Chapter 36: Thank God for Air Conditioning

I am back in Broome. I am hot. And sweaty. And just generally sticky-greasy-gross. I am sitting in my damp underwear, typing away in my beautiful shady cottage, airconditioners running full blast, and yet I still feel like wilted broccoli steaming under clingfilm in a microwave. Yes, Ive come to Broome in what is locally known as The Wet. It's hot. H.O.T. (Did I mention that already?) And humid. (For the scientifically minded of you, the average maximum temperature during The Wet is 35 degrees but we are apparently experiencing an even hotter spell right now and the average humidity is 66%.) One good thing: my dry skin problem has disappeared. And so, seemingly, have all the people. Broome is deserted. There are no tourists, save for a few very bewildered-looking English folk, who also clearly also didn't know about The Wet before booking their trip. And the locals are lying low in their air-conditioned bungalows because…of course…it's too frickin frackin freakin hot to do anything outside!

So what can I tell you? Despite the heat (oh, by the way, did I make it clear that it's kind of hot here?) I really, really like it in Broome. I am staying in a beautiful traditional pearl-masters cottage, with dark jarra-wood floors, a corrugated iron roof, and surrounded by a wide wooden veranda enclosed by a screen and shaded by shutters. It's set in the middle of a large tropical garden, where the owners of the main hotel keep an aviary of beautiful eclectus parrots. These parrots, from Cape York Peninsula tropical jungle, are so sexually dimorphic that for many years people didn't realize the males and females were of the same species. The males are bright green, with blue and red feathers under their wings, while the females are scarlet red, with blue and purple feathers. They have a huge surfeit of males in the aviary, which to my mind must certainly be the reason why one female died last year (probably from exhaustion) and the sole female is exhibiting the stress-related behaviour of plucking out her breast feathers. (I mean, ladies, if you were locked away in a cage with six raucus and energetic males, you'd be plucking out your breast feathers to make yourself less attractive too, no?) So, I love my little cottage.

And when I can find them here, people are very friendly though I cannot, CANNOT, CANNOT abide the Australian accent. It is horrendous. But people are friendly and easy - except when they get on the subject of illegal Indonesian fishing boats. And I'm very happy to be here doing the preliminary research for my novel, though I have to confess that I feel quite daunted by the scale of the challenge in terms of getting the historical verisimilitude right. For Broome is a very interesting town, with a very interesting, but complex history. But there are books, and the Broome Historical Museum, which would be the kind of thing you'd glance in for 20 seconds if you were a tourist and then regret paying the $5 entrance fee (a tat-filled rat-hole, I can hear you all saying), but which for me promises to be an invaluable resource. And fortunately, unlike practically everything else here it seems, it is open during The Wet.

What else can I tell you? Well, heres a thing: the local Aboriginal women here consistently have the hairiest legs Ive ever seen on a female human. One could practically braid their leg hair. Nice to know, no? Hmmm….I wonder how I can work this factoid into my novel...

Also, Broome has the world's oldest outdoor cinema (verified by Guinness Book of Records, no less) called Sun Pictures. Last night I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I had ratcheted up my sweat factor seriously by eating a very hot tiger prawn lakhsa at Noodlefish just previously, so I was thrilled to find this gorgeous cool, breezy, wooden heritage structure, pretty much unchanged from when it was built in 1916. Though back then I dont suppose it lay directly under the runway approach path of the airport. About an hour into the film a Virgin jet, whose livery I could see clearly despite the dark night, came in so shockingly low and loud that I was not the only patron who anticipated being fried by a hot gust of jet exhaust, if not actually flattened. Adults started from their chairs and children started screaming; popcorn and drinks were spilt. Which I suppose proves that we were all tourists; the locals were probably sensibly ensconced in the indoor, air-conditioned, other cinema. Or more probably, down at the bar, glugging beer. Or most probably, in their airconditioned bunkers whoops, sorry I meant bungalows glugging beer and watching movies. (Blockbuster Videos here is exceedingly well stocked!) But sadly, even though Sun Pictures serves real buttered popcorn, I won't be going back in a hurry because the film now showing is Big Momma's House 2, and I can report from personal experience that it is not worthy of a first viewing, let alone any repeats. For the story on how I, of all people, ended up seeing Big Momma's House 2 see my previous email, Chapter 35, about my visit with my little friend Melanie in Johannesburg.

But now my friends, I must sign off for its 5 pm, and I think I may risk a little sortie outside. I will hop on my scooter to nearby Cable Beach, where I'll watch the sunset and swim, before coming home in the croaking, chirring, whistling, russling, singing darkness to read some more about Broome's early years, cook my dinner, and maybe watch a video. Maybe see if I can't crack a So Duko that I'm stuck on. I love the night here; there is a sense of ease and also a sense life abundant. Besides, its cooler at night. (Did I mention how hot it is here?)

