The manager of our block is sitting in the porch, apparently waiting for our return. Is there a message, something urgent?
'no wa'er ' 'no wa'er two day.. maybe 'ree will be'
I raise a quizzical eyebrow. More explanation needed. Will we be relocated, I wonder. He turns to Peter and does complicated turning things with his fingers then dances them across the table. Peter nods, satisfied. Man's stuff. He is doing repairs. 33 degrees, humid. Teaching in rooms with no airconditioning. Oh dear. In our shower room have been placed four huge full bowls of water. The bare necessities. I am pleased that I did a major handwash this morning and now our balcony is satisfying festooned with bright billowy items, as are twenty other balconies, as far as the eye can see.
Peter cooks pumpkin buds, huge prawns and squid with chilli and lemon grass. We sit opposite each other. He has set up Keith Jarrett on his mp3 player with speaker. Are you enjoying yourself?' I ask.
'Yes'
With glee we smile at each other across the table.