I often stop for a coffee in our local shopping centre after work as a way of re-charging my batteries before tackling the shopping and other chores. Being a 'regular' obviously the staff have got to know me a little.
The majority of the staff are Portuguese and are delightful; always ready to help carry someone's tray if they're elderly or disabled or are struggling with babies and toddlers. They always have a kind word and a smile for the disadvantaged folk one often finds sipping a cup of tea in these sorts of places; those from the local care-in-the-community homes etc. and . . . poor old dears like me, of course!
Coming straight from work, I'm usually dressed in what I think of as typical office wear; smart-ish (I hope) work dress or skirt and blouse and sensible court shoes.
Paying for my coffee we exchanged a few words, as usual. I was asked if I worked in the church. Some of the staff know that I do. I replied that I did. 'Are you a nun?' came the response. Resisting the urge to laugh out loud, I replied that no, I was not a nun but worked in the office.
Of course if nuns dressed like this . . .
or this . . .
or, again like this . . .
then we'd all know where we were, wouldn't we? Just a thought . . .
The dry rations are given us by the Red Cross and the IOM which is an NGO has constructed some bathing facilities and temporary toilets. The old are still being brought in and now we have no room. There is an offer from a donor to buy an adjoining plot of land and to build on this for the people. Hope it happens soon as now the rains have come. In addition I am trying to get them an ambulance or van as the people are falling ill and the nearest hospital is over 8 km away and three-wheelers public bus is difficult to use. And then we have to go to the camps to fetch the people too. Sometimes the elderly just die there.'
