You feel me. You hear me. You see me.
You always look away when you notice that I am still around. You look away when I keep an eye on you. You pretend nothing happens.
I find it funny.
I love it but sometimes I’m ashamed.
You love your girl. She also loves you. And she also loves the baby who’s suckling her breast.
I feel that. I see that.
Am I a pervert?

It becomes a game, at least for me. You don’t feel comfortable with it, that’s clear. But it is stronger than myself. Sorry, I really can’t resist. I am fascinated by you, by all of you, you there on the road. Now picking each other’s fleas, then in full humping mode but usually in a hurry sprinting to the nearest tree to disappear into the mass of leaves.
Namaste my friend!
Namaste my dearest baboon!

Do you feel just like me when once again locals have noticed every slightest movement of me? Every blink of my eye, every tooth that is brushed, every peg put into the ground, every onion that is peeled, tomato that is cut, hand that is washed, and piece of underwear too. Each rolled out sleeping mat, sock that is removed, hair that is combed and sleepy dust that is rubbed away the next morning. Do you feel just like me, stripped off your privacy, your breathing space, the peace in your head and in the night?

Or do you understand it in a certain way and realize that, although we are distant relatives, I do not know your habits and behaviour. And that, just that, fascinates me. That I am curious about how you wash, how you eat and how you communicate with your wife and kid. That also your different looks intrigue me and that, because of all this, I’m missing every sense of shame.

You feel me. You hear me. You see me.
You swing your way in the green of the jungle, far away from the staring of two eyes, far away from the look of that stranger.
That stranger who actually feels guilty. That stranger who also understands you. Just like she understands the locals.

That stranger who realises, ‘we’re all… same-same but different.’.