I leave the community center at 8:00pm. I walk to the main road, look both ways for speeding cars and tuk-tuk’s. I listen for them twice as hard as I look. They're usually proceeded by blaring Middle Eastern techno music. The road is safe, I cross the street and turn right down a dimly lit street with four story apartments crowding out the night sky from view. There are countless telephone wires criss crossing above me, and laundry lines heavy with blankets blowing in the light breeze. Looking ahead, there is a haze that starts to blur the view about a block ahead of me. This street is quiet. If I’m lucky, I might see a weasel sprint out from behind one car and run under another.
At the next intersection, I walk through the stench of dozens of caged chickens. Roosters crow loudly and sporadically. On my right is a group of 8 year old boys playing soccer with a beat up, deflated leather ball. They use the cars on either side of the road for goals. I am careful here, because the boys don’t stop playing for passersby. If the ball comes flying at me, I either duck or kick it back (being careful not to let my ankles show). After this the blocks get a little lighter. There are more people outside. There are snack shops on my left and my right. Some young guys push a 30 year old car down the street while someone sits in the driver’s seat, trying to cough it to life. On the right is a tidy, well lit store. This is K’s store. She sells hair products and henna. Her TV is on, and she’s watching an Indian soap opera. I walk inside to shake her hand and say hello. She kisses each of my cheeks once as she greets me. She asks how the center is going, and asks me when I’ll be able to get her to America. I explain yet again that I can’t do that, that’s not how it works. I try to leave her store, but she insists I sit with her. I explain that my roommate is making food for me, and I need to leave to help her. After telling her everything about the dish, I walk away after another hand shake. Later on, I walk past her husband. He’s in a hurry, but he stops, shakes my hand, and wishes me peace.
As the blocks keep passing, more and more young men are loitering about. As I get closer to the market, I see a few more women. Most wearing long black dresses and hastily wrapped head scarves. On the right is M’s store. It’s well lit and has large glass windows. I walk inside and shake her hand. She kisses me three times on the cheeks. Her daughter is there. I shake her hand as well, and she says my name with an excited voice. M asks how my day was, and I tell her a little bit. M urges me to stay for tea. I tell her thank you, but I need to get home. She says I should just stay for a little bit. So I relent, and sit with her. She asks how many spoons of sugar I want in my tea. I say one, and she puts one heaping teaspoon of sugar into my tiny cup of tea. She puts three spoonfuls into her own tea. After sitting and chatting with her a bit, I tell her I’ll see her at the center tomorrow, and we kiss again before parting. I keep walking. I pass the key copying shop on the left, a group of men working on rusted out cars, and a man melding some medal objects together, sparks flying out into the street. The light is blinding, so I look the other way and shield my eyes with my hands. I pass a carpenter on my right, cross another intersection, and then walk past one of the most popular stores in the neighborhood, owned by a teammate’s friend. There are five women waiting to be helped outside his store, anxious for perfume or skin lightening cream from their home country. Men sit on the steps outside, chatting about their wives and looking at the young women next to them. One man I’ve met a few times and eaten dinner with his wife. I ask him how she is. He tells me he doesn’t care and that he wants a younger wife. A 15 year old walks past. He motions to her and says he wants someone like her. Equally shocked and disgusted, I accept that this is not a battle I can win, and walk past him. After this, I squeeze through the crowd to say hi to L, the shop owner. He shakes my hand and asks where I’ve been, even though I saw him yesterday. I ask him when he’s going to take the fridge out of my apartment. He says in a little bit.
I cross the street to shake some more hands. I turn down some even more aggressive offers for tea. After about ten minutes of talking, I keep going and turn left out to another main street. I cross carefully. Minibus drivers shout at me the name of the local bus hub, hoping I’ll hop inside and fill up the last spot in their crowded 15 passenger tin can. I look down as I pass the large group of young men hanging out by the dumpsters. Sometimes they shout at me, sometimes they speak under their breathe, sometimes they say nothing. I turn left after passing the dumpsters, but walk through a clump of flies anyway. I squeeze through two rusted cars, then walk past the parked tractors, and a couple of stray dogs. Sometimes a dog will have a chicken leg in his mouth from the chicken place on my left. Once I saw a dog running away with a whole chicken in his mouth. Sometimes I run into a friend on this street. If I do, I kiss her cheeks and wish her peace. After that I walk past the dry cleaning place where the 20 year old guys play soccer in the street and smoke cigarettes. I walk up a few flights of stairs, and then I’m home. I take off my head scarf, walk to the bathroom, and splash my face with cold water before eating dinner with my roommate.