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The FWWPH

Posted in Family, Island life, tagged on May 10, 2008| 15 Comments »

Being an activist and a “take charge” kind of woman, a lunch yesterday with two of my friends here has me fired up and chomping at the bit to get something going.

 

Both of these woman are beautiful, funny, talented, dedicated woman, and both are married to men who screw around … a lot. Their husband’s haven’t completely bailed, yet, and the women have been reticent to kick their sorry asses out of the house because … well, because they have kids, families they hope to hold together by their fingernails, and also because they have been so undermined by the processes their spouses put them through that their self-images have suffered terrible blows.

 

Given my present circumstance, and my past, as well, I am sick and tired of finding myself and so many other admirable women mired in misery and feeling alone with it.

 

I am now seriously contemplating starting a club here: The Fabulous Women With Philandering Husbands Club. (Or possibly, reducing the last bit to “crap husbands”.)

 

I’m imagining the force such a collection of determination, a sharing of experiences, a system of mutual support might generate, and the fallout from such a group. For one thing, I can envision a large contingent, dressed to the nines, descending on one of the more popular night spots where cheaters and whores congregate and the palpitations that could cause. And simply the fact that we would be public about our personal dramas instead of hiding ourselves away as if the fact that our husbands are slimy cheaters is somehow our fault might actually have one or two of the men experience just a bit of appropriate shame over their behavior, rather than the chest-puffing that comes along with thinking they and their friends know something we don’t know.

 

One of my lunch companions said, when I mentioned this, “Well, everyone I know would want to join.” That, sadly, is a statement on the acceptability of unfaithfulness of men here … and perhaps everywhere … but it might also cause some pause for thought among some who are contemplating infidelity.

 

After all, how much fun could it be to know that once a week your wife gets together with her friends, compares notes and info and laughs their head off at how incredibly stupid you are and how trashy and used your ego-boosting blow job queen really is?

 

“Her? Oh, yeah. My husband did her a couple of months ago and thought it was love, too.”

 

Just a thought at the moment, but there seems to be support for the idea rallying. I’ll put out a press release locally if I can manage to pull this off, and I’m betting we get quite the response. As small as Seychelles is, it could become quite difficult very fast for any guy to get away with much without someone knowing and passing along the info. A little fear in the heart does no man any harm. 

 

There is power in information and in numbers, and no reason in the world for all of us dealing with this to suffer in silence and alone. This added as yet another consequence of irresponsible and selfish acts sounds good to me.

 

Thoughts?

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Perspective on misery

Posted in Adoption, Cambodia, Children, Family, Island life, Uncategorized on May 9, 2008| 6 Comments »

Readers now know the past few months have had me in a personal hell that I’m finding very difficult to rise above, to move along, to get myself back into life and seeing colors again.

Food, sleep, concentrated thought, energy of anything but the nervous type escape my abilities almost completely, and I’m perpetually frustrated by how easily confused I am about the simplest of things; I can’t even seen to keep track of my phone and my keys without relying on an energy-sucking system of constant double checking and everything requires a vigilance that used to come effortlessly as a matter of course.

I’m shaky and constantly exhausted, terrified of eventualities that may or may not occur, but certainly hit me like a ton of bricks throughout every day, and especially at night.

Spending some time contemplating the weak state I’m in and all the physical and emotional stress my present reality has presented me with took me on a mental spin around the world, and with a bit of forcing direction that trip outside my own misery has pushed my puny problems into a rather tidy, if bitter, pill I am able to swallow and manage to keep down.

As most know, two of my kids are Cambodian born, and anyone with a grip on recent history is familiar with the what happened in that country in 1975. 

Quick reminder:

April 17, 1975, the Khmer Rouge forced every citizen of the city of Phnom Penh to leave their homes carrying only what they could on their backs and head into a blankness that would not be explained. For the following three years, these people and others from other towns were starved, beaten, murdered, separated from their families, forced into slave labor building damns doing other such demanding labor that anyone well fed would suffer greatly, and almost 2 million people died. Many were tortured mercilessly, and there is no shortage of the evidence of this horror still to be seen today in Cambodia.

