Buying Direct

I cross the road from the hospital to head back to the guesthouse for lunch. At the gate of the guesthouse, I am stopped by a couple of fishermen. They show me a bucket with a huge catfish inside and ask if I want to buy it. What is this? Is it a coincidence or have they been waiting for me to sell me the fish? Regardless, the fish looks pretty good. We agree on a price; the fish is mine.

After lunch, I sit inside the lounge and listen to music. Howard, the cook’s son, comes in and asks, “Do you like beans?” “Uh, yes. Why?” I am wondering why the weird question out of nowhere. “Someone wants to sell you some beans.” “Who’s here?” I wonder aloud as I walk out to the courtyard to find a farmer with a big bag on the back of his bike standing next to the kitchen. I check out the beans; they are