The car died for the third time in the middle of Bairro Pite. The AC was already off to coax the absentee engine to push us the rest of the way up Hudi Laran. We sat low in the seats, waiting to start rolling again.
A ‘97 Nissan, it wasn’t a bad car, but considering that we were stopped in the center of the road, sweating, I thought that $5,500 was a bit high. And $4,000 was a bit high for the matte black Mitsubishi Lancer with no wheels; and $5,000 was too steep for the red Lancer parked behind the Chinese restaurant that revved and shook like a bull terrier as I leaned in to check the mileage.
Dili is an ibun ba ibun (word of mouth, lit: mouth to mouth) kind of place. The good deals are to be found through friends and work-mates, through the vulture’s-luck of someone rushing off to Nepal or Geneva or Afghanistan. One has to get out of the mainstream. It was with this in mind that I gambled on my landlord’s friend and won a Saturday idling in the Nissan, squinting down dusty streets.
L and I have been searching for a car since I got back. On the weekends we have donned bike helmets, filled water bottles and peddled to the various Singaporean and Japanese dealerships and checked out the message boards in Lita and Landmark. It feels dorky shopping for a car via bike – we must look hot and desperate, which is not far from the truth. And the dealers can tell. Dead meat from the start.
So today, when we finally bought the car, there wasn’t the euphoria of getting a super deal. The seller simply said ‘no’ as we stuttered and lied through our various ‘negotiating strategies,’ finally handing over the asking price in thick bundles of soiled tens and twenties. At least he could have pretended to give us a break; take pity on the cyclists!
With the car I’ll be able to attend yoga class, visit friends and get to Landmark on yogurt expiration day (super deals!). Most importantly, the car means mobility after dark, and we’ll be able to go out on nights when neither of us can eat more of Sunday’s dhal. Life will be more independent and flexible. I will drink to that tonight.
This is my first car.
Postscript: In the end, the car is nothing flash: small and silver, ready to join the schools of Dili taxis. This is camouflaging strategy. At the other end of the spectrum is armoring; a ute I rode in this weekend had metal grills on the side windows and a windscreen of bulletproof glass so thick that it warped the road. Impenetrable, cocksure.
However, I think that L brought up a good point: What happens if you lock your keys in the car?
Photo: Modified from HHH forward. Ta.
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