GIFTS

I saw him walking towards me.

A fixed smile was plastered on my face, as I was thinking at the same time about how thoughtful people are here.

I even shook my head and rolled my eyes a little. I believe I’m the only one that saw that.

He was crossing this busy road to meet this fifty something year old.

This is taking a lot of getting used to, the many motor bikes and cars that keep streaming across the road. The cab leaves me on the one way road, that has motor bikes coming the other way too, an interesting phenomenon. When I attempt to cross the road to my building there are files of motor bikes coming the other direction and cars and motorbikes on the one way route. I normally wait a while, I’m never in a hurry to cross, so I stand. I stand out, I’m different but nobody stares.

In Ghana I’m, sure there would have been a word or two shouted my way. Our care taker or security man, an elderly local, I’m sure watches me daily attempting to cross this confusing road and taking my sweet, old time, when crossing this never ending movement of different forms of transport.

He walks across bravely, as if he knows no car or motorbike will dare touch him, he owns the road. He stretches his hand towards me and directs me across, raising his other hand to warn the teeming vehicles and motorbikes that fill the roads of Hanoi, during the rush hour. I obey, they do too.