An awesome thing about working in international development
is getting to meet really interesting people. To be fair, there are a lot of
whack jobs among us, clique dynamics thrive high school style in a way that I find
surprising considering everyone is just trying to make it through the day, people
come and go so frequently and everyone knows that its best to find some warm
bodies to hang with while nudging out a bit of a life for yourself: soon.
Friendships and relationships can be fast and furious; getting to know someone
often quick and dirty. But if you can wade through the workaholics, the bitter
divorcees, the mean girls, the sanctimonious, the married but available, the life-ers
who are addicted to hard duty stations and probably should have quit a while
ago, and the alcoholics (high functioning and not so high functioning) *, there
is the potential to make some truly lasting connections.
Enter: Nisha.
Nisha and I met working in Khartoum in 2011. It would be no
lie to say that it was one of the toughest years for me, trying to find a way
to do my job while simultaneously maintaining some semblance of sanity. The
universe apparently took pity on me and she popped up in Khartoum only a few
days after I flew in for the first time. I needed more than “friendly”. I
needed a Friend. Hooray! I had one now! It was easy and comfortable and so, so nice to have someone to rant to, strategize
with and poke fun at, regardless of which side of the precarious Sudan/South
Sudan border I was on.
Together in a field site once, I pretended to be unconscious
at the wheel of a land cruiser when she was training the Drivers how to get a
hurt/sick person out of the car – it wasn’t pretty but the Sudanese staff sure
thought it was hilarious.
For anyone who remembers Trainer, it was Nisha’s house I
went to after that first fateful night (“He didn’t even know my name!!”).
Somehow she even managed to find the generosity to lend a respectable amount of
sympathy for all the other dicky things he continued to do (and I continued to
put up with) in the following months.
We went to Zanzibar together in 2012, deciding that being
single wasn’t going to stop us from visiting some of the best honeymoon
destinations and we might as well do it together. Some of you may recall that
post, called Worst.Holiday.Ever which was totally tongue in cheek and seems to
have been one of the most read posts I’ve ever written (and which, if we are
being honest, means that a whole bunch of you out there are twisted, dramatic, misery
ambulance chasers who tuned in thinking I really DID have an awful time and
wanted to peek in on it - and I think
you really should have a good hard look at yourself about that!)
Anyway, I’m sure you can imagine my excitement when she
finally arrived to release me from my solo traveler status and embark on a
solid week-long catch up. Our Second Honeymoon.
We stayed up until 2am the first night, jabbering on for
hours: work stuff, personal stuff, maybe a wee bit of gossip about people we
have in common (some of whom we actually like). Then we laid by the pool, her
with her face in a book and me on my iPhone frantically trying to google
answers to all of my life problems (“Why are guys dick heads sometimes?”, “What
should I do with my life?”, “How to be happy”, “How to live in the moment” **, “Am
I supposed to tip in Bali?”, “I hate Windows 8”).
I’m still working
through it all.
(Except for the Windows 8 bit, I’m getting rid of that
mother when 8.1 comes out tomorrow).
The part of Bali that we are (Legian) in is very touristy.
For the most part we stayed away from the truly manic centre of neighbouring Kuta,
but even so were still inundated by the mad mechanism that is the tourist
industry; you’re either looking for your own unique bargain experience or are
going to do your darndest to part those who are with their cash (and it’s blindingly
obvious which side any one individual is on).
Interestingly, I’m clearly getting on in age because everyone
wants to know if I want to change money but not a single person has offered me
drugs.
While in a taxi one evening, we even noted that around here,
you could even miss Bali if you weren’t looking for it. To find it you needed
to look past the billions of yards of rayon flapping inside the doorways of
shops, past the promise of all night parties and “cheap price” taxi fares,
because nestled between it all are small temples, stone carvings and ornately
carved doors that lead to small passage ways and, presumably, tucked away
family homes. Offerings on the sidewalks. Incense burning in the corner of the
room. All easily missed if you let it.
Nevertheless, we were in this tourist mecca so we decided to
embrace our tourist status and go to the Hard Rock Café for dinner one day. I
know, I know what you’re thinking, “Why the hell would they go all the way to
Bali and then go to the Hard Rock?”
Nisha had never been to one
before and that seemed unreasonable.
We appropriately admired the rock paraphernalia, and indulged in a mixed platter of
delicious typical pup appetizers. I encouraged her to take advantage of as
many soda refills as she could, in true North American style (refills were free
from the third one on, so it was clearly an economic
decision to have another).
After we finished eating, and very much unbeknownst to us, there
was a concert about to start. A Japanese heavy metal band was opening for a
British heavy metal band and we were certainly going to wait around and see
some of this play out.
Considerate as she was, the announcer reminded everyone to
stretch properly before they started head banging.
When the band came out, even though I’d never before thought
about the existence of Japanese heavy metal bands, they were exactly what I’d
have pictured if I had. The Indonesian mob of (mostly) male youth who went nuts
taking running jumps and smashing into each other on the dance floor was also
something I’d never before considered. But was pretty awesome. And perhaps adds
to why I don’t actually feel bad at all about not having gone somewhere else
for dinner – we weren’t even looking but got lucky and caught a glimpse of
something anyway.
Next stop: Ubud.
* Note that I’m channeling previous experience here more
than current; the mixed bag in Solomon Islands is, thankfully, much more
palatable, happy, and friendly!
**The irony of this is duly noted.
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