Today, millions of people are suffering in the same ways every single day, watching their children die, living as sex slaves, working until they drop with nothing but a lash at their back and very little food in their stomachs.

So, what the hell am I bitching about?

The love of my life has lost his mind and left me for a whore, tearing apart my lovely little family and leaving me scared and lonely. The way I’ve been feeling, the impact this has had on me, makes me question just how long I could survive … how long I would choose to survive … a horror of truly immense proportions like so many must.  

I’m a wimp.

It’s time to remind myself just how wonderful my life still is. Sure, my husband is a sleazy creep who has lost his mind, but I know that my life will be just fine, and I need to buck up and keep in mind just where it is in the scheme of things I am lucky enough to inhabit.

Perspective is a good thing. It doesn’t take away pain, but it sure gives it context.

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Empathy can be positive, too

Posted in Family, Island life, On getting older, tagged on May 8, 2008| 7 Comments »

 

While I’ve been spending the past two months in the Mark-induced horror of betrayal and deceit, others in my life have been experiencing such wonderful wonders of life, and although they are deeply sympathetic, they are not, thankfully, having their happiness dented in any way by my misery.

 

My dear friend, George, who is actually the closest to a first foster child Mark and I took in … he was 18 at the time, just out of school, with no parental supervision and an open bar tab at his absent father’s hotel and was well on his way to spending the next 20 years or so not moving beyond the bar … now holds a Masters Degree, is close to 30, married, and just witnessed the birth of his first child, a son.

 

Martin and Caroline, those of one of the homes that put me up on my recent trip to the UK that was so meant to give me focus and support, are moving to Fiji after Martin had secured “the perfect job”. He’s a marine biologist and was unhappily back in England for five years after a stint here working in a far too political job to actually accomplish any of his goals and was almost as depressed as I was when I arrived. In the time I was trying my healing, he was offered the job of a lifetime, and they are now preparing for a whole new life in a place they’re so looking forward to living and working in.

 

Others, of course, have also been hitting high points, and although all have been excellent at boosting me where I need boosting and helping me through this miserable time in my life, it is so good to know that ups and downs don’t happen to everyone at the same time, and that friends are there for the highs and the lows.

 

My thanks to all who have given so much of themselves to me lately, and I very much look forward to celebrating all joys that may be coming to others. Someday again, the joys will be mine, and knowing that I have such a broad and fantastic foundation of friends makes life worth living.

 

I am a very lucky woman, and even in the depths of despair my friends don’t let me forget that. 

 

 

 

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It takes one to know one

Posted in Family, Island life on May 2, 2008| 39 Comments »

There are at least a bazillion reasons I hate to admit what I’m about to admit, all but one having to do with a tragedy my family has been suffering, but it’s been two months today and time I got this out of the way and began to prepare to move through this crisis and ahead.

Ready for it? 

Miguel was right. (Read back a few posts if this doesn’t ring any bells. WordPress has changed format lately and I can’t be bothered to figure out the html for a link right now.)

No, not about anything having to do with life in Seychelles, me as a person, or life in general, being so clearly an ageist, sexist, racist bigot who probably beats his wife, but he did nail one thing … my husband had been “hitting something much younger”.

Yes, my dear Mark, the love of my life I’d left all other lives behind for, the kindest, most gentle and honest man I’d ever known, has been having an “affair” … if that’s the right term for banging some whore during lunch hours.

Home every night, calling six times a day just to say “hi”, fully engaged as a father and husband (if you catch the drift), giving no sign whatsoever that anything was amiss, his skills at duplicity were completely unsuspected, and his “confession”, delivered on what is Mother’s Day here, the 2nd of March, shocked me to my core.

The girl is from the slums of Antananarivo, Madagascar, and came to work in Seychelles because the pittance she makes here is many times what she could bring in in her own country. Of course, it’s also much easier to supplement her tiny wage at the factory that makes tin cans in a place where professional prostitutes are few and far between, so she’s done fairly well for herself. Having broken up one marriage already … and she’s still married to that poor slob …  she’s ready to move on to fresher … and, she hopes, richer … meat, and Mark must have given the impression of one tasty chop ready for the flame.

