"Where
You
Mob
From?"
And The Art Of Learning Happiness
Leigh Wilkins
P
erhaps I was being addressed. I looked around
the carpark, there was no one else. The two elder-
ly ladies were looking in my direction, beckoning
me forward.
“Hey”, they both grinned. “Where you mob
from.”
Tentatively moving toward them I responded with my
home town.
“Ah, Melbourne.” The grins widened to reveal numer-
ous missing teeth. “Big city.”
I smiled and agreed. A sweeping hand suggesting I
should sit. I did as I was asked, crossed legged. A mother-
ly warmth permeated from my two new friends.
“What you do here?”, the younger looking of the two
ladies asked. The other studied me with inquisitive eyes.
There was no doubt I was being sized up.
“Um … “, I struggled for an answer. “Um … we’re
travellers. We rode motorbikes from Melbourne.”
I hadn’t really answered the question, it didn’t matter,
I could see both ladies faces shine with excitement. I’d
sparked something within both of them. They began gig-
gling like school girls.
“Motorbikes from Melbourne? You came from down
there to up here? That’s a very long way.”
I smiled and nodded.
“What you do here?”, I was asked again. I still didn’t
know how to answer as I scanned both faces.
“I’ve come to meet two beautiful ladies.” The young-
er of two said something to the other. They both burst
into laughter, the older slapped her hand on my wrist
and laughed again. Her touch was warm and genuine. I
laughed too.
We chatted about Melbourne, about the ferry ride
across Beagle Gulf, about the passengers on the ferry.
This brought more laughter. I hadn’t felt this comfortable
around strangers for a long time, I felt we were no longer
strangers.
“You getting food?”, the conversation changed. I nod-
ded and point behind me to a structure resembling ship-
ping containers stacked together.
“Bad food. Deep fried.” The elder of the ladies held up
a bag. “This good food.”
I agree it was good food; an orange, an apple, a banana.
I pointed behind me again to confirm I was headed in that
direction. I noticed the old lady looking at my stomach, I
caught her eye. She burst into giggling.
“You like bad food.” It wasn’t a question. A statement
confirming that I did. I smiled, both ladies burst out
laughing. They weren’t laughing at me, we were laughing
together. I’m not precious about my bowling ball sized
belly. I patted it and nodded. We all laughed together.
I began to stand, both ladies held out their hands, al-
most apologetically. I was touched as both gave me a
warm smile and wished me well. They both gave a flick
of their hands as if motioning me on and told me to keep
walking. I bid them farewell and walked away, puzzled.
Reaching the container structure, I turned to look at my
new friends, they were gone.
Leaving the container structure, we walked down a
litter strewn road towards thick tropical bush. An older
man on a bicycle was loitering. He rode up and down the
road, occasionally looking in our direction until finally
approaching us as we walked toward the bush, not really
heading for anything in particular.
TRAVERSE 41