Dry Foods; Wet Sand
“Help! Help me!” the main waving his arms said, standing on the roof of his car that was submerged.
“Save yourself,” DM mouthed as he drove by slowly on the way to the tall building looming ahead. “This is Dubai, bitch.”
The gleaming residential tower was in Jumeira Lake Towers, or JLT as locals referred to it since time was money. It was one of several that popped out of the ground and punched high, daring any limitations regarding height that was ever given to man.
Just as he was parking his SUV, the phone rang.
“So how’s the rain?”
It was Kayo.
“It’s on its way out,” DM said, looking at the man standing on the car roof from the little gaps in the wall of the second-storey parking.
“Is the metro working again? I need to use that when I’m there.”
“Yeah, obvs.”
“But people online are complaining that it’s not. Bunch of stations are closed and trains come every 15 minutes.”
“You gonna believe them or the government?”
“The government also said the roads were clear while they were still giant holes in them.”
DM was silent, mostly since he was not sure how much of the conversation might be listened to, even with WhatsApp end-to-end encryption.
“You’re thinking about eavesdropping?”
“Sort of.”
“Anyway, how’s life otherwise?”
“Same old, man. Heading to pick up Zeke from this birthday party.”
“Oh, is it a Filipino friend of his?”
“Yeah.”
“Mum’s the Filipino obviously?”
“Obviously.”
“So listen, Rochelle was telling me it’s the Americans that brought separating the bath area from the shitter to the Philippines.”
“What?”
“Yeah that’s what I said. Like, were people taking showers on the pot until American colonisation?”
“What the absolute fuck?”
“What I said too. Anyway, gotta go clean the motorcycle. Talk later and see you in a bit.”
DM headed into the lift in a confused state. Who the hell takes a shower while taking a shit?
Just as the lift moved, a song came into his head. He hummed it, though a bit irritated that it had made an appearance after decades.
He walked up to the door and rang the bell.
A chubby Filipino woman in a blue and yellow flower dress that was a bit too small opened the door, smiling broadly.
“DM! Welcome! So glad you made the end of the party at least.”
“Oh hi Francine! I thought it was long over,” DM said, smiling and taking off his sneakers.
“No, no. The baboy came a bit late due to the flooding. Can you believe, the pig floated out of the caterer’s building and then of course some Muslim called the police ‘cos it’s haram.”
“No, I can’t believe that.”
“Believe it! Anyway, they cleared everything. roasted it and brought it a hour late or so. Here, you can have some – on wait, aren’t you and Charo begetarian?”
“Well, we’re actually pescatarian.”
“I thought you were Catholic.”
“No we usually eat fish instead of meat.”
“But isn’t fish a meat?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I already ate anyway.”
“Are you sure? The theme for the birthday is Mexican.”
“Oh that’s festive. But I’m full.”
“See we have spaghetti, fried chicken, pancit-“
“All very Mexican, and looks delicious. But I had a big lunch so I’ll just say hi to everyone and grab Zeke.”
“Okay, as you can see, everyone is here,” the lady waved at the room full of people.
DM waved at everyone – those that were looking up rather than eating. The flat was a spacious one that easily accommodated the 15 adults and 20 children milling around the living room. It was furnished with large sofas and a few prints as well as sturdy tables that held all the food.
“Where’s Paul?” DM asked the hostess who was sternly looking at her daughter that had gotten some spaghetti on her birthday dress.
“Oh, he doesn’t like Mexican,” the lady said, turning to look at DM. “He went to Irish Village for some sausages and mashed potatoes.”
DM nodded, thinking of how bland the food the husband was devouring must be.
“You probably noticed Jemine isn’t here,” Francine said to DM as he stood with his hands behind his back, trying to pick our Zeke in the crowd.
“Oh yes,” DM said, wondering who Jemine was.
“That’s a big problema,” Francine said, staring ahead as if she were remembering a battle. “You know, from long time ago I didn’t like her husband – Frank. He always brings only one beer for himself to any party.”
“Oh yes, Frank,” DM said, sort of remembering, though pulling up several men who brought just one beer to parties.
“Well, last time they came, we had lechon manok. Then Frank went to use the bathroom.”
“Uh-huh,” DM said, stepping away to look for his son.
“He not only left a poop stain in the bowl, but also hand prints in the cloth mat in front of the toilet.”
“What the hell?!” DM stopped and looked back at Francine.
Francine had gone a bit red.
“Yes. I can forgive the shit. But who puts their hands on the mat like that? Feels unholy.”
“Wait, can you explain the hands in the carpet?”
“Yes,” Francine put down her drink and bent over while squatting so that her hands were on the floor. “See, there is a cloth mat in front of the toilet. Paul likes it there for some reason. You know he doesn’t wash. He wipes.”
“Yes, yes.”
“But Frank for some reason had his feet and hands down on the mat while he was on the toilet. So weird.”
“Yeah, that’s weird as hell. What the hell was he doing?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to ask you since you know so many doctors. Is it for constipation?”
“That’d be some constipation.”
“You know these Americans eat so much dry food. Sometimes Paul is in there for 30 minutes.”
“Okay, I think I see Zeke. Zeke! Grab your stuff. Time to go.”
“Of course I told Jemine on Messenger to not come back and sent her the pic I took.”
DM was already heading towards Zeke, reaching for his son’s backpack.
Rainbow Kandura 