The bus experience

The bus screams along the road intimidating the tiny tuk tuks which buzz around like a swarm of angry wasps. Everyone standing sways in time with the lurches - forwards, backwards - dangling by their arms like giant pea pods ready for picking. Those lucky enough to have seats lean from side to side like riding a giant bob sleigh. The sweat from the man next me slowly trickles down my arm and I try to peel my legs off the plastic seat that I've melted to. Bus driver and conductor work in perfect harmony and the chanting of place names takes on an almost musical/poetic quality. The shouts "Haree haree" (okay - go) and "Binarr" (get down - stop) float continuously through the air. The all singing and dancing shrine- like Buddhist display flashes garishly at the front of the bus, surrounded by garlands of plastic flowers. Luggage racks are roped off to prevent bombs being left. The stop buzzer is an old fashioned bike bell attached to a long piece of string that runs the length of the bus - it works well and causes the driver to stamp on the breaks to produce an emergency stop the likes of which would impress the harshest of driving instructors. Through the windows comes the deafening clatter of the kothu roti choppers who dice the roti with two big blades and use them like they are playing percussion. My eyes hurt from staring intently out of the window, trying desperately hard to lock on to something I recognise so that I don't fly by my stop. My skin turns grey from the constant blast of dust from the street outside. As the conductor approaches me I pretend that I know the exact bus fare and confidently hand over the money, then look away....it works!

Slappers!

I am slowly coming to realise that in this life there will always be some people you don't hit it off with no matter how hard you try. One of them, by the name of Bianca (21), landed in my house. I tried not to be hasty forming my opinions and have observed her over the last month but have come to the definite conclusion that she is a bloody nightmare. It started from the first conversation I had with her over breakfast:
B: "God, sweetie, I can't believe how much you have to cover up over here it's ridiculous" (indicating to her own attire like it was the height of modesty - she was wearing a vest top so low cut the top of her bra was poking out - not just any bra, a gravity defying Wonderbra that pushed her boobs so close under her chin that I'm surprised she open her mouth to talk).
P: "Err yeah it is really quite important."
B: ".... and babe if there are any bombs I'm on the first plane out of here, because there's no way I'm risking my life, I'm an only child you see."
P: "Hmm. Why did you decide to come here?"
B: "Oh the beaches, man. I want to get really tanned."
P: "Right...well there have been three bombs in the past two weeks but so long as you don't get the bus at rush hour, there's not so much of a risk..."
B: "Hell no, I don't do public transport. I hate it back home. There's no way I'll be getting on those death traps darling".
P: (speechless!)

So there you have it and it gets worse every day. She has a devoted boyfriend back home who she has cheated on several times. She lives to get drunk and then says stuff which is so repulsive it's unrepeatable. She saunters down the street half undressed (yeah okay I am sounding like a proper old fart now!) with a fag hanging out of her mouth (it is very disapproved of for women to smoke here) wiggling her bottom from side to side and then acts outraged if any men make comments. I have tried to tell her to cover up but she takes no notice. I can't stand it. The men are challenging enough without encouragement from people like her. I got wanked at again the other day, whilst waiting for my tuk tuk in front of the nursery. The thing I find even worse than this is the incessant kissing noises that men make when you walk past - it's just so degrading. Last night we started doing evening tuition for the lads at the local cricket club. They're all late teens early twenties so it's a bit daunting. Bianca dressed for the occasion in a very very very low cut top and then proceeded to lean over the desk when addressing the boys. So that's a few more Sri Lankan men that now think white women are little slappers......great.

I quit!

A few weeks ago I admitted defeat and gave up on teaching. I had endured six weeks and that was enough. The final straw came when I was teaching from one of their English textbooks. Not only are they at a level that completely exceeds the childrens' abilities but they are also wrong. One exercise involved matching up words with pictures of various vegetables. Instead of carrot, cabbage etc written down there was head, nose, eyes. When I confronted the teacher about this she wouldn't admit that it was a mistake and got the children to match the words to the vegetables which most resembled the body part....unbelievable and pretty confusing for 5 year olds! The older children are no better off as all they do is copy the correct answers off the blackboard with no understanding of them. One fifteen year old lad didn't even know to leave spaces between the words. It was then I realised that I was fighting a losing battle! So I am now helping out at a nursery, getting tormented by thirty stunningly beautiful children with the biggest brown eyes and longest eyelashes I have ever seen! My performance skills are improving as I am made to stand at the front of the class and sing nursery rhymes. Watching the mums and dads leaving their children stirrs up all sorts of old memories. There is always a little one sobbing and I remember the empty feeling I used to get watching my mum walk away twenty-four years ago!!