Remember that Septic Tank?

This morning, some guy shows up to finally cover up the thing.

How do I know? Is it because someone rang my doorbell?


Is it because we had a call from the landlord?


Is it because we had a call from the shovelling dude?


I found out because I heard the sounds of dirt being shovelled through an open window. Which then caused me to poke my head out the window and take a look.

Do you remember me talking about how I have to open the gate for Fahim when he comes home? Well, it’s either that, or he locks behind him, in which case I can’t leave cuz there’s a padlock on the outside. It can’t be opened from both directions at the same time. Which is a real drag.

I closed the gate behind Fahim when he left this morning. I almost always do.

That can only mean one of two things. Either

  1. our downstairs neighbors let him in through their garage and then garden gate. Yes, they can get into ours, but we cannot get into theirs. I don’t mind not getting into theirs, though. I just think it’s unfair.
  2. the shovelling dude climbed the fence.

Either option is possible.

So he’s out there covering up the septic tank. And this will make both Fahim and I happy because

  1. it’ll be less of a hassle for him to park his motorbike in our parking space now
  2. it won’t smell. Not that the smell reaches up to where we live – it doesn’t. And not that the smell is that strong down there where the septic tank is exposed. It’s barely there. But it’s still there.
  3. it’ll be much prettier.
  4. it’ll make me chasing the cats to come inside much easier. No more climbing mounds of dirt or worrying that the concrete slabs will cave in. If I can’t see ’em, I won’t think of ’em.

The shovelling guy also ripped out all the vegetation growing in our sort of yard area. Okay, they’re mostly weeds and grasses, and I really don’t care unless there actually is a curry leaf plant or rampe leaf plants growing back there. Rampe leaves and curry leaves are used in cooking over here.

Tellulah and Oberon, however, are much much more upset about it. And with good reason.

I let Tellulah and Oberon in from the balcony at around 6:30 every morning. The first thing they do is chow down on cat food – that which the ants haven’t absconded with, that is. And then they head for the front door and start meowing to anyone who’ll listen – which is usually me. Fahim doesn’t care.

No, scratch that.

Fahim says he doesn’t care.

And yet he’s the guy who opens the door for him. Hmmm. Is he really a softie after all?

Yep, he’s all talk and no action.

But I already knew that. 🙂

Anyway, he lets them out the front, and they scurry down the stairs and eat the grass.

They no longer puke – haven’t in months – so either they’ve gotten used to the grass, or they moderate how much they eat. I have no idea which and don’t particularly care.

What I do care about is that they are obviously addicted and need some kind of a methadone or AA program to get them out of the clutches of this evil grass addiction.

And like I said, the shovelling dude ripped out all the vegetation, so they no longer get their fix. Until it’s grown back in another week.

As a side note, we had a tree growing down there by the gate. It was already taller than Fahim. It would literally grown several inches in a day sometimes. That’s the way it works here, I guess.

As another note, downstairs in our little area of the yard, we have an outside shower and toilet. They’re both gross – you’d never catch me using either one. Ever. Ever.

The toilet is a squatting one – it looks like a toilet seat imbedded on the concrete floor. Although I have heard (read?) that squatting is supposed to be better for more effective elimination, but I don’t honestly want to go there. I think that’s more than enough on that. And the shower – well, it’s outside, it’s concrete, it’s dirty, there’s no shower curtain so it’s so open, and, well, NO.

When we came home from grocery shopping, this shovelling dude was taking a shower. I saw him because he poked his head around the corner.

And that prompted me to make a comment to Fahim about how I hoped he wasn’t naked, at which Fahim commented that it wasn’t likely because people here don’t bathe naked.

Initially, I thought he meant in public, or in lakes or whatever, but no, not even in the privacy of their own homes.


Then what do people wear? Women wear a sarong like thing that they tie around their chest. Oh.

And, um, why?

And then I make the comment that I thought I was repressed. He only commented about how I could have whatever illusions I wanted.

But seriously, compared to probably most North Americans, I am repressed. I’m not complaining, mind you, just stating a fact. I am a prude.

But compared to people here? Uh, no.

And on a severely unrelated note, I cooked Severely Modified Chicken Ratatouille today. One of these days, I need to write down that recipe and stick it in my recipe pages. And damn, it’s good. I love that stuff. Fahim even sort of at least moderately likes it. He says it’s good, which is the highest praise I’ve ever gotten from him on any of my cooking. I think.

But then again, just so you don’t get the impression that he’s critical, he isn’t. The most critical he got of any thing I cooked – it was an experiment – a recipe I’d never made before – for food I’d never had before – and so I had no idea whether or not we were going to even like it, myself included – he said, well, no, he’d prefer we didn’t have it again unless I made some significant modifications, which I’d already indicated I would be doing if we had it again.

Well, heck, I modify all the recipes I encounter. That’s just standard operating procedure for me. And this one – after I’d had a few bites – I’d already decided to severely modify and in what direction I’d severely modify.

Author: LMAshton

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