Let's just Face Up to Reality: Digression's are here to Stay!

Morinda Citrifolia

Noni. Photographed as I'm precariously balanced atop the garden wall  

Since I've been living here in the squat there's been a sort of fruit dropping daily from a tree over hanging the garden, just outside the kitchen patio. It looks rather alien, feels weird, smells 'orrible and before long starts to get decimated by the ants. Then yesterday afternoon Patrick, who was the number two to Clyde, my DSTV satellite installer, asked, in French, being one of the rare true Creole's who don't speak any English, if he could surmount the wall and pick a few, as they are prized for medicinal purposes, similar to Aloe Vera. And no, the ripe fruit which has dropped from the tree was no good, he needed it green, not white and mushy. Well, that got me on the trail, as there's obviously more to this chap than all that initially put's you off. So, with my Internet now connected I did a bit of exploring. First off  though I texted Jean Hugue and asked what the tree was called, and he replied that, at least in Creole, it's known as Noni. Wikepedia, and other sites, of course expand on that, so take your pick? 'What tickles your fancy' Could it be... Great Morinda, Indian Mulberry, Nunaakai, Dog Dumpling, Mengkuda, Pace, Beach Mulberry, Cheese Fruit or our very own, simply said, Noni? Whatever your desire, they are in fact a part of the Coffee Family! 

Now believe it or not, surprise surprise, Western Medicine, with it's couple of hundred year's worth of history, does not support that Noni has any medicinal value, The fact that the Polynesians have held this fruit in awe for over two thousand years is irrelevant. We are first world, we know best, and until we are at least one hundred and fifty percent certain, and still some more, just to play safe, we will sit on the fence! And just so everyone is happy and we don't remotely step on any toes we say 'Yes' to Gays having church weddings, 'Yes' to jailing Tony Martin for defending himself, 'Yes' to supporting his smack dealing attacker, in suing him, 'Yes' to George, redkneck, Bush and his sycophant, Tony Blair, in waging a war against non existent WMD, without remotely understanding the psyche of the Iraqi world, so now pulling out leaving the country a total disaster zone, 'Yeeeeeessss' to taking on the Afghans, who no one has ever been able to better, 'Yes' to teachers being able to have the shit beaten out of them by their pupils, and if they dare to raise a hand in self defense then we'll sack 'em and sue the shit out of them. 'Yes' to the Frog Platini and the corrupt Blatter for, for God only knows why, refusing that goal line technology is the future and, huff, puff, puff, huff, 'Yes' to Sarah Palin, and may she be the next President of the US of A, as then we'll really know how fucked everything has become... I'm done on this one, for the moment at least.

And on a lighter note, Sen works on building my kitchen TV plinth
 and Rajesh  fixes the pool cleaning pipe. That bein his domain

Deep breath, a long Ommmmmmmmmmm, and the Noni fruit should be preferably consumed when in a state of relaxation. So not appropriate for me just at this moment! Despite lack of recognition from Western know alls the fruit is considered by those who live with it to, amongst other things, be a great stress reliever, a strengthener of the immune system, effective in combating colds, cancer, diabetes, asthma, high blood pressure, skin infections, depression and arthritis. But then we know nothing as we're   third world gollies. 


Divali

My Sweet & Savoury Divali Gift.
 The pink & white, presumably coconut numbers, should be interesting

After being just down the coast fifteen minutes on Scooter, having a sundowner with the Silversmith and gal, I arrived back home to find Sen about to leave on his Hero Panther 50cc. 'Hoi, what are you doing here, it's a holiday and you should be with the family... Anyway, of course, he wasn't here to work, but to drop off a wee Divali package containing pakoras, and other savoury and sweet titbits, from Fina and he, for me, a new friend. Now, as I said before Divali is a sharing primarily between family and friends, and so I feel well honoured that they have gone out of their way to include me as a friend.  




Nowhere can be Perfect

Even my 'not quite peaking' egg white's at six in the morning
can be a worry 

Of course nowhere's going to be a perfect Paradise. Well, not on this planet anyway. And now I'm beginning to see some of the less attractive sides of Mauritius, and as an easy starter for ten we'll begin with a dilemma that is rife in most, primarily, third world countries. And yes, it's litter. The other day I watched a lady walk out of her shop front and purposely drop the wrappings, presumably from her lunch time stuffed paratta, on to the pavement, before returning indoors. Obviously there's no rubbish bin under the desk, but if you have to deposit your shit outside then where is the concept of popping it in to one of the many bins up and down the road. Her shop actually had an official street bin right to the side of it. And then, of course, wherever you drive or walk there is litter lying to one degree or another. Be it the wrappings dropped beside a path, the mounting pile of plastic bottles or the two sacks of unwanted mangoes leaning against a wall. Now I'm just beginning my voyage in to the Island's mentality that has only the beginnings of the concept or concern regarding litter, but have experienced it in rather more depth over my years in the Emirates. And I'm more than likely completely wrong but my explanation is as follows...