For Mark, being a long-term faithful husband set him up nicely for this, and since the factory he works in (they put tuna in those cans) is right next door and both companies share canteen facilities, easy pickings.

Mark will be 42 this year, so fits the profile of the aging male perfectly … not as young, fit or cute as he used to be, and in a relationship that has been solid and reliable for many, many years. In other words, totally impressed by and with no doubt in his mind … or much of anything else … that blow jobs are what life is all about.

I’m sure hers are impressive, as a pro’s would be, and that she is more than generous than I have been with them over the past decade. It’s been years since I would drop to my knees in an uncontrollable outbreak of passion or as a congratulatory gesture for some slight benevolence, but I well recall those days, and remember them fondly. They were not, however, the foundation of the love we developed … more like icing on the cake, if you can forgive that image, and with two kids and hours of hard work, there’s been less time for icing.

Bestowal of such favors limited over stolen moments can only have heightened the excitement, and Mark, being a man and therefore stupid, has actually confused this for love.

Yes, he’s chucked our family life and is now living in a dirt bag hole with his dirt bag whore and thinking that all that he has lost is worth it for the sex.

The kids, of course, are impacted, and having been the child of divorce myself I know how deep and permanent the effects of such betrayal and the processes that follow are. He insists they’ll adjust just fine … but, then he would have to, wouldn’t he? He doesn’t do well with taking on guilt or facing consequences — surprise, surprise.

I have been grieving. Not only was Mark, until the 2nd of March, considered my hero, the best husband in the world, wonderful father, and so on, I had also always been under the impression that he was my best friend, and I miss all those people he used to be.

Apparently, his body has been invaded by a pod person that rather looks like him, but who I otherwise don’t recognize at all. His trail now leaves lies, disloyalty and treachery,  and his chosen path is now trashy, tacky and common as muck.

Friends and family are stunned, and we are all sad … me for so many reasons, but everyone for the loss of the man we respected and admired. Even he has the good sense to be embarrassed by how far he has fallen, but seems to be compensated by her efforts to keep him inflated.

So, like so many other women whose husbands proved not to live up to their best or their brightest, whose honor ebbed when the ego took the hits all egos do with age, I now have to leave Mark to the life he has chosen. I doubt it will be rife with engaging conversation, shared visions for a greater future or long lasting, but it’s his life now, and I need to get on with mine. 

Being a writer and a blogger of material that often included personal experiences for a long time now, composing and posting this needs to be part of my healing process, a practice in catharsis. After a two-month break in a career of prolific writing, it seems I should give some idea to those of you who read me often and have been wondering where I’ve gone. I’m sure there are some who will take joy from my pain … there are a lot nasty people out there in Blogland … but perhaps there will be someone reading who’s riding in this boat, too, and needs to know they’re not alone.

My dear friend Lisa shared with me that there is a Hebrew term: soog bet. It translates to “damaged and inferior” and has to do with an innate shallowness in men that takes little to bring out.

Not that I ever thought I would have to admit this, but now Miguel and Mark share the designation … not just as men, but as soog bet. As I said at the top, it takes one to know one, and this one was well spotted.

 

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What we already know about people wanting to move to Seychelles

Posted in Island life, Seychelles on February 26, 2008| 13 Comments »

I remember years ago seeing a cartoon in my ex-husband’s Playboy that pictured a tarted up babe with the look of a pro chatting to another saying, “I’m thinking of moving to another town and starting all over as a virgin.”

Living on an island 1,000 miles from anywhere massive or densely populated, I have come to realize that there are a lot of people who think that sort of transmogrification is not only possible, but seamless and invisible.

I’ve written about this phenomenon before, using the same Playboy ref, actually … I just realized this when I looked up the link … but the topic deserves a re-visit.

Because Seychelles has to rank in the top three of the most beautiful places on the planet, and Number One when it’s tropical you’re talking, a lot of people dream of coming here. (Not so many Americans, actually, the bulk being geographically challenged and most having a hard time placing the Indian Ocean on a globe.)

Most are content with a holiday, or perhaps some stint working on contract for a couple of years, but there are a resolute few determined to come and to stay.

