The trip to my favouritist shopping place yesterday  was fraught with opportunities for blog entries.
For example the man standing on the street corner preaching the good news all have sinned and fallen short of G*d's glory and need a saviour.

The jury is out on whether I should have said anything to him or not. I sensed the judge gave me a look that said what were your motives for speaking to him. The fact is I didn't give it much thought before I spoke.

 The conversation went something like this:
Me, with uncharacteristic bluntness, "Do you know it is illegal to preach on the streets here."
Him: "Jesus said he would protect me."
Me: "Jesus also said obey the law of the land."
Him: "I didn't know. I wish you hadn't told me.
Me: "Sorry. You are doing a good job. God bless you."

The fact of the matter it is illegal for people on tourist and business visas to proselytize. He could have been arrested. It would not have been good for an elderly American to go to jail but just as likely someone would have given him a warning. However, she who broke the law recently herself spoke more out of self-righteous indignation and probably judgement rather than concern someone would end up in jail.

And he was a sweet little old man concerned about the souls of Hephzibah. And he did look quite deflated so I wish I did not speak now.

Smile and walk away.

It has been raining today so instead of braving the elements I decided  to take a taxi to my favouritist shopping centre in the world. When I say shopping centre I am being generous. Rundown overcrowded stinky rabbit warren with lots of small shops and annoying porters who keep trying to steer you into shops might be a better description. One should also add in to the word picture  extremely endearing. I do not want to paint too negative a picture. And to be fair it is only the meat market in the centre that is stinky and one can avoid that.

Katrina came with me. It is her first visit to Hephzibah. A couple of the shopkeepers asked me if she was my daughter. I was a little shocked to start with. How rude.  I nearly slapped the first guy which would have been extremely bad. Then I realized she is 33 years younger than me so I guess it was a fair question and she is quite a lovely young woman so it actually was a compliment. Sometimes I forget how ancient I am growing.

Anyway I dragged Katrina around all my favorite places and ended up buying another salwar. She bought some clothes too. I nearly bought another salwar but the price was too high so I smiled and walked away. I was after a leather belt and a kind porter led me to a shop. The man wanted 2000 rupees for the belt at first. I said, "1000," after Katrina did a quick conversion on her phone. We haggled for a few minutes but he was not budging from his price and I was not either. So I smiled and walked away.

A few seconds later someone from the shop called me back and we  bought the belt for 1000 rupees. I decided I was feeling brave and maybe we could catch the metro, underground train home. On the way there was a man selling belts on the street. I asked him what was the price. He said, " 250 rupees."
"Oh," I said to myself. I started to walk away and he kept dropping the price as I left. My smile was a little tight lipped as I walked away.

Katrina consoled me by saying the belt I bought was still cheaper than if I had bought it in NZ and the 1000 rupee  belt was probably much better quality. I smiled and walked away.

I cannot decide which version of the story I like best. Both accounts are truthful. You choose.

Version 1

It was very funny last night. Firstly the airport police man who helped me ring the hotel to tell the driver to come and pick me up wanted a tip. He was so appealing I nearly gave in. As always in these situations  I never  know if I should tip or not so I decided not to.

Secondly the driver came and took me to a hotel building that looked nothing like the website photo. During the drive he  kept coughing and I wondered if he had Tb. It was just a random thought that floated through my brain.

Thirdly none of the hotel staff could understand English so they kept ringing the manager who also had trouble with my accent. He told me if no-one could understand me get them to ring him for help.

My $33 room was very basic but clean. There were no coffee or tea making facilities in the room but there was an en suite. When I got into bed there was so much noise coming in from outside  I wondered how I would ever sleep. Traffic, horns, bells, roosters and dogs. Next minute the manager was in the lounge next to my room having a conversation with someone. Too much. Then I remembered my ear plugs, stuck them in my ears and drifted off to sleep in relative quiet.

I woke up a few times but slept about seven hours. The Muslim call to prayer woke me up just before five and then some Hindus started their worship.
When I looked out the window the next morning the hotel was right beside a flyover at about the same level as my room.

I had a shower and then my breakfast turned up. I was not going to eat the toast but my favouritism fruit jam came with it so I spoiled myself.

One of the hotel staff helped me get a taxi and I was at Lochumlos house by 9.30am.

The view from the hotel window with the blue and white flyover to the left of my room.
 

Version 2

The neurosis started when the hotel sent a car to pick me from the airport.

“Do you have id,” I asked the nice young man.

“No mam,” he replied politely.

With uncharacteristic bluntness I said “How do I know you are not a terrorist?”

He did not know what I was saying but he knew I was concerned. So he rang the hotel owner who calmly told me that this man was his driver.

“Very fine,” I said.

Then I thought to myself what happens if the man on the end of the phone was a terrorist? Ki korbo?

About this point I was regretting reading the article my good friend Gwen gave me to read about avoiding mishaps when you are travelling.

I seated myself in the car and off we drove. I was looking at where we were going and thinking oh I do not recognize where we are.

We ended up in a part of town I had not been before, off the main drag to the airport. There were many trucks centre parked and the area looked very rundown.

“I hope this doesn’t end in tears,” I said to myself.

I signed in to the hotel and was taken to my room which was clean but basic. It was only $33 a night.

By this time it was 12.30am so I went to bed bolting and locking the door and checking the windows were latched. There was a cacophony of sound coming into the room. Even though I had been sleepless for 24 hours the traffic, the dogs, the roosters were making too much noise. At least there were no mosquitoes.

Then I remembered my ear plugs. Thank goodness for ear plugs. They blocked out most of the noise.

I slept but woke up again at 5am. I started to pray but then fell asleep again. At 7.30 I woke up and decided to get up.

I turned on the unit to heat the shower and then checked my emails. I realised I had not told my friend where I was staying. If I disappeared who would know?

Breakfast came at 8am and the neurosis started to build. What happens if my tea is drugged? I consoled myself that at least I would be clean if I was kidnapped.

Half an hour later I checked out, found a taxi and after forty-five minutes of uneventful driving reached my friend’s house.

And the moral of this story……??? I think it has something to do with travel articles!!! And letting your imagination run away with you. And not trusting God.

PS the story is a bit tongue in cheek. I have overdramatised my neurosis for dramatic effect. There was never any moment in real life that I felt unsafe.

 

 

 

 

I find bat poo very interesting- Ima Batty, chiropterologist.

The boring as bat poo ramblings/adventures of a sleep deprived kiwi chick. I realised on the plane that by the time I get to Hephzibah at 10.30pm tonight which is really more like 4.30am NZ time I will have been awake for 24 hours.

Oh why did I realise that. I suddenly feel tired.

I am in Singers filling in time before my flight in about two hours. I tried to find the café that sells lavender flavoured earl  grey tea but to no avail. Maybe it is in terminal 3. I had the same problem finding it last time. So now I have given up and settled for ordinary earl grey.

I have had a lovely shower so at least I am clean even if I have had no sleep for 24 hours.

The naughty spell check keeps trying to outwrite me. And it is selective about what it tries to change.

The flight here was uneventful except because I checked in at Invercargill I didn't get to choose my favourite seat 47G on the aeroplane and by the time I tried to change it at Christchurch someone already had it. They must have wondered why I glared at them on my two trips to the toilet during the flight. For your information 47G is the last row of seats before the toilets. I was in 40G which was still great though. Oh but I sat beside a poor man who kept his padded jacket and gloves on most of the trip. It wasn't a straight sort of a padded jacket to be sure.

My tea is very hot and I am a little apprehensive I might miss my flight. Its so easy to get distracted when writing blogs. Still half an hour to the gate opens. Chill man.

I also realised that by the time I reach my destination I will have had three main meals plus breakfast so there are some advantages to staying awake for 24 hours. However, this time I must remember not to eat the chilli that will be sitting as garnish on the top of the meal which will be served on the trip to Hephzibah.

PS the comment about glaring at the person sitting in my seat was a little something for all my friends who laugh at my jokes. You know who you are.

I do see some funny sights as I travel around this city. The other day I saw a yellow taxi cab with grass growing on its roof. It apparently is designed to keep inside the cab cool. It certainly needs some help as these older model of taxis have no air conditioning unless you wind down the window.

There are some signs that keep me entertained but unfortunately I have forgotten them all. I guess I should remember to write them down in my notebook. A dental practice was called Pearl Dental Care but that one is  more clever than funny.

Then there is this restaurant. With a name like this I am not sure I am game to eat there.

I am back at Lochumlo's  and trying to figure out how to  pack in such a way I bring everything home with me.

It is not that I have bought much apart from a few packets of biscuits (nine), some sweet and sour snacks, some other sweets and maybe  a jar of jam. It is all the things that I have been given like the scarves, pestle and mortar, clock and wall hanging. And then there is the homemade jewellery someone thought I could sell at home. Ki korbo.

That aside I went back to my old favourite church today to see my church planting pals. There I saw an amazing jack fruit tree. Some of the jack fruit were growing out of the trunk. I have never eaten jack fruit because they  are ripe in summer but I have been told the fruit although very tasty has an unusual aroma.

I caught the bus home and stopped by at the devil's mall to use the conveniences. I thought that was a good reason anyway to go inside. And while there I had a cup of coffee. I also went to the supermarket and bought six packets of biscuits for the price of five.

They were completely re-organising the supermarket. I was immediately suspicious and thought the worst which shows you the effect  living in an unfamiliar environment  can have. I thought maybe the change around was to keep customers confused and disoriented. Instead of jumping to scurrilous conclusions I decided to ask a shop assistant. She led me to someone who was supervising. He assured me it was the first time the shop had been changed around in eight years and he was sorry for the inconvenience. I told him I was not inconvenienced just curious.

After I left the mall I walked down the road towards the cycle rickshaw stand. On the way I saw a fine fellow having a snooze on top of a wall. He looked so laid back and comfortable I decided to risk making a scene and took a photo.

I made it home and after a while Lochumlo also arrived. With a smirk on her face she asked me if I had been to the devil's mall. She prefers to call it S**** C****. I said I took the bus that goes that way. "Did you go inside," she pressed.
"I had a coffee."  I forgot to mention I needed to visit a small room. I wondered why she was asking me so many questions but then it is a joke between us how much I do not like the place but often go there.
Anyway she eventually confessed she had been there too and had seen me. I was very relieved at that point I, as always, had told the shameful truth.

I bought some sapota this evening. They were twenty rupees, which is about fifty cents, for six. They are a sweet musky tasting fruit. The texture of their flesh is similar in some ways to a pear. I quite like the flavour but not as much as I like guava. They have between  one and six very hard shiny black pips that look a bit like a bean seed.

The fruit is actually a berry off the sapodilla tree. Apparently they are native to the Mexico, Central America area but can be found throughout Asia.

The fruit are full of vitamins and unfortunately glucose so they are good for athletes. I just ate three for the purposes of research so I guess I should go for a run around the block now.