Addendum: No swimming. Waters closed. Jellyfish. Arghgh!

Chapter 35: Kids and phones

So, while in Joburg just a week ago, I drove out to Rustenburg to visit my little friend Melanie Morebudi, who is the daughter of my former domestic. Melanie is 10, pretty, bright, and exceedingly precocious. I haven't seen her in over a year, so I wanted to get her a nice gift, but I agonised over what. I debated with Max, who was visiting Joburg for a day. We looked through all the toy-shops. Asked the assistants for their recommendations. Giant stuffed bear? Clothes? Board game? I rang friends who called friends who have daughters. Finally it's decided: it's either a bicycle or wheelies (sneakers with roller blade wheels in the heels for those of you out-of-touch adults). Then I looked for an appropriate bike. Three stores, and I finally selected one at Dions, have the sales assistant fix it all up, and at last (and with some difficulty) I loaded it into my little rented car to take it back home for the trip to Rustenburg 2 days later. But that evening I finally, after many attempts, got to speak to Francinah, Melanie's mom. Francinah's English is not great. Our conversation goes like this:

Francinah (to me): Oh Pete, I can't believe it, we so, so, happy you come, I can't believe it. Melanie, she so happy too. You in South Africa now?

Me: Yes I am, Francinah. And Im very happy to see Melanie too; it's been too long. So, I'll pick Mellie up from school tomorrow and then hang out with her and then drive her home.

Francinah (to me, voice dropping to whisper): OK, Pete, Melanie, she want to talk to you too, but first, listen, Pete, I don't know, but sometimes you get Melanie a gift, and if you do…

Francinah (voice rising to a shout, speaking off phone) Mellie, no don't follow me, go outside…

Francinah (to me, whispering again): so, if you do get a present…

Me: (interrupting) Well, I did actually get her something. I got a bicycle.

Francinah (after a silence): Oh, no, no, no, oh Pete, she not want a bicycle, no, she only want one thing…

Francinah (voice rising again, speaking off-phone) No, Mellie, you bad girl to listen, go away, no…

Francinah (to me, in whisper again, puffing from running away from Mellie from one room to another): Pete, she only want one thing, she bother me so much, ask all the time, you can't believe how she bother me, she want a cell phone…)

And in the background to the call I can hear a little high voice enunciate, with absolute crystal clarity "A Nokia 2300".

OK, so Melanie wants a cell phone. If you please. To think that when mobile phones first came out I said to my boyfriend, Ian "Why on earth would you or any thinking person want a mobile phone? Its a gimmick, of no practical use." Now of course, I can't live without mine. (In fact I have two). But a 10 year old girl living in a township in South Africa? Still, I decide that if that's what she wants, then so be it. After all, its supposed to be a gift to bring pleasure. So the next day I take the bike back to Dions, to a big African momma behind the customer service counter. She looks at me grimly; I'm sure she's had to deal with some difficult whities in her time, such as the guy just before me who asks to have a toaster on loan while Dions repairs his toaster because otherwise how exactly is he supposed to get by without a toaster?

After dispatching with the toast-fanatic, African momma asks me "And what, exactly, is wrong with this bike?"

"Nothing," I say, "It's a fine bike, its just that the 10-year old girl I bought it for doesnt want it. She wants a cell-phone instead."

African momma looks at me and then with a mixture of disgust and pity shakes her head and says slowly "Ish, they ALL want that." She takes the bike back and refunds my money.

I then go to buy the cell phone and as Im looking in the display case I see this purple and pink model, with big funky keys that I just KNOW is the Nokia 2300. And so it proves to be, and do you know what? I can see, EXACTLY, why Melanie covets this particular phone.

So two days later I drive up to see her. I love her, and its wonderful to see her again. We go for milkshakes and to the mall. I suggest going to see Narnia, but she wants to see Big Momma's House 2. She enjoys it greatly. And I spend the entire duration of the movie sending out text messages and generally lathering myself up into a totally enjoyable indignant outrage about just how unbelievably puerile it is. And then we drive far from Rustenburg to her township called Lethabong, deep into the countryside, where the veld grasses reaches chest high. And finally, finally, Melanie gets to open her gift, and when she does, she seizes the phone and clutches it to her breast, raises her eyes heavenwards and says:

"Thank you. Ive wanted this phone for SOOOOO long".

Folks, I have no idea if reading this story is as funny as it was in reality, but I still have no idea who she is going to call.