China Doll

Friday, Nov. 11

A memory here. The day before the last night of Ramadan. The endless festivities, fireworks, and the night-long singing and chanting from at least 5 amplified mosques would be audible in my apartment from sunset tomorrow…

I head in to the office, having given our staff the entirety of next week off. They tell me the town will shut down for the week, but I haven’t really grasped the significance of that yet. I get to the University just after noon. Apparently, the town has already shut down. Every entrance to the university is locked and bolted save for one, just under the campus mosque (pic in the archive). I use the hated cell phone to call up to the office; Eva and Yono, the office boy, are there. I should have given them today off as well, but I’m a foreigner, not even legally employed here yet. What do I know?

I arrive just after noon. The traffic has been awful, of course. When will I learn? All the men in town are heading for the special Friday noon worship… no women allowed, boys must hover outside the mosques, and do what boys do (I’ve just finished reading The Kite-Runner -- wonderful read, 3.5 stars, for a first novel, great)… tease the foreigner. The word is “bule”, pronounced “bulay”, and always shouted with rapturous and derisive joy. It means “foreigner”. Yes, I’d been spotted by the bored youngsters, and they immediately broke into song at my expense. I am grateful again that I don’t speak the language yet. It is basically a melodious “blah blah BULE blah bule blah blah BULE” …

But I have a secret weapon. I climbed some stairs, bowed to them, provoking more laughter, waved to them, gesticulated regally with my arms, smiling… and whipped out my camera… Instantly the tone changed. Derision became excitement, and a herd of buffalettes stampeded to the railing separating me and the campus from the open courtyard in front of the mosque… and the buffalettes. The results, barefooted, joyous, and yes, inarguably innocent, are below…