Zitting Cisticola

Today I went out in search of a bike. I thought that the problem would be finding one that was long enough for me. It turns out, however, that there are no bikes and I will have to wait for the boat that carries bikes to come back on September 23rd.

The first few days I was here I used one that another Fellow had left at NDI. One morning, I rode it up the beach road to look for birds. Coming around a corner I saw a huge turquoise kingfisher perched on a light pole. I slammed on my evidently ear-piercing brakes and managed to flush not only the kingfisher but also to clear all the waders off the surrounding mudflats.

Over the summer I sent my binoculars away to Texas to be fixed. When they came back I thought that they were okay – not perfect but fine. Now that I can’t identify birds just by the way they move or their under-tail or voice, I feel differently. Here, as with most things, I need all the details and perhaps someone holding a sign reading “it’s a Zitting Cisticola (Cisticola juncidis) you twit.” I want power! Super-sharp Leicas! Nitrogen-purged, locking-diopter, crystal-clear Sworovskis!

I usually explain my interest in birds as connected to the desire to know where I am. Birding gets me out walking in the early morning, checking things out. At the farm Jess pointed out that I also just like to make lists, and she’s right. I remember being embarrassed to tell Prof. Tennenhouse that I liked bird watching because in his seminar we had discussed acts of mapping, listing and describing as forms of domination, colonization. So I do understand a town by searching out its birds, but I also use the lists and guides to break it down into little pieces that I name and then check off.

I have not read enough theory to think clearly about signs, words as signifiers, etc. But what I have been experiencing is the dislocation of words and their content – I hear a Tetum word, but what does it mean? The opposite is also true, I see a chair but I don't know the Tetum word. This latter experience is similar to that of seeing an unknown bird, except for the crucial fact that for me the bird never before existed whereas "chair" has been sufficient for the last twenty-odd years. The idea of getting up tomorrow morning, walking to the mudflats, and for an hour affixing names to birds seems appealing. For me the bird is unknown, and I just have to find the name, write it down, and move on.

And Jess, even with the likes of the Fluffy-backed Tit-babbler (Macronous ptilosus, see right) in the region, I will be keeping my eyes peeled for the Scarlet Humper.