Walkin’

Most days, Brandon heads into the office, while I hang back at home. There's really not much for me to do there, and the internet is slow and unpredictable. I went with him once, but I mostly just annoyed him with my constant interruptions. We joke that I'm sort of like a housewife, but without all those pesky responsibilities to worry about: children to care for, meals to cook, dishes to clean, laundry to wash, trips to the market, etc. I'm a free lady!

When we were talking about coming here, I thought maybe I would spend my days wandering around, exploring the city. Now that we're here, however, I am not feeling so brave. It's intimidating to go too far from the house by myself. But today, I conquered my fears and went for an hour-long walk – outside the neighborhood! It felt victorious.

I am getting used to the staring; however, I still wasn't feeling bold enough to pull out my camera. (Baby steps). One thing I am NOT getting used to is the wild dogs. They are dirty and ugly, with tiny little heads. They travel in packs and growl at me, looking at me like they want to eat my face off. I try to walk confidently (and briskly) and get away as fast as I can. Gross.

There are not sidewalks here, so you have to walk on the road with all the other vehicles. It's sort of sensory overload – lots of fast moving cars, honking, the strong odor of crowds and heat, and a million new and different things to look at. All that and you have to make sure you don't get run over.

I walked along a large outdoor market just outside our neighborhood, but it must have been too early in the day because no one was set up yet. As I walked along, my confidence was building. I strode confidently through a crazy intersection, cars flying all over the place. I walked up a side street, looking at all the different shops. I ignored the men on rickshaws who kept offering me rides (at least I hope that's what they were saying, as the circled me on their bicycles…). On the way back, I did snap one picture. My boldness increased the closer I got to the house. It must be an odd thing to live in basically a tent, and have to add on a "garage" as an addition:

 
Hopefully this won't be the last time I venture out. And hopefully I'll get up the nerve to start documenting what I see with my camera. As I arrived back at the house, I waved to a little boy playing nearby that sometimes comes to the house in the evenings (he's adorable!), and he waved back, saying, "Didi, bye!"  Didi, we have learned, is not actually the housekeeper/nanny's name.  It actually means something more like "auntie" – it's a term children use to address older women.   (In Hungary, "neni" was a similar term.  The children in my school called their teachers "neni" – Dori neni, Agi neni, Rebecca neni, etc. Actually, most of my students called me Mrs. Strutt. Haha. I didn't legally change my name until we got back, because it made traveling much less of a hassle, and therefore the principal thought my name was Rebecca Strutt {which I guess it technically was}, and told the kids to call me that.)