Why the ear?

 

One of our very first visits to Bandhim market in Bissau without our local protection in the form of our good friend and trusty man servant, Victor; was interesting. Attempting to look like we absolutely knew what we were doing, I took the lead as we strided in single file. Smiling awkwardly politely as I prise ridigely determined fingers, calloused and thickened by the years of graft; from my weedy Branco arms as I pass. Amiga! Amiga! Staring straight ahead, but always alert, I spotted a rather odd looking man. The narrow  path through the madding crowd was already carved out for us and there was no room to manouver. I could see I was going to pass straight by the freaky one. He had either drunk half the entire country's crop of cashew wine for this year or the poor man just wasn't right. As he advanced towards me he raised his left hand and extended his index finger to point straight at me. I knew it. I looked away, trying to give the impression I wasn't petrified he was about to accost me and give me some unintelligible lecture about his poverty and need to get off his head. As he passed by me I found out what my fate would be.

He firmly poked me in the ear.

He carried on walking

Edd had realised that something odd had just happened, but too bemused to say anything else as I walked I sanguinely announced that I had just been poked in the ear. As you do.  We carried on walking without looking back. I felt ridiculous and really exposed as a foreigner. Not a single on looker made any suggestion that they might make a move to intervene had the incident been damaging. Perhaps this freaky one is locally known as a harmless looney or perhaps we were nobody special to anyone. Just two new Brancos on the scene.

Our trip to the fruit and veg stalls that day was equally traumatic. Without being certain you are not being overcharged or pickpocketed while hands are flying for you in all directions, it is a very sweaty experience. What is even worse is that we entered a slightly different section of the market on this occasion to the previous time and the old sellers spotted that we had gone astray and proceeded to abuse us for switching vendors.

This was in the first month.

Now in our fourth month, our trip yesterday to the market was different. We pulled up outside the corner of the market. Our friends on the regularly frequented wine and beer stall greeted us immediately with warm smiley faces. They announce to other potential suitors that we are “their clients” and lay off! Our usual order of wine and beer is brought to the vehicle and loaded without us having to exert ourselves in anyway.

I am very disappointed with my failure to overcome my need for a glass of red wine everyday; even  in the jungle in Africa. I was hoping to reach some sort of utopia with myself and to achieve contentment without the aid of alcohol whilst staring out over the mangroves, breathing in the African air and euphoric in the equilibrated experience. Ohmmmmmmmmmm.........Who am I trying to fool here? I'm clearly wasn't designed with that kind of intrinsic purity.

Our trip through the fruit and vegetable section is now an easy stress free process. They know that, we know the prices; they know, we can buy from whoever we fancy on each occasion; they know  when we say we have it in Biombo already, to stop the pestering.

We return to the vehicle. Just as we are embarking a large lorry pulls up just past us and clips a back corner of the charity truck. Considering every single vehicle here is completely destroyed (except for the NGO's and the cocaine drug dealers cars) I know we had both been been quietly smug and surprised that we hadn't had a single incident ourselves with another vehicle (apart from the first week, when we didn't realise it was only us who were allowed to drive the truck, the employees took it for a "practice" drive. When it came back none of them could understand how the enormous dents had appeared in the bumper and above the wheel arch. Must have been that voodoo magic again) . Anyway, typical really, two weeks before we leave. So we went around to the back of the truck and the driver who was looking very sheepish and petrified, had already been surrounded by our friends the beer and wine merchants. Edd and I looked at each other and seemed to both silently come to the same conclusion: that asking for insurance details or some cash to repair the damage would be completely futile. Edd shook the prisoners hand as a sign that he could be released. The human fortress dispersed and the man was free.

Could this change in attitude towards the protection of the Brancos be attributed to

a) The fact that ear poker was never any threat

b) We are now somebody to someone

c) The power of beer and wine?

You know my answer ;-)