WHEN THE FIGHTING BEGINS

Transcription

1 WHEN THE FIGHTING BEGINS "Arti! Arti! Get up! We must go!" My mother's voice is scared and frantic as she firmly grabs my arm and pulls me out of bed onto my feet in the dark room. I do not understand what is happening as my feet hit the soft straw on the ground of our hut. My head briefly spins from getting up quickly and my eyes take a moment to focus in the darkness. I try to look through the earthen windows, but Mum has drawn the curtains tight. It must still be late at night, as all I can see is Mum's sweaty face and wide brown eyes looking at me. I can tell by the darkness inside that it is late at night, well past the eight pm curfew the Indonesian government has enforced. There is commotion outside. People are screaming and the sounds of machine guns and grenades in the near distance cut through the heavy air. I open my mouth to ask Mum what is happening but see that she has a shaking finger pressed across her lips, telling me to stay silent. Suddenly the noises get louder, much louder, as thought the fighting is right outside the front door, the only exit. Mum drags me toward the back window, pulls the curtains away and helps me climb through. My bare feet hit the warm, dusty ground as Mum climbs through after me. As Mum takes my hand and drags me into the streets of Balibó I look over my shoulder through the window and glimpse the tip of a gun and the camouflage pattern on the military uniform of an Indonesian troop entering the room. Then Mum yanks my head around and we are running towards the throng of sweaty bodies hemmed in the streets by the darkness of the warm night. I say a silent prayer for Dad and Dian and hope they manage to avoid the airborne shrapnel. I am proud of them for fighting against the Indonesians, but scared for their safety at the same time. I am especially scared for Dian, who had to lie about his age to join the resistance. He is only fifteen, but all his friends were joining at the time, so Mum eventually let him. Civilians are running in all directions on the streets of Balibó; dark shadows moving in fear. The backdrop of ear splitting explosions adds even more noise to the screams of the injured or lost. I see brave East Timor fighters among the many Indonesian

2 troops, but I do not see Dad or Dian. The familiar smell of gunpowder once again dominates the air as we arrive at the edge of the crowded street. To try and hide in the highlands we have to join the crushing crowd. "Arti! Follow me," Mum says. I can tell by her voice that she is petrified, though she is trying her hardest to be brave. I grab onto her warm, comforting hand and for a moment feel safe. Then we plunge into the crowd of civilians, heading away from the fighting toward the outskirts of Balibó. I feel sweaty elbows, knees, heads, hands and bodies banging into me. I grip onto Mum's hand with all my strength. People everywhere are panicking. Several houses are on fire. I try to look back at our small, wooden house. All I can see is a stretch of smoke streaming up from the general direction of our hut. As I turn back a black body jumps desperately between Mum and me, breaking our hand link, and pushing me to the ground. I struggle to my feet and look around disorientated in the dark and commotion. I can hear Mum yelling my name over and over: "Arti! Arti! Arti!" But her voice fades as we are separated more and more by the crowd until I can not hear her anymore. I yell her name even though I know it is hopeless. Mum has gone. The fighting nears me as more and more civilians run past. I try desperately to run away, but the crowd coming towards me is too strong. Tears run dense and uncontrollable down my face. I do not know what to do. I see Indonesian troops coming towards me. They are only a few metres away now. I stand still, frozen to the spot, as though the damp dirt from the road has cemented me there. I hear a gun shot and the next moment feel a sharp pain in my leg and fall onto my side, lying on the earth with people stepping on me as they flee from the fighting. I try to sit up, but the pain is too much, and the pressure of hundreds of people stepping over me is too much to fight. I feel blood flowing over my pyjamas; hear even more feet running past me, and then all I see is black. I wake in confusion. I am on the shoulder of a soldier whose uniform I do not recognise. I struggle as hard as I can, but the hands are too strong. I try to yell out in fear, but there is absolutely no one around us. My head is still spinning. The man talks to me as I drift in and out of consciousness, but I do not understand even a word the man with white skin as pale as the moon is saying. Through blurry eyes I see that I am

3 being taken down a labyrinth of dirty roads that I do not recognise in the dark. I can barely hear the sounds of the fighting anymore as I am carried even further away into the black night. However, the smell of burning wood does not weaken as we move closer toward the highlands covered with deep, aphotic jungle. I manage to stay conscious for a few minutes, and I look at the small flag emblazoned on his arm, struggling to keep it in focus. I know I have seen it before, but do not recognise it. It is a deep blue with five stars and a weird type of cross in the top left corner. We travel deeper and deeper into the rainforest. The soldier carrying me spends a long time trying to find the track, but once he has found it, the track is easy to follow as it is well trodden. The usually impenetrable rainforest has been cleared to reveal a narrow path. When Dian and I were younger Mum and Dad used to take us into the outskirts of the forest to pick bananas and papaya. I remember Mum. Lost. Separated. Alone. Pain shoots through my leg again and I blackout. When I wake, I see we are approaching tents set up in a clearing. I try to gather my energy so I can put up a fight when I get put down. We enter the biggest tent which has the same flag as the soldier's uniform underneath a large red cross. I am surprised when I am lowered gently into a fold-out chair For the first time I see the man's face. He is only young, about twenty, and his blue eyes are full of concern. I trust him and realise he is just trying to help. I see that in the large canvas tent there are about a hundred other children. None of their parents are there and that they all have injuries too. Then I remember my leg. I look down, and the last thing I see before I faint again is masses of blood soaking into my dirty pyjamas. When I wake it is morning and I am lying on a narrow bed in the same large tent in which I fainted. I sit up and attempt to get up and look for Mum, Dad and Dian. But the pain in my leg stops me. I look beneath the starchy white sheets. Someone has splinted and dressed my leg and put on fresh white pyjamas. I look up as a young woman walks by, dressed like the soldier the night before, but without any weapons slung around her shoulders or tied to her waist. She stops when she reaches my bed

4 and smiles at me. I recognise the expression as friendly, but I do not smile or say anything just in case. I try to change my face so it does not reflect the pain I feel inside. "Hello," she says in Tetum with a very weird accent. I can barely understand her. "My name is Sarah. I'm a nurse from Australia. I will be looking after you until you are better." Her Tetum is very broken as though she has just learnt how to speak. I do not know where Australia is. I make a mental note to ask someone later before I use simple Tetum to talk to her. "Where is my Mum?" I ask. Sarah can obviously hear the desperation in my voice, because she sits down on the side of my bed and holds my hand. I trust her. Her young face looks honest. "What is your name?" she asks me. I tell her it is Arti. Then she looks straight into my eyes and says, "I will try my hardest to find your family." I can tell by the determination in her voice that she will. Sarah tells me she has to go back to Balibó to look for any other injured women and children who survived the fighting in the night. When Sarah goes I look around the tent. I want to thank the soldier who rescued me. It should not be too hard too identify the man with blue eyes and blonde hair. Most people in Balibó have brown hair and eyes. There are lots of soldiers and nurses in Australian uniforms walking around the many fold-out beds. After a few seconds looking around I realise that quite a few of the Australian soldiers have blonde hair, and that my soldier had probably gone back to Balibó with Sarah to help the locals. One of the soldiers on his break comes and talks to me and gives me a grey type of bear soft toy called a 'koala', which I hold to my chest and snuggle up to. I ask him where Australia is. He draws me a map on the dirt ground with a stick, and I realise Australia is very close to East Timor. At around lunch time, from the distance I see a soldier carrying a small boy dressed in an East Timorese resistance uniform into the tent. He looks too small and too young to be fighting. As they come closer, I see the boy has a sling on his left arm. Then

5 they come even closer and I recognise my brother and try to get up, but my leg feels like concrete and I can not move it. The soldier carries Dian over to me and places him on my bed before taking a retreating away a little. Dian embraces me and I see that he has tears running down his face. This is the first time for ages that I have seen Dian cry. He is muddy and has blood from his arm splattered on his uniform. After a while I ask him where Dad is. Dian does not look at me. There is no reassuring smile from my big brother. And then I understand why Dian has been so quiet. More tears roll down my face as a nurse and soldier come and try to comfort us. The girl lying on the bed next to me does not move all day, and in the afternoon, they wrap her up in cloth and take her away. Some of the children are lucky like me and Dian and can sit up, but others are so sick they can only lie there and some are taken away wrapped in cloth a few hours later, like the girl on the bed next to me. The nurses were scary at first with their masks over their mouths and noses, but after a while I got used to it. By mid-afternoon Sarah returns. She says she will know by tomorrow where my Mum is. Later on, the less injured children are allowed to sit together and talk to some Australian troops who are resting or injured. I sit close to Dian. I don't want to lose him too. They tell us about Australia, and how it is free for all children to go to school, and how there is plenty of room for everyone, and how the government does not fight. We all hang off their every word. We know it is true because of the longing etched in every line of their faces. I tell myself that when I find Mum, Dad and Dian we will go to Australia and escape this violent place. I talk to an East-Timorese boy of about my age called Chahaya. He was made orphan by the violence last night. I tell him not to worry, and that he can come and live with me and Mum and Dian when we move to Australia. This just starts him off with a fresh batch of tears. I start crying again too. When Chahaya has gathered himself, he says, "I just want the fighting to stop so other children do not have to feel what I feel now." Dian and I hug him. I say a silent prayer for Mum and hope with all my might that she is alive. Through the segmented half translated stories of Australian soldiers come in to report, the children in the medical tent, had learned that almost every second house in Balibó was destroyed last night.

6 Immediately after this was reported, all the children went completely silent, tormented by the horrors of the night past. After a while, Chahaya and Dian tried to cheer everyone up again by starting a game called 'fish' that Sarah had taught us. My leg keeps me awake most the night, and when I do sleep, I have nightmares and wake in a sweat. In the morning, the reports from the Australian troops worsen as the death count rises even more. Sarah comes back about mid-morning. I can tell even from the distance that she is exhausted. I can tell what her news is by her dejected body language. As she gets closer her tears confirm my thoughts, and before she has even reached us Dian and I are both crying. When Sarah reaches us she wraps her arms around me and places her warm hand onto mine, but I do not feel comforted. She opens her mouth to speak, but there is no need for words. All I can think of is the gaping emptiness inside of me that hurts even more than my leg. Word Count: Balibej is a town in East Timor situated 10km from the Indonesian-East Timor border. During the militia violence that preceded the referendum for East Timorese independence, it is estimated that 70% of the town was destroyed. Amnesty International estimated the death toll in East Timor as a result of violence between to be On 20 th September 1999, 4500 Australian peacekeeping troops, nurses and personnel were deployed in East-Timor to protect civilians and bring violence to an end. Community is not just about supporting the people who live in the suburbs next to you. Community is also about helping your global neighbours. Eight years after the deployment of Australian troops in East Timor, the Asia-Pacific continues to change rapidly. The Australian government continues to help it's neighbours to ultimately create a better world for the future.