Toys on the Windscreen — with Shelley McPhee

There's a text message that started everything. Two words — Bisa Ibu Shelley — sent by a colleague on her first week in West TImor, Indonesia. Google Translate gave her "Can, Mother Shelley." And something in her flinched.

This episode is about what happened next. About the warung lunches, helping with the cost of fuel and the quiet accumulation of actions that meant something in a culture that has a word for what she already was. And about the comment that women like her hear sometimes — the one that gets swallowed in the moment because what do you even say — and what she's finally ready to say out loud.

It's also about the women who raised her, and the grief that doesn't have a name, and what it means to be seen — fully, without the western filters — in a place you didn't expect to find yourself. Read the full post at shelleymcphee.substack.com

There's a moment in this episode where a stranger on a road in West Timor gives Shelley a smile — and she realises she received something far greater than she gave. That's where this post begins. And it doesn't quite end where you expect.

Seen is about what happens when you get very good at not seeing people — which London will teach you, if you let it — and then find yourself in a place where not seeing is no longer possible. On a motorbike in NTT, at fifty kilometres an hour, with no shared language and no middle distance to stare into, every person is just a person. And a smile is the whole conversation.

From a primary school boy who announced Shelley's arrival at full volume to an entire street, to a colleague in a London office in 2007 who needed someone to look up from their screen at exactly the right moment — this one is about the cost of a locked gaze. Spoiler: it's nothing. The return, though? That's something else entirely.

Read the full post at shelleymcphee.substack.com

On April 8th, 2026, a small group of people gathered at a monument in a town called Oesau, about thirty kilometres from Kupang in West Timor. Most of them were Indonesian. The Australians present were two volunteers who happened to be in the right place, and one man who flew from Sydney specifically to be there. No official Australian representation attended.

This is a post about Sparrow Force — approximately 1,400 Australian soldiers sent to Timor in 1941, whose story most Australians have never heard. It's also about what it means to show up for something when nobody is making you. About a family who has tended a war memorial on their own land for eighty years out of pure goodwill. And about a detail involving two wreaths that I didn't register until I was in the car on the way home — and haven't stopped thinking about since.

Published on Anzac Day, 2026. Read the full post at shelleymcphee.substack.com.

In this episode, Shelley rides out to the villages of West Timor to visit Albertus — a farmer in Oebelo with dirt under his fingernails and a wicked sense of humour. She watches him plant Cendana seedlings beside Lamtoro, close enough for their roots to find each other. She makes cat and dog noises in front of several unimpressed children. And she thinks about what it means to plant trees for a future you'll never fully inhabit — and why the word "volunteer" doesn't come anywhere near it.

Read the full post at shelleymcphee.substack.com

On the first morning in a new town, two foreigners picked up rubbish outside a police station with no idea anyone was watching. The video got 48,600 likes. The litter stayed largely where it was.

What goes viral and what actually changes are not always the same thing.

Shelley McPhee reads her essay Dua Bule aloud.

Read the full post at shelleymcphee.substack.com/dua-bule

The second post. Halfway through a volunteer posting in West Timor. Halfway through a life being redesigned.

The shine wears off. Even when you're exactly where you wanted to be. A woman hands a stranger a red dragon fruit from her garden, and somehow that's enough to turn a whole day around.

Shelley McPhee reads her essay The Second Half aloud.

Read the full post at shelleymcphee.substack.com/the-second-half

The first post. The one where the blog gets its name — and everything begins.

There's a taxi driver in Kupang whose entire windscreen is filled with stuffed toys. Impractical, unconventional, completely joyful, and utterly himself. This is the story of what he taught me about how to live.

Shelley McPhee reads her essay Toys on the Windscreen aloud.

Read the full post at shelleymcphee.substack.com/toys-on-the-windscreen