Some, of course, are lovely and genuine people who soon get over being impressed with themselves for finding the place … many have what must be a Columbus Complex or something, somehow figuring they’ve “discovered” Seychelles … and settle into the business of living.

They introduce themselves to their neighbors, feel their way around slowly, laugh at their ignorance and understand quickly that everyone here has seen it all before.

Others, however, run on different tracks and tend to assume that we’re all DYING to learn how to do things just like they were done in whatever country they’ve just rejected in favor of these islands, and that they are exactly the people to show us all how to do it; the “What you need here is ____” types that wonder how we got by without a ____ for all these years, not stopping to consider the likelihood that someone started a ____ a while back and it tanked within 6 months.

Another group has, from the beginning, no intention of having anything to do with the way of life that recently everyone lived fairly unanimously. Until a short time ago, the difference in day-to-day between the very rich and the very poor was very small, but that is changing. It’s no longer the case that when we’re out of butter, we’re all out of butter, as now there may be butter for those with something other than rupees in their pockets, and this is tempting for some wanting the beautiful beaches, but not the logistical consequences of tiny, mid-ocean island life.

(Imagine the carbon footprint of butter flown in on a private jet! Ewww. Messy.)

In discussing between those who belong in the country … it being home, and all … the ploys entry-hopeful newbies of the “not going to fit in well” group employ, there seem to be three main categories: those who try to buy their way in; those who try to lie their way in; and those who try to bully their way in. One method works … or doesn’t work, or works only for a little while, actually … about as well as another, and all are easily spotted.

When it does work, the spot-’em-a-mile-away-trying-to-shake-the-tourist-look-crowd can be almost as entertaining as annoying.

Usually the tales that come with new imports are merely amusing, although embarrassing, diversions for those of us who have seen it all before. From the maybe-German-wannabe-tango-dancer to the South African who was “advance man for multi-millionairs”, they manage to cadge a few free drinks and invitations to a couple of barbecues, but beyond that the damage they do is mainly self-inflicted.

Most often, these folks don’t last long. Once their stories run out and the level of phoniness has been firmly established, whatever benefit they were hoping to get out of life in Seychelles dissipates, so they move along to try it all on again somewhere else, probably adding fake tales of island conquests to their repertoire for the audience at the next stop.

There are those, however, who tough it out … most likely because they burned all other bridges before investing everything in a flashy dodge that didn’t fly … and spend the rest of their lives being reminded almost daily of what an ass they were when they came and suffering the resultant lack of trust and respect … if, that is, they don’t get kicked out like the Austrian who kept picking fights with everyone who disagreed with him and the Italian looking for “investors”.

Occasionally, however, reasons for reinvention are nefarious, and it can be difficult to establish which bullshitting new arrival is playing a game of ego-boosting Let’s Pretend, and who has motivations of a more sinister variety.

As the world gets smaller, Seychelles moves closer to the rest of it, and without the protection of thousands of miles of sea and the almost uniquely exclusive isolation we’ve enjoyed here for so long the ever-increasing population of the run-of-the-mill not-so-nice and downright slimy are more likely to find us.

It has been only recently that hard drugs have made it this far, and although the years of avoiding that horror were lovely, they have created a climate in which people have not been prepared for the onslaught. People with no idea of the dangers, having never seen the devastation that crawls in the wake of drug abuse, are just now waking up to the fact that cannabis and heroin are not interchangeable party drugs.

Although the country is racing to get up to speed, education and enforcement are struggling to catch up with the much faster process of dealing and using, so there are likely to be some who figure we have a good place here to set up base and provide illegal substances in the region.

Others have come here to hide, or live openly but avoid prosecution, and we have had our famous cases of fugitives from the law of other countries.

One of the many advantages of being a small nation 1,000 miles from anywhere is the ability the country has to control who is here. It’s virtually impossible to hide in Seychelles; a population that lived with one part-time TV station for years … still the case for those of us living off the beaten track … has learned the entertainment value of neighbor-watching, and since everyone is related to everyone, those that aren’t tend to stand out.

