You're From Where? 4.6.2008

On Sunday I was catching a taxi home from the airport when a British chap came up and asked if he could share my cab. Turns out he was a consultant from England brought in by the government to determine the viability of increasing investment in the ---------- industry and, given how everything seems to work here, no one had shown up to pick him up. While we chatted during the thirty minute drive from the airport back to civilization, I found out that he currently lives in a town adjacent to Cheam, Surrey, the town where my parents lived in England for a few years and where two of my older siblings were born. [Note: Why is the airport in the middle of nowhere? I’m guessing a combination of tribal/governmental politics, the universal constant which dictates airports must be located in difficult to reach areas, and the fact that there are relatively few flat areas large enough to build an airstrip in the country. Lesotho is not called “The Mountain Kingdom” for nothing.] After apologizing, he explained how much he disliked Cheam and would have “died of boredom” if he ever had to live there. Ahh, British frankness. Though in fairness, looking back, many of the stories my parents tell about living in England are negative events now fondly remembered, safely ensconced as they are in the past. The bad economy, the rolling blackouts, the bad food. I had always assumed that it was living in England at the time (with four kids) that was the source of their problems, but perhaps the location they lived in had more to do with it.