Monday, January 11, 2010

The Help.

I was standing around the airport for about three hours, waiting for an arrival that kept getting delayed. It was boring, but I also enjoy the airport here; it's really fun to see all of the different nationalities that pass through. The Pakistanis, the Afghans, the Indians, the Sri Lankans, the Filipinos, the Russians, the Australians, the Ethiopians and the Sudanese. And I'm sure many more, but I've not quite perfected my ability to differentiate national dress or the color of a passport from a distance.

Anyway, I was enjoying watching the parade of nations when a tall, thin police officer walked out of the Customs area holding a huge stack of green passports. Following immediately behind him, as if the flood waters had crested over a dam, came a rush of Indonesian women. Hundreds of short women carrying overstuffed duffel bags, their hair covered with colorful lycra scarves, trundled along behind him. I stopped counting after 120, but it must have been an entire plane dedicated to importing these women for domestic help.

No one else in the airport seemed to find this unusual and by the third hour, when I saw the exact same sight happen again, I too was jaded and turned back to the soccer game on TV.

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