By Doris
On the third attempt we made it — a meeting with some of the women guerrilla fighters in East Timor. These women are part of Falintil, the resistance army that has been fighting for freedom in Timor Loro Sae (East Timor) since the Indonesian invasion in 1975.
In the years that followed the invasion, the Indonesian army and government carried out genocide in East Timor. An estimated one-third of the population died. Many people fled to the mountains for safety, some of whom took up arms and formed Falintil.
To the East Timorese, Falintil has become more than just a group of soldiers. It is a word whispered amongst the people, a symbol of hope and struggle. According to the Indonesian government, there are 200 Falintil fighters, but the real number is in the thousands. Some of the people we met on our trip to "the mountains" had been fighting for 24 years.
It was a complicated mission, practically and spiritually. Contacts had to be made and security confirmed. The previous evening we were asked to cover ourselves with a protective Falintil potion so that "the military and militia won't see us". We were also asked to prepare ourselves mentally, and to respect the powers of the potion and the gravity of the journey.
We loaded up the inconspicuous rental car with sacks of rice, tinned sardines, milk powder and medicine. Cigarettes and alcohol were not forgotten. Five eager Timorese climbed on board and we drove for what seemed like ages to our meeting spot. Near the end of our journey the car lights were turned off and we crawled though the moonlit fields and thick forest.
On the way we were told stories of how, in the late 1970s, when things were really bad, it was much harder to get supplies to Falintil, which depends on its wide network of supporters for sustenance. Couriers had to crawl for hours in the dark, their backs laden with supplies, to reach the mountains. Now things are easier and Falintil fighters can usually count on eating one meal a day.
When the track was almost impassable, two shadowy figures in army fatigues with big guns stepped out of the bushes. I thought the military had discovered us until the little boy squashed in next to me whispered, " Falintil!".
After the car was checked we were escorted to the camp by men in army clothes with long hair and big smiles. Three hundred Falintil fighters and friends were waiting for us.
They greeted us with loud applause (I thought we should be applauding them), then we were formally welcomed by the acting commander and his brother. The dark brown faces of these men were solemn and battle hardened, and their perfect spoken Portuguese a sign of 25 years of hiding.
We discovered that they had gathered for a festa (party). Some were still in their khakis and carried guns, ready for their three-hour shift in the guard posted around the gathering, but most had put on their party clothes.
They led us to a specially reserved table, a temporary fixture made of bamboo next to the commanders. I felt overwhelmed; this special treatment was the last thing I expected.
Cameras appeared and everyone had their photos taken with everyone else. Next they ceremonially gave us each a piece of tais, a traditional fabric woven by East Timorese women. The Portuguese words for "Respect from OMT of Falintil" were woven into the tais. The OMT, Timorese Women's Organisation, has worked underground with Falintil since 1975.
Then it was time to line up at the communal table laden with bowls of rice and other food. After eating, a battery-run stereo appeared playing Falintil favourites, and the commanders asked us to dance.
We had come, not only to bring supplies, but also to speak with the three women fighters who are a part of the Falintil force in this region. Late into the evening we were told we could interview them the next morning. We retired, but the East Timorese danced and held meetings until dawn.
At 5am we were led to a small clearing and soon three women came to us. It was not an easy conversation. As well as trying to respect local customs, we also had to use one translator from English to Portuguese, then another from Portuguese to an East Timorese dialect, then again back through all three people.
Julia, in her late 40s, has fought with Falintil since 1975. Her daughters, Dina, aged 27, and Bymesak, aged 33, are also fighters. They have spent their whole lives in the covert existence of Falintil.
The thought that these small, shy-looking women had probably killed countless Indonesian soldiers made me swallow hard. They held themselves very still; every movement was controlled. And they did look pretty uncomfortable in their party dresses.
We found out that another woman in this division of Falintil had died earlier this year during an Indonesian military attack in Lore. The determination and sacrifice of these women was driven home to me as they described the harsh conditions in which they fight.
By 6am it was time to leave. I left incredibly inspired by this night with Falintil, as I have been by many dealings with the East Timorese independence movement. After so much bloodshed and suffering, these people still give generously, and they are able to dance until dawn.
Falintil requires recording and communication devices (radio equipment, mobile phones, tape recorders, etc.), as well as money for food. If you can help, contact the East Timor International Support Centre at <etio@ozemail.com.au> (or visit the web site at <http://www.easttimor.com/>) and state that you wish your donation to go to the mountains.