Tag Archives: stories

Hearts and Minds

29 Oct

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false]
We meet Cam and The Big O on a WWII amphibious landing craft in a coconut grove outside the island’s capital. They are surrounded by a curious semi-circle of locals, a nice complement to our own substantial entourage, who trail back through the tall palms and young bananas for several hundred yards of scrubby grass.

The Big O is a lovely kid. His compact frame decked out in stripy surf shorts, boxfresh T-shirt, mirrored aviators and oodles of sunscreen, he can work a look as well as his English idiom.

An idiom inherited, like his dreams of Miami Beach, from the time the US Navy came to town. A formative experience for The Big O, the highlight of his 23 years on the planet.

Formative, also, it appears, for much of the population of what is, fundamentally, a small, conservative and largely Muslim island. Continue reading

The King of the District: Part 1

21 Oct

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false] Governor Hain’s people pick us up early. 9.30pm, not 10.

It’s a big, slick, maroon people-carrier, a Toyota, I think, not quite as pristine as his personal vehicle, but it stands out a mile among the motor-rickshaws, scooters and mikrolet on the streets of Tobelo, Halmahera.

They call him the King of North Halmahera, Hain. He’s run the top of the island for the last decade and now he’s heading into his third term. There are two books on him in print: one sixth of the population of the capital, or thereabouts, will turn out for his (long-planned) reelection party.

But we’re not here to talk politics. We’re here, sitting in the back of this big, slick car, trundling through the dark, to meet the Moro, the long-vanished ancestors of all nineteen tribes on Halmahera. Continue reading

A Country Wedding

9 Oct

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false] In the dirt yard, by the family sleeping platform her family have built outside their government-built wooden house, Biasri, eighteen years old and five months gone, stands pounding rice in a ripped and muddy T-shirt draped over a little red skirt, her hair pulled back.

She’s preparing cakes for her wedding. It might happen today.

More likely tomorrow, now. Or possibly the day after. She’s not concerned, though. It’s jungle time. Continue reading

One Man and His Dog: Death of a Serial Killer

7 Oct foaming waterfall illuminated in bright light, borneo

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false]It happened during the second gold rush they had, here in Eastern Halmahera, in Indonesia’s Wild East, back in the 90s.

When parties of twenty or thirty men from the villages on the coast, with their brushed-sand streets and corrugated iron mosques, would head upriver, panning for gold, like the San Francisco 49ers.

These guys? Well, they weren’t local, or they wouldn’t have made the mistake they made. Because to the Togutil people who still hunt and gather in the forest here, their dogs are almost as important as their children. Continue reading

Working as a Waitress in a Cocktail Bar…

7 Apr

We left Marinduque the other morning, the third sailing of the day so crowded that the girls selling arrowroot cookies and purple yam pastillas have to balance on the metal edging the wrong side of the balustrades, that children wriggle between your legs in quest of plastic chairs, that the Pulis struggle to keep order in the queue that circles the sandy roundabout at Balanacan port.

And I think again of Rosalie, our landlady at the guesthouse, and the husband that Klaus believed she killed, whose picture, framed in silver, sits between crucifix and holy water, contemplating you as you move up the stairs. Continue reading