Sold Out

The worm has turned for Donkey … I have completely sold out and am now ‘one of them’.

Back in the day … back when I was a REAL development worker, I wouldn’t have been seen dead in Honiara’s Lime Lounge.  Every location in the developing world where you’ll find a collection of two or more expatriates will have one of these joints.  The coffee is bad, the food is bad, the staff are hopelessly slow and the clientele suck, but it’s the only coffee in town, the only place you can get a BLT and, if you’re that way inclined, the only place you can scoff down a [relatively] fresh piece of chocolate cake.

Sounds alright, doesn’t it?  The only thing that I’ve failed to mention is that the only dark faces in the room are behind the counter, and the cost of a cup of the afore-mentioned muddy water is about three times their hourly wage.

But times’s changed, and I’m moving up the slippery ladder of self-importance, so I’ve been in here everyday, scoffing disgusting, greasy food and closing my eyes as I French-kiss my coffee cup in an attempt to remember the special relationship I enjoy with my espresso machine at home.  Actually, I’d rather not be here, but it’s the only way I can access email while I’m here in the Sols, so they’ve got me.

Is it so bad after all?  Well, let’s see.  Opposite me on this Wednesday morning at 11.30 are three young, bored looking Australian women, by the appearance of them, partners of blokes who are working here.  Each of them are completely done-up to the nines; short, black cocktail dresses, 4 inch heels, immaculate hair and painted nails.  Screaming with laughter as they ostentatiously blow their cigarette smoke around the sealed room.  And I should mention, they were here yesterday … and the day before … and the day before.

Over the other side are three very fat, wispy-white-haired, ruddy-faced consultants (I know this cause they are wearing fawn-coloured pants and a shombre shirts).  They are making lude remarks to the waitress who is smiling apprehensively at their errant hands.

At the counter is standing an angry, grey-haired, middle-aged woman – a kiwi – abusing the staff as she demands her coffee which she claims she’s been waiting ages for.

And it goes on … Looks like I’ve finally made it to the big time; I’ve found my people … and my place.

The Stairway to [Development] Heaven.  Pic: http://www.geckogo.com/Guide/Solomon-Islands/Honiara/