There are some really nice things about living in a non-ex-pat apartment complex. Of course, getting to know our Indian neighbors is near the top of the list, as is the Ganesha temple in the playground, but the daily vegetable delivery lady and the ironing-man who uses our parking space to stay dry are also really nice.
But the best thing might be never having to push the 7th floor button in the lift. It seems like everyone in the building knows that the white people live on the seventh floor. And if someone doesn't push the button for us, we know that they are here to see the lawyer on the sixth floor. When we first moved in we think there were some Germans in the building as well. A few times we were asked where we were from in Germany; it was, for our new hosts, quite confusing when we answered "US." But I am starting to think that maybe Van Wyk and Zimmerman were the Germans. Maybe. Whatever might have been the case when we first arrived, it is quite clear that we are now the foreigners on display.
The only time our 'uniqueness' is really a problem is when the cleaning ladies laugh at me the whole way down the lift. I can pick up enough of the conversation to think that they are laughing at me because I am a stay at home wife without a job, but it might also be because I smell strange. Either way, eight floors is a long way, and it's kinda awkward.
But the best thing might be never having to push the 7th floor button in the lift. It seems like everyone in the building knows that the white people live on the seventh floor. And if someone doesn't push the button for us, we know that they are here to see the lawyer on the sixth floor. When we first moved in we think there were some Germans in the building as well. A few times we were asked where we were from in Germany; it was, for our new hosts, quite confusing when we answered "US." But I am starting to think that maybe Van Wyk and Zimmerman were the Germans. Maybe. Whatever might have been the case when we first arrived, it is quite clear that we are now the foreigners on display.
The only time our 'uniqueness' is really a problem is when the cleaning ladies laugh at me the whole way down the lift. I can pick up enough of the conversation to think that they are laughing at me because I am a stay at home wife without a job, but it might also be because I smell strange. Either way, eight floors is a long way, and it's kinda awkward.
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