I love the Feeling of Security

The slime around my feet is about an inch deep. It has been a couple of days since I nuked it with bleach, and the bathroom floor clearly needs to be attacked again. I just worked out at the Gym and stopped back at the campsite for a minimal amount of time to take a shower, such as it is.

I hear a strange racket outside. It is the landlady. They have moved out (the kids can't stand the neighborhood and they will be staying at the seminary where the invisible dad will be teaching.) I almost never see them, as I leave in the morning long before they wake, and I stay away from the campsite except to sleep.

I ask her if she can do anything about the drain in the bathroom. It has always been slow, but now is 100% stopped. Thus the biological petri dish that I shower in.

She promises to have her husband Muli stop by the next day to have a look. Muli is an allegedly important minister around here. His very name strikes culturally appropriate fear in the hearts of the Peace Corps office. I have never seen him. I do not expect that I ever will.

The next day the landlady stops by The Chamber (my workplace) to get her rent check. She informs me that she has fixed the drain! I am very excited. Back in The World I take 3 or 4 hot showers a day and the thought of even one piss poor cold shower without slime is a religious revelation.

The Hash group has a BBQ to go with our drinking and running (or walking) and I am a sweaty mess as I head back to the campsite early. It is only now dark as I pull my bike up to the door and unlock the deadbolt. I reach for the doorknob and - nothing.

The landlady has pushed in the button on the doorknob, locking it. The issue? No one has a key. There has been much discussion about having 'the Chinese man' come by to make keys, but after two months still no keys.

The mosquitoes are feasting on my sweaty carcass. There is no light. I am really dehydrated and am afraid I might faint if I don't get a drink soon. I think about going to the closest FaleKaloa and buying some beer or bottled water, then I remember that I am broke again. The Peace Corps living allowance is a joke. Ha Ha Ha

I try to call the secretary at the Chamber. She is the one that found the campsite and may know how to contact the landlord. No answer.

I wander next door. The neighbors are visiting from Sacramento. Like most Tongans in Nuku'alofa they are talking amongst themselves in English as I walk up in the dark. Nope - They have no contact info.

I know the landlady's brother lives on the next street. I feed their dog and the big black beast now feels possessive about my campsite. I am hopeful that this will decrease the chances of a burglary. Ha Ha Ha

The brother also has no contact info for his elusive sister. He hops into his van to drive to their new place. The plan is to get the key to their house. There is a common door between the house and my bedroom and it is ajar so he can then just walk in and open my from door.

Yes folks, the door between their house and my apartment is ajar. No working latch. No lock. Not even a doorknob. They hold it closed on their side with a piece of furniture.

I sit in front of the house in the dark. The mosquitoes are relentless. Every car that comes bouncing down the pothole filled road brings hope, but they all continue by.

Bump.

I think I hear a noise in the house. Can't be... after all I am standing out front at the gate and no one has passed me.

Click - Click Flicker

The light in front of my door is on. Creak. The door opens and out walks the brother's son.

"They didn't have a key either, so I just came in the back window," he informs me. I thank him and he is gone.

So now I know. If I get locked out just come in through the back window.

I feel so safe.