Since sneaking in and hunkering down without anyone noticing can’t really happen, the government is in a good position to decide on a person-by-person basis who gets to come, who gets to stay and who doesn’t. The agencies in charge of making such decisions have much to consider, and potential contributions to the overall good of Seychelles comes in way higher than providing a pretty view to someone who wants to hang out on an island … unless that pretty view comes at a price that makes it worth being considered a contribution on its own.

Although I am very much on the side of grasping firmly to a status quo that even I admit sees the development writing on the wall, it is a given that Seychelles is changing and that our little population of 85,000 cousins and second cousins and uncles-by-marriage is becoming more like other places where being related to the people you run into in town is more of an oddity than a daily happening.

New people are coming, and I can’t blame them for wanting to live here. (Heck, I want to live here, so why wouldn’t someone else?) But I do wish every one would be required to pass, in addition to an international criminal background check, some sort of orientation and an exam.

The orientation would include being handed a list of items, then told to go out and make the purchases.

Sample list:

Tweezers
14″ white shoe laces
tortillas (corn or flour)
mint jelly
tire patch kit
green curry paste
aspirin
chainsaw blade
The latest Harry Potter book
Bra: Size 36 or 38 D or DD or any size in yellow
A picture of St. Michael the Archangel in wellington boots.

Okay. The last one is a joke … those are everywhere.

And the test? Breaking out the JerkDetector and the BSometer would be a start.

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Eeek! A shark: Poor baby

Posted in Children, Family, Fun, International Adoption, Island life, Seychelles, tagged , on February 25, 2008| 8 Comments »

Steven Spielberg pretty much ruined the sea for me … a fact I have brought up with him on more than one occasion, and one for which he is not nearly as regretful as he should be … so I was more than thrilled when today I showed Sam the dorsal fin of a baby shark a friend had found at our neighborhood beach and saw his only reaction was a deep sadness.

I have long resented my gut response to all things shark-like, the involuntary dread that creeps over me as I snorkel in water with a tinge of mirk, a hint of looming possibility. That these amazing creatures bring out the worst in knee-jerk horror is a disappointment in my nature.

The knowledge, however, that I’ve not passed that along to my son gives me cause to rejoice.

Growing up as he has in the tide pools and shallows of the Indian Ocean where it touches this island is a gift Mark and I are grateful to give. Even with the inherent risks that come with island living, with the sea so close, so strong, so potentially deadly, our kids, like their father, have a relationship with it I can only dream of.

At five, Sam already has those velcro-like feet that allow him to jump from rock to rock without slipping and the balance to stand in a pirogue in choppy water. He learned the hard way not to jump in bait-filled water, as a graze with a stone fish was painful enough without serious consequence, thankfully … and the stay in hospital served to reinforce the lesson … and catching macabale in the lamar is as easy for him as it was for Mark when he was a boy.

Yes, it’s the right combination of joy and respect that he’s built, and at the same time the ocean feels like his vast and interesting playground he understands its power and the total disregard it has for life in any form.

Mark grew up with the sea at his doorstep. I did not, so didn’t learn the language it clearly speaks or to read the waves, and I still need a translator even after years of patient tutelage. Because of this handicap I can’t fully love it, as I tend to doubt its intent even on those days when it seems the Indian Ocean is as calm as a pond from here to Kenya.

Although I worry every time the kids are anywhere near the sea, I am pleased they don’t, and happy that the most basic of basics of island living … being surrounded by water … makes them happy.

So, although we have an abundance of Spielberg movies on DVD, “Jaws” will not be added to the collection. When it comes to his classics, we’re sticking with Indiana Jones since Sam’s not likely to develop an irrational fear of devil-worshipping nazis that could put a crimp in his Saturdays at Grandma’s.

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Just when you think you’ve run out of stupid …

Posted in Expat Living, Island life, Seychelles on February 24, 2008| 6 Comments »

I know we’re all getting tired of the Miguel the Violent Nut Case story, but since he’s yet to run out of stupid, and since some readers have voiced interest in follow-up, there’s more. Sigh …

Surprise, surprise … he’s taken down the offending post on his blog, done a rewrite he must think casts him in a good light and me in a poor one, and posted it as a Must Read for Seychellois that actually manages to make him look like an even bigger ass.

