Keying In On Culture

Today Fredna and I experienced something new from a third-world country.  Fredna needed fabric to make some curtains in the house.  Off to the market where we should find the needed material.  While she was shopping, I stood at the door of the shop people-watching.  It was unbelievable how many people there were walking up and down the road.  I was simply fascinated, but then again, I have always enjoyed watching people. 

 

It was a bit disturbing to me when so many people would stop in front of me and just hold out their hand.  Though I didn't speak their language, I certainly understood their gestures.  I asked the shop owner why there seemed to be so many people begging for money.  She told me that today was Friday.  You see, most of the shop owners in this area are Muslim, and every Friday they give money to the beggars.  I was relieved to discover that it was not just me.

 

One shop we visited not only sold fabric, but many other things as well.  In fact, it is the only shop in this city that I have found where you can get a key made.  While Fredna was looking at material, I decided to have an extra key made for our vehicle.  I have had keys made in this shop before, and it didn't seem to take too long, so I thought I had plenty of time.  I was wrong this time.  The gentleman making the key finally came from the back of the store and told the sales clerk that she had given him the wrong blank, so she gave him another one.  We waited, and waited, and waited.  About an hour later the gentleman appears with the key, and we are off. 

 

What took so long?  The man that usually makes the keys on a key cutter died last week.  The man making my key didn't know how to operate the key cutter, so he was doing it the same way they did before there ever was a key cutter - with a file!  When we got back to the car, I tried the "hand-filed" key.  Surprise, surprise - it didn't work.  Back to the shop I went to tell them that it didn't work.  The man that made the key came from the back and explained to me that he was leaving for lunch, so I must go with him.  What he really meant was that he would go with me - to the car so he could work on the key.  Sure enough, he brought his files and began working on the key.  After another ten minutes or so, I told him that I had to leave and that I would return next week to get him to make the key.  Now I have a key that belongs to me. I paid for it, and it doesn't fit anything.  But it is handmade!