonderful story that you wrote.
I hope that you write lots more stories!)

Two exciting things!

First, Strange Horizons is doing a special issue featuring Southeast Asian writers, and on Twitter they mentioned especially that they'd love to get someone from Timor-Leste. So on Facebook I posted about that and one of my acquaintances from when I went there in 2013 messaged me! He wanted details, and he said he'd try writing something if I could help him translate it. I said yes! And the other day he sent me a 3,500 word story. And now I'm working on translating it!

I can't convey sufficiently how exciting this is for me. I daydreamed, when I was over there, about how great it would be to hear local stories and tales--or even to read them. But it seemed worlds away, requiring so much study, and was I likely to do all that work for a place I might never go back to? But I did it! And now I can help someone share his stories with the world! So there's that thrill, but then there's the thrill of the tale itself. It seems very folktale-esque so far (I'm not quite a third of the way through it), but all the little details! Details about how to clear a patch of forest to make a field (bring your axe and your machete--which, amusingly, in Tetun is called a katana), put little stones around the perimeter, cut all the grass, weeds, and other plants, let them dry, then burn them. It was the tools and the little stones that I was especially excited about. And then details about what they eat for lunch, and bathing in a stream... all of it. Now maybe these are just folktale elements, but they're new-to-me folktale elements. I love them.

Now I'm waiting for a promised magical eel to appear.

Second, my ESL tutee and I are going to experiment with making Salvadoran chicha! She was telling me her mother sometimes makes this alcoholic drink to sell to people, and I was asking how she did it, and I thought... why don't we try it? So we're going to. Ingredients are seed corn, panela (unrefined sugarcane juice, condensed into a brick), a pineapple rind, and water. And time ;-)

I'll let you know how it turns out.

If the three stories I've read so far are any indication, this issue of Clarkesworld is crackerjack, but the story that's really blown me away is "Embracing the Movement," by Cristina Jurado, translated by Sue Burke (who writes a little about her process here).

It's the story of a powerful, intelligent collective alien species trying, with increasing frustration, to communicate with a lone explorer who, as described and seen by the aliens, reads very human. The communication issues and disjunction between the lone "sister sojourner" and the alien collective reminds me of China Miéville's Embassytown.

Most beings who detect our presence shy away, fearing the reach of our offensive capacity: the destructive power of our attack system is legendary throughout the galaxy. And yet you drew near in your mediocre artifact and initiated an amazing dance.

The aliens invite (detain?) our lone sister sojourner for a visit and attempt to show her their grandeur:

Few have visited our refuge: consider yourself regaled.

We find out plenty about the aliens as they do their regaling. For example. . .

Despite our reputation, I assure you we are sensitive. How else could we have prospered if not by caring for each of our sisters? The union of our swarm is only possible through the concern and attention with which we treat every one of our members

But then too...

We are the sentries of our hives, porters of justice, and exterminators of hideous, pillaging, corrupt, squandering vermin.

Our morality is impeccable, although that may be hard to see except from our viewpoint.

The aliens describe their communication method--patterns and formations:

If anger inundates us, we compose an undulating surface, a flowing liquid force that manifests itself as breaking waves and even as tides. At times sadness possesses us, and our organisms pulsate in a fractal of fluorescent scales.

If you would like to see how this first-contact ends, click on the link at the top of the entry, or, what the hell, here it is again.

So far I've also read two other stories, also worthy of your time:

Yukimi Ogawa, "The Shroud for the Mourners."
In a society stratified by body patterns and colors, as well as andoid/non-android status, a mysterious medical condition has arisen. The solution to this mystery involves honoring personhood and the dead, and finding ways to make society a little more humane.

Jiang Bo (trans. Andy Dudak), "Face Changing," a cat-and-mouse story in which financial police officer Xu Haifeng is always one step behind cybercriminal Huang Huali. You may, like me, be a little exasperated by Xu's unjustified self-confidence and dubious decisions, but the financial cybercrime aspect and the dystopic all-present state was very interesting to me (LOL), and I found the end very satisfying.

As the translator of this Japanese short story says in the tweet that brought it to my attention, "I won't blame you for not knowing you needed an Olympics ghost story in your life, but at least now you do." (source)

It begins promisingly...

I was ever so keen to visit the Aran Islands, but unfortunately, I died before ever making it out of Japan.

And continues that way!

And yet. In the months just prior to my death the idea had been mooted among the members of the neighbourhood association to go away on holiday. Over cups of tea after our weekly meeting, the vice-chair Mr Nakarai had let slip that he’d never been overseas, and then, one after another, all the other members of the group had begun to chime in, saying: ‘Me neither!’ ‘Oh, me neither!’ ‘No, I’ve never been abroad either.’ My voice had been among them. In that case, it was suggested, those of us who’d never once left the country should go along to a travel agency, organize a tour guide to accompany us, and take a yokels-abroad sort of vacation. We would go to some place that was the furthest imaginable from Japan. Doubtless the trip would completely wear us out, but we were all of the same generation, and if being abroad for the first time would wear us out to a similar degree, then at least we could be worn out freely and openly, just as our hearts desired. We could embarrass ourselves thoroughly and find it all too much, knowing that we were in good company ...

In the end, we settled on the Aran Islands in Ireland, on the basis they seemed peaceful, and thus probably well-suited to a bunch of pensioners like us.

Apparently my desire to go to the Aran Islands was even greater than I thought, because I was unable to proceed smoothly to the next life, and ended up instead stopping in this world as a ghost.

What follows are the adventures of Mr. Mita figuring out how to accomplish his purpose--visiting the Aran Islands, so he can depart this life--despite being a ghost. The story's called "A Ghost in Brazil," so you know it's going to take interesting turns.

And the guy's **voice** is just very amusing, very dry in a way that reminds me of Martha Wells's Murderbot.

It's free to read at the Granta website here. If you enjoy it, come and tell me which parts you like best.

If you know your mother tongue and then you widen out to learn all the languages of the world, that's empowerment. If you know all the languages of the world and not your mother tongue, that is not empowerment: that is enslavement.

--Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o

I've heard the phrase "decolonizing the mind" tossed about a lot, but didn't know until last night that the book Decolonising the Mind was written by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o, a seminal Kenyan writer who's very active in supporting mother tongues and encouraging translation and understanding across less-dominant languages. He's giving a lecture at the nearby university today, but yesterday there was a much more intimate event: a screening of a film about him by the Kenyan director Ndirangu Wachanga, followed by a conversation with the two of them.

Ndirangu Wachanga (photo source)

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o (photo source)



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Is English an African language?

In interviewing African intellectuals, Wachanga likes to ask that question. No? Yes? Partially? The responses and reasoning people gave were absorbing. Ngũgĩ had lots to say about it--and so did one of the audience members, during the question-and-answer session. She came to America as a young child, with her mother. She said, "When I'm with my Chinese friends, we all talk in English--but when they go home, they talk in Chinese. When I'm with my Brazilian friends, we all talk in English--but when they go home, they talk in Portuguese. But when I go home, I talk in English." There wasn't a chance for her to finish her thought and say how she felt about that, or what her own feelings were on the question of English as an African language, but even just as much as she said was thought provoking.

All in all, it was such an energizing experience. I came away with so many things I want to read and think about, and so many people--featured in Wachanga's film--whom I want to find out more about. Three commentators in particular: Wangui Wa Goro (a translator), Grant Farred (quoted above; he's a professor of English and African studies), and Dagmawi Woubshet, an Ethiopian (but teaching in the United States) scholar of African and African American literature. Those three were especially passionate.