Improvisation & no problem in finding a use
 for a good solid retired engine block

Fifty, sixty years ago the few folk populating the 'Pirate Coast/Empty Quarter' ("Yes, and for your next exotic holiday location why not experience being plundered while visiting a destination which offers little else than inhospitable weather and pretty well bugger all else to see than sand, sand and more sand!) were fishermen, trader's in the ports of Rhas Al Khaimah and Dubai or nomad's roaming the desert for months at a time, often surviving on little else than camel milk warm from the teat.They were very tribal and incredibly hard people, and they will, presumably, have had very little, and what they did have, would have, presumably, been re-used and re-repaired time and time again, until whatever it was, was just utterly exhausted and used up. Then it would have been chucked over the wall and forgotten. But then there would also have been such a comparatively minimal amount of refuse, that what there was would have been within the control of time and the elements, and so happily absorbed into the greater picture. But then hey presto, with the discovery of Black Gold, the eyes of the corporate world turned to this desolate corner and thought "Well, what's in this for me"?  And so, like always with a migration, along with the cowboys came all that was needed to support them, which before long meant McD's, whose kitchen motto 'CAYG' is their only positive point in my eyes, Kentucky, Pizza Hut, Starbucks and hundreds more from all over the world converging to sell there consumables. And from the fast food outlets, ok, they've got a bit better recently, but are still hugely abusive, every take away included three spoons, four or five sachets of ketchup, a bundle of paper napkin and, along with everything else, more than likely, a variety of plastic Ninja Turtle which will have successfully motivated young Ben to throw screaming and shouting fits day after day until his mother has relented enough times that he's got the complete collection of American sewer dwellers! But then of course it doesn't stop there, as no sooner does mother wipe her arm across her brow and take a sigh of relief that it's supposedly all over, than Batman's here and the tie in between whoever and which ever production company, warrants a new range of merchandise. So guess what, even Ben, aged five, can note the hoardings around town showing that with each shitty take away he gets another two inch high piece of plastic which will keep him occupied for around two minutes. But the marketing machine has won and so mother has to go through another period of trying to balance a rounded diet with moments of peace. Ad Infinitum. 

The local folk, having gone from nothing to everything on tap, just lap it all up, and not only does obesity rule and small children's teeth rot (no concept of cleaning after half a dozen chocolate bars. and "You are dentist, so fix it") but they do not see how ugly the country looks with all the plastic floating about. And the sixty plus percentage of Asians have no concept either and are not kept to heel. 

Sultan Qaboos bin Said al Said,
the main man in Oman

Bordering the UAE you have Oman as one neighbour, Saudi Arabia being the other, and when you drive over the border in to Oman, quite likely, one of the first things you notice is there is virtually no litter. Oman never had a 'Boom' and have just evolved as an Arab nation at a steady, tick tocking pace. The British had, surprise, surprise, been an influence in the country since the middle, latter part of the nineteenth century and despite what other's might think, many ex British colonies, to a greater degree, respect the legacy they left. This tended to be an infra structure encompassing roads, railways, governmental systems, postal services and more. Sultan Qaboos bin Said al Said spent his final school years in England and then joined the British army after attending Sandhurst. He then went on to study local government in England before touring the world and returning home to Salalah, where he studied Islam and the history of Oman. Now this seems like a fairly broad foundation for a ruler to build on I reckon. Although it wasn't all a jolly romp in the park as he spent six years under virtual house arrest, had to put down a couple of rebellions and even live up to the accusations of patricide! But in nineteen seventy Sultan Qaboos acceded the throne and created a system of absolute monarchy, which sounds very dictator like, and is, I guess, but in this case it seems as though the dictator has been an ok guy. And so over the last forty years Oman has developed a reputation for good public order, reasonable prosperity and, certainly by the neighbours standards, a relatively permissive society. Besides forming his own one hundred and twenty piece orchestra, with all the musicians being Omani, the main man has also put a considerable amount of the countries resources into infra structure, such as housing, tourism, healthcare and education. And it must surely have been somewhere under this umbrella called education that the populous came to realise that a rubbish free environment is pretty neat really! It might have taken a couple of generations, but go to Oman today and you'll see that in this regards, though many others as well, they are unique in the Arab world.     

 ht here is the treatment of animals, dogs mainly, as there are not so many mammals on the island. People are always upping sticks and moving back to wherever, and so they'll pack up, ship out and leave their pet four legged friends of the last so many years, on the roadway outside the closed up property. I think the locals are pretty good at feeding the waifs but they just end up going from bad to worse and a significant amount fall foul of the Mauritian Highway Code, There are a variety of codes one can follow. You can take the 'with the wife and child straddling the back of the 50 cc Mobilette I can't go more than twenty kilometres an hour down the middle of the lane' code. Or you have the 'It's a very narrow road but I'm driving a BMW 4 wheel drive, and not only have I got to get by that mobilette, but the tractor with the cart over ladened with sugar cane, and then their's the three buses that stop every four hundred yards to disgorge and refill' code. And if you happen to drive a bus or truck then you can follow the 'I'm the king of the road and I'm overtaking another bus and that's just a fact of life, so pull over on to the hard shoulder if you want to get through this' code. Consequently the dogs suffer major. Seven the other morning and a dog walked by me favouring one side of his head. As he past I saw that a five inch diameter area of skin, including his ear had been ripped completely off revealing bone, sinew, whatever, to no doubt cause him a long, slow, painful death. And what did I do about it? I was too shocked and in the short time it took me to recover, he'd disappeared. I hope I'm never again so slow to react. But then again, as the Dalai Llama agrees, you can only do so much and so don't go getting down about all that you can't put right.  

Hmm. Bus goes too fast, brakes lock,
 decades old welding and rivet's give,
 Back axle, springs and wheels say byebye!

And then the other detrimental side to island life I've come across, many more to come to light I'm sure, is the erratic madness on the roads, Compounded by, I should imagine, a tenfold increase in traffic over the last twenty years moving on the one dual carriageway and, otherwise, the twisting, pot holed, one and a half laners. And compounding the dilemma you have the different codes of road use and you have the vehicles which would give a first world MOT inspector death throes on the spot. And lots more I haven't yet taken on board, no doubt.