Seems he’s changed the link to his trash. (I’ve changed it, too, so the click still works.) By the way, here’s a link to how he feels about negativity and his Creator. Yeah … right. Very spiritual, this Miguel, heh?

I know, I know … that didn’t seem possible.

He’s all with the threats again, although this time he’s not insinuating violence to my poor old self, but exposure. Yep, he’s planning to let the world know that I know that Seychelles is expensive, has shortages and a rising crime rate, and he’s going to email his idiocy to ” government officials, newspapers, TV station, police, ministry of tourism”, apparently having no idea that everyone has already seen it along with his nasty, although poorly composed, revelation of his true self.

And, get this:

What she did not realize is that my film company is not just a motion picture company, and I have way more contacts and pull in more “real” media than she could ever imagine.

Garsh … he has contacts in the movies.

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The biggest nuts in the world, and other stuff to sell

Posted in Fun, Island life, Seychelles, WTF?, tagged , , , on February 18, 2008| 4 Comments »

For a couple of reasons … 1) I’m old and becoming ever more resistant to new ways of doing things, and 2) I live on a tiny rock in the middle of nowhere … I have long managed to ignore a global phenomenon that has become part of the daily grist for the consumer mill and so common in the common vernacular to be included in almost ever reference that might have anything to do with the world’s favorite contact sport: shopping.

Yes, over the weekend I took the time needed to add my name to the list of millions of humans who are buying and selling as if life itself depended on the activity on eBay.

I have been familiar with the concept of eBay for years, as my step mom has made a good part of her fortune of dealing in hard-to-find specialty items on the site … not that I’ve ever looked at what she’s selling, but I hear that she hawks everything from dolls to dressers after combing estate sales and such for valuable antiques and collectables others have been undervalued by a bundle.

For myself, however, I never saw the need to frustrate my stifled shopping heart any further with a whole lot more stuff on offer that no one would send to Seychelles … having never heard of the place, or understanding that our money isn’t worth anything anywhere else.

The list of online companies I can’t shop from is long and disappointing, and often confusing. For example, I can buy books and movies from Amazon … and they’re great at shipping quickly and reliably … but ask the same website to let me buy a toy for one of my kids and I’m out of luck — or the kids are, actually. Toys, electronics, clothing … any of the items sold from the Amazon site that don’t happen come printed on paper or embedded on disks won’t come to Seychelles.

So, no I haven’t become a registered eBayer in hopes of buying any of the wonderful items available there and impossible to find here, but rather to sell, or attempt to sell things others might not be able to get their paws on, but that I have ready access to.

And what sort of treasures do I have that you many not? Well, aside from the biggest nuts in the world, there is the Bush / Bin Laden Racetrack Toy … that trashy bit of terrible taste I wrote about recently.

I’m not at all sure I’ve correctly eBayed in a way that would have anyone actually find the silliness I have for sale, but if you know anyone in the market for the crappiest toy of this year and next, here’s the link to my very first eProduct.

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Answering questions on life in Seychelles

Posted in Expat Living, Island life, Seychelles on February 17, 2008| 153 Comments »

I’ve recently been contacted by a couple seriously considering a move to Seychelles, as this to them seems like the paradise they’ve been looking for. In trying to answer questions in all honesty and convey the true essence of life here … or at least the true essence of life here as I know it … I’ve come up with some pretty good blog material.

What life in Seychelles is like? Well, that depends.

Our life, for example, is very quiet. We have two little kids, so we’re not big on nightlife. In fact, most of the time we’re in bed by 9pm with a good book. An evening out usually means dinner with friends at someone’s house. Weekends are taken up with chores and beach time and the occasional Scrabble game.

Other people live other ways, of course, and the discos are busy on many nights. Some expats spend all their time with other expats, set up reading and craft groups … bored housewife stuff like that I have no time for. The people with boats do boat stuff, divers dive, hikers hike, since living on a tropical island makes it easy to do tropical island-enjoying things.

The people are like people everywhere, varying widely. The local culture doesn’t promote effusive friendliness or terrific manners and many people come across as downright rude, but for the most part the Seychellois are warm, but shy, easily embarrassed, quick to laugh (slapstick is big!), and mildly boring at worst. The societal fabric, however, is changing very fast right now, and crime and drugs are beginning to take hold. Since the police are not as crack at crime solving as they could be, there’s not much of a disincentive, so the upswing is rapid.

Not long ago, almost all the violent crime here was domestic, but that is changing. A woman in my area will killed not long ago by thieves looking for forex, and people are justifiably more afraid than they used to be.

On the shortages we deal with … sometimes there is no milk. Right now, there is no cheese. Sometimes it’s onions that there’s none of. The country has been known to run out of rice, toilet paper, potatoes, bottled water (for lack of bottles, although occasionally for lack of water, as well), and just about everything else at one time or another. For hardware supplies and other items, wood and cement are almost impossible to get and things like plumbing supplies tend to run under a rule that says when you don’t need them, they’re everywhere, but as soon as you do you’ll not find what you need anywhere.

Shipping services are okay, but usually stop at point of entry. The process of clearing goods is a nightmare everyone dreads, as the system is stupid and frustrating and that rudeness I referred to earlier manifests magnificently in some government employees. There is a GST charged on just about everything that comes in that is based on 1) the price of the goods, plus 2) the cost of shipping, plus 3) any applicable import duty, plus 4) a 30% markup just in case you should decide to sell whatever it is. The procedure is often hilarious, if you can manage to see it that way.

For example, if someone sends you a gift you have to fill out a bill of entry before you can see the item, which is difficult if you don’t know what they’ve sent you. This is pretty typical island thinking, by the way, no matter what island.

My mother sends me stuff from the States often. Normally, it takes about a month for a small box full of mint jelly, Mac & Cheese mix and tortillas to make it this far.

What else? Oh, the weather.

Yes, it’s always some version of warm, although evenings cool down pleasantly most of the time. Certain times of the year are better on certain sides of the island, and there are months when it rains more than others. April is notoriously the hottest month of the year, while July can be the coolest … cool enough that we put a light duvet on our bed.

We don’t have aircon in our home, aside from in my office. The rest of the house has ceiling fans that do just fine for keeping things reasonably comfortable. The sun can be fierce, but being this close to the Equator gives us some of the extra protection of a thick ozone layer, so although sunburn is a concern, it’s not quite as dangerous as it is in someplace like the Cornish coast.

Anything else?

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Toys for kids? How about a “Path Cra”? (Bin Laden included)

Posted in Adoption, Island life, Seychelles, WTF?, tagged , , , on February 12, 2008| 14 Comments »

Path Cra toy?>The Internet was out all day today, so I’m far behind on way too much work and playing catch-up (ketchup?) tonight.

Had a meeting in town today … so at least had something constructive to do with the time I would have been working … and also needed to do some shopping, as a friend’s little boy is turning three this weekend and we have a birthday party to attend.

Shopping for gifts here is always an adventure, as options are always both limited and a bit on the wacky side. Plus, you never can tell which shop might have what, as a place with motor oil in the window might also sell dolls where somewhere that displays faded boxes of toys may have nothing but plumbing supplies.

The first place I stopped had nothing appropriate, but while on my way to another place that has proven fruitful in the past, I needed to pop into what we’d call a grocery store to pick up some diapers for Cj. Lo and behold, toys were presented near the entrance, so I did some perusal of offerings.

And just LOOK at what I found!

No, this is not what the soon-to-be-three-year-old is getting, but could I pass this up? As blog fodder alone it’s worth the SR 71/- (Seventy-one Seychelles Rupees) it cost me.

Made in China … where else? … I’m thinking the box is actually suppose to read “car” not “cra”, but the spelling error is nothing compared to the ultimate wrongness of the product itself.

Of course, I’m coming to this from an American prospective, and I’m sure people from other cultures are certain to have a far different reaction, but how this made it to Seychelles can only be chalked up to the likelihood that it was cheap and easy to ship.

There were a couple of more on the shelves, so if anyone is interested in the gifts that hit the height of tacky covered in sprinkles of bad taste, perhaps I could do some shopping for you … ?

Man! The world is a crazy place.

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