Head down, I clamber into the mikrolet, one of the owner-operated mini-vans that trawl Dili all day for passengers. The only spare seat’s at the far end of a thin bench, one of two that run down either side. Clutching my day pack to my chest, I aim my toe at a sliver of floor between 12 pairs of shoes and push my way through a thicket of knees. The bench stops inches from the back wall. When I finally sit down, a bit of me hangs over the edge, my hair brushes the ceiling and my feet are propped on the spare tyre lying in the aisle.
It’s midday and I feel like I’ve walked into a crowded sauna. Workers are heading home for lunch and the afternoon shift of students is replacing the morning one. The air freshener sachets hanging from the ceiling look as wilted as the passengers. No one’s talking although we’re close enough for a group hug.
The trusty No 10 mikrolets get me from A to B.
The mikrolets are the closest thing Dili has to a public transport system. Continue reading
Dili dally 