Tamara Sloper-Harding shares her story below…
Coming home from school one day, I felt a sense of excitement and peace.
It was 1987 and, aged 18, I’d decided to follow in the footsteps of my dad, uncle and grandfather and join the Royal Australian Navy.
“I want to make the world a better place,” I explained to my parents.
They were nervous but proud.
After completing my initial training at HMAS Creswell in Jervis Bay a year later, I became an Administration Officer.
Over the years, I worked in personnel management, community support, public relations and media, and spent time at sea on board HMAS Stalwart and HMAS Tobruk.
By the late ’90s, I was qualifying as an Intelligence Officer, serving in Maritime Headquarters, Headquarters Australia Theatre and even at sea on USS Coronado in Pearl Harbour, Hawaii.
Then one day, while working in Force Development at Russell Offices in Canberra, I became friends with Royal Military College staffer, Adrian.
Over the next eight years, our friendship slowly turned into romance.
Being in different services wasn’t always easy, but it meant we both understood the sacrifices military life demanded.
In September 1999, aged 30, we married.
I wore a beaded dress while Adrian proudly wore his medals.
We’d been planning our honeymoon to Vanuatu for months and couldn’t wait to finally spend uninterrupted time together.
But during our wedding reception, I received a phone call.
“You’re being deployed with General Cosgrove to Timor-Leste,” I was told. “You need to be ready to leave in a week.”
Looking at Adrian, my heart sank.
“I’ve just been deployed,” I told him quietly.
“I understand,” he replied. “And I’m proud of you.”
Arriving in Timor-Leste, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
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More than 80 per cent of the country’s infrastructure had been destroyed.
Entire villages had been burned to the ground, families displaced, and children orphaned.
The smell of smoke and sewage filled the streets.
“How did we not know this was happening right on our doorstep?” I asked a colleague, fighting back tears.
My role involved helping coordinate food drops, medical aid and security support in key areas including Dili.
At first, many locals were understandably wary of us, but slowly trust began to grow.
I’d travel for hours through jungle roads with a translator to reach remote villages.
There, we’d sit with local women sewing and crocheting together, connecting despite barely speaking the same language.
“Thank you for coming and sewing with us,” my translator told me they’d said.
As trust grew, some women began sharing the horrific trauma they’d endured at the hands of militias, including torture and sexual violence.
Listening to their stories was heartbreaking, but it also felt like a privilege that they trusted me enough to share them.
I was deployed for five months.
There was little access to clean water, proper bedding or regular food supplies, but I never complained.
The people of Timor-Leste had so much less and were still incredibly grateful.
Even after I returned home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the people I’d met there.
I deployed to Bougainville and Hawaii, but part of my heart stayed in Timor-Leste.
In 2003, Adrian and I finally decided to start the family we’d long put on hold because of military life.
Using my long service leave, I had four children in four and a half years – Vaughn in 2003, Isabeau in 2004, Xavier in 2005 and Armelle in 2006.
With Adrian still serving full-time, life quickly became chaotic.
Some days I barely had time to shower between feeds, school runs and sleepless nights.
But even during those exhausting years, I still thought constantly about Timor-Leste.
One night in 2007, while feeding baby Armelle in the early hours of the morning, I started researching organisations working there.
That’s when I discovered the Alola Foundation, founded by Kirsty Sword Gusmão.
Straight away, I sent an email.
Hello, I’m up feeding my baby and felt compelled to contact you. I’m a stay-at-home mum, but I want to help too, I wrote.
Within minutes, she replied.
I’m feeding my baby too. I’d love to work with you, she said.
From there, everything grew quickly.
I started fundraising through my local RSL, organising galas, donation drives and community events to support projects in Timor-Leste.
In 2009, I spoke at my children’s school on Anzac Day about my peacekeeping experiences.
To my surprise, the students wanted to help.
Soon, we linked their school with one in Timor-Leste.
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I later met with Ambassador Abel Guterres, who encouraged me to think even bigger.
“You could do much more than link two schools,” he told me during a walk through Dunbar Park. “You could link two communities in friendship.”
With support from Northern Beaches Council to connect their community with one in Timor-Leste, the village of Soibada was selected due to the devastation it had suffered.
In September 2009, I returned to Timor-Leste with a parish priest and school principal to meet village leaders.
The following year, friendship agreements between councils and churches were formally established.
Friends of Soibada was born.
Since then, I’ve returned to Timor-Leste 38 times, only stopped by the COVID lockdowns.
Together, we’ve helped support healthcare training, university scholarships, education programs and the creation of a dental clinic.
Our focus has always been helping communities develop skills and opportunities from within, rather than creating temporary solutions.
Through it all, Adrian has been my rock, supporting me and caring for the children whenever I’ve needed to travel.
My children have become involved, too.
Xavier has played benefit gigs with his band, while Armelle is now preparing for a six-month university placement in Dili.
Watching her pack her bags feels emotional.
The little country that changed my life has now shaped my children’s lives, too.
I’m incredibly proud of what we’ve built together and hope more Australians come to understand the ongoing struggles facing Timor-Leste.
To anyone thinking about volunteering or giving back in any way – do it. You don’t need special qualifications to make a difference. Every skill, no matter how small, can help change someone’s life.
To get involved, visit www.friendsofsoibada.com
