Saturday: home, beach, party

I met Abigail at a supermarket on the main road where she works on Friday. When she asked me for my number, I happily complied—finally a female asking to be my friend instead of a man!

Saturday morning she called at 8 am. Don’t these people ever sleep in?! It seems not.

Since I couldn’t get back to sleep, I decided I might as well add a visit to her home to my agenda for the day. I met her near my workplace and we went to her house together. She left with me her 3 and 4 year old niece and nephew while she made me some bangku, a local dish (to be described soon, once I get a picture!). The children played school with me, asking me the colors of things. When the boy touched my skin, I said, “obruni” (white person) to draw a laugh. They seem intrigued by my skin, particularly my moles. Even yesterday an adult asked me about them. (As well as a “what happened to your face?” from a young woman sitting next to me on the tro-tro. The dirt, grime, sweat and oil that this heat and humidity cause, that’s what!)

After eating the bangku, we set out for the beach. The beaches are not nearly as crowed Saturdays as they are on Sundays. It was hot, the middle of the day, and we couldn’t find any shade, so we made our way to my house for some water. She’s a nice girl, my sister’s age of 22. She’s dating a widower but doesn’t seem to be particularly into him, since he’s older, doesn’t really talk or like to go out…At least he doesn’t hit her like her last boyfriend. When a man’s wife dies it is believed that he should wait a year before getting married, though I think it’s actually meant that he should wait a year before he is with another woman.

Conversation was okay, with moments of silence, but nothing too awkward. She waited while I quickly showered and helped me to get a tro-tro to Labadi Beach (pictures already posted below). Over the past few days, I’ve gotten a lot of calls from her, just checking up on me. Almost too much…

I keep thinking of what my friend Terri told me one of her professors said that the people who interact with foreigners are usually themselves on the fringes of society. I’m not saying she is, but I’m now aware of the trend, I look for it. It was certainly true of some of the people that Terri and I met while she was visiting me in Malaysia.

The day at the beach was nice. The people peddling things were far less persistent and pesky than those in Dahab, Egypt. Good music, shaded tables and with the ocean breeze, quite bearable weather.

In the evening I went with some Americans to a ‘house party’ of another American. The place was posh, there was a live band and a free bar. Over half the people were expats and I was surprised at how I’d already met about 10 (internet café and my ‘obruni compound,’ mostly). I danced the night away and am still unsure of where all the energy came from, given two long beach walks and spending most of the day outdoors.

At 4 am, a contingent of us went in search of post-party food and managed to find an open stall. It’s not like Malaysia or Egypt, where there’s always something open. I think the two guys were asleep when we first got to the stall, but they still cooked us up some rice. Walking home with two other American girls and an Australian guy, a motorbike with two people on it came towards us. I was a bit separate from the others and one of the guys on the bike grabbed my right arm. Molly yelled, “Leave her” (this is the kind of language you develop when living abroad, not quite normal English) and Scott came toward them and then they were gone. The whole thing only took a minute to happen, but served as a good reminder to keep your guard up and travel in packs late at night. Plus, once we made it to the main road, we took a taxi.