On the way to school. . .

The security man is sitting under the overhang reading the paper. He jumps up to “Vannacum” me. I rev up the scooter and head down the early morning street—3 men in orange lungis, one on a drum, one with a flute, and one with a flag are coming down the street, we touch our hearts in greeting. The flame forest tree is dropping the last of the brilliant orange blossoms, causing a carpet of orange on the wet pavement. A crow pulls at the skin of a dead rat. The flower seller is tying jasmine blossoms the size of a marble to strings to sell, sitting on the curb next to the temple—incense smells waft out as I pass by. Men in coats and blankets walk abreast in the street oblivious to the car horns—I veer around them. The bus blares its air horn at me as it vrooms by, splashing a sheet of water over my freshly ironed clothing. Women gather at the faucet to fetch the days water in large brightly colored plastic urns. They carry one on their head and one in each arm, swaying along the street to their home. The woman with the Alaskan husky on a leash is at the tea stand. The well groomed, well behaved dog stands leaning into her leg. On the tree lined avenue there is a coconut stand stacked neatly in a pyramid 6 feet tall. The vendor sleeps on the sidewalk next to it, arms folded over his chest. Bikes with a large cart in front on two wheels, pedal with loads of green bananas, and one carrying boxes that look like televisions. Men gather at the tea stand, drinking from small silver cups and smoking. Always men standing around—the only women I see are working. The oxen stand patiently chewing. One wears a new garland of yellow and red flowers around its neck, its horns painted bright green and blue. The bamboo weavers loom is empty, with bamboo poles leaning next to it—ready for busy hands and chatter. A dog, with balls the size of grapefruit charges out to snarl at passing dogs, defending its territory. They skitter, and he heaves a sigh and stands proud. 3 men pissing on the side of the road. Two children shitting next to the garbage heap—a man brushes his teeth while squatting on the other side. The idol vendors, who live in a black plastic tent on the side of the busy road are just getting up. The mother holding the naked baby and the little girl stretches and rubs her messy hair. The pot holes in the road are full of water, and it is dangerous to hit them, not seeing how deep they are. I pull into the school and take off my helmet—another day to school. All of these sights are now so common to me—like the ride to Friends school, I drive on automatic, taking the sights and smells in without even gasping in surprise.