My little buddy Viana returned yesterday evening from a month long stay in Kerangasem and upon seeing me came running from the end of the street, eyes asparkle, smile like a bright crescent moon.
"Meester!"
This afternoon she shows up at my door with two friends, Feby and 'Whats-her-name'. Each of the girls is wearing mittens and a jacket with the hood pulled over the head, like little Eskimos.
"Jeeze, are you guys cold?" I ask incredulously, considering the balmy temperature of about 28C (82F).
"Noooo," they sing out in unison. "Hot!"
"So why are you wearing jackets and mittens?"
"Be-Cause!"
Hmm. Okay.
"If no coat, masuk angin," Viana explains.
Ah yes, the dreaded masuk angin, 'entered by the wind'. The cause of pretty much any illness suffered in Bali.
"Also," she adds, "Don't want skin be black."
Of course--the second great dread of Bali--that one's skin will become too dark. The lighter the better, and the reason many Indonesian women use whitening cream. As far as I can understand, the reasoning behind this is that it's a class thing. Dark skin marks you as lower class, a field laborer. Apparently they have not yet heard that black is beautiful.
"So, where are you girls off to?"
They are off to buy ice cream, Viana says, and then all three sit down together on my doorstep. A strange place to look for ice cream, I'm thinking. But of course I know what they're up to.
"How much is ice cream?" I ask.
"Lima ribu."
"Wow, that's not much at all!" It's less than 50 cents.
Smiles. Silence. Whats-her-name is poking Viana and whispering something.
"Lima ribu. Let's see … that's fifteen altogether, right?"
Nods of confident affirmation.
"You guys have that much?"
"Tidak ada," Viana mutters sadly.
"So how are you going to buy ice cream?"
Rapt attention. Raised eyebrows. They're waiting for me to unravel the puzzle.
"How about if I give you the money?"
"Yes!" They're up, they're ready, they're clapping their mittened little hands. "Thank you, Meester! Thank you!" And they're off into the sweltering south Bali afternoon, all bundled against the blizzard of heat. Oh, I know they're mercenary little brats, but so was my own little daughter, once upon a long time ago.
I'll take love and gratitude wherever I can get it these days.
"Meester!"
This afternoon she shows up at my door with two friends, Feby and 'Whats-her-name'. Each of the girls is wearing mittens and a jacket with the hood pulled over the head, like little Eskimos.
"Jeeze, are you guys cold?" I ask incredulously, considering the balmy temperature of about 28C (82F).
"Noooo," they sing out in unison. "Hot!"
"So why are you wearing jackets and mittens?"
"Be-Cause!"
Hmm. Okay.
"If no coat, masuk angin," Viana explains.
Ah yes, the dreaded masuk angin, 'entered by the wind'. The cause of pretty much any illness suffered in Bali.
"Also," she adds, "Don't want skin be black."
Of course--the second great dread of Bali--that one's skin will become too dark. The lighter the better, and the reason many Indonesian women use whitening cream. As far as I can understand, the reasoning behind this is that it's a class thing. Dark skin marks you as lower class, a field laborer. Apparently they have not yet heard that black is beautiful.
"So, where are you girls off to?"
They are off to buy ice cream, Viana says, and then all three sit down together on my doorstep. A strange place to look for ice cream, I'm thinking. But of course I know what they're up to.
"How much is ice cream?" I ask.
"Lima ribu."
"Wow, that's not much at all!" It's less than 50 cents.
Smiles. Silence. Whats-her-name is poking Viana and whispering something.
"Lima ribu. Let's see … that's fifteen altogether, right?"
Nods of confident affirmation.
"You guys have that much?"
"Tidak ada," Viana mutters sadly.
"So how are you going to buy ice cream?"
Rapt attention. Raised eyebrows. They're waiting for me to unravel the puzzle.
"How about if I give you the money?"
"Yes!" They're up, they're ready, they're clapping their mittened little hands. "Thank you, Meester! Thank you!" And they're off into the sweltering south Bali afternoon, all bundled against the blizzard of heat. Oh, I know they're mercenary little brats, but so was my own little daughter, once upon a long time ago.
I'll take love and gratitude wherever I can get it these days.
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