Dili, a languidly pulsing centre of diverse cultures irrevocably entwined within the sensual and seductive climate of a tiny nation-state that precariously straddles the equator amidst the tumult and intrigue of the sprawling Indonesian archipelago. Dili, the colourful capital city of a
nascent nation-state haltingly, patiently, and at times impatiently, finding its feet after centuries of colonial domination. Barefoot urchins in grubby t-shirts and shorts hawk mandarins, pineapples, bananas, mangoes, peanuts, tomatoes or avocados, depending on the season. “One dollar. One dollar Missus. Miiiiiisssssuuus!!!” Their piercing voices crack with desperation as the heavy
produce weighs down their thin bodies. The sight of such young children bearing impossibly heavy loads of produce is
disturbing at first. Newcomers to the nascent nation often feel compelled to
buy large
quantities of fruit and vegetables. Gradually, however, these
sights become less disturbing and the inclination to buy copious quantities of produce wanes. It
doesn’t take long before these sights start to become slightly irritating. Then, it is as if the persistence of these young vendors doesn’t exist at all. These children become just another part of the local scene, as ubiquitous as the taxis, rubbish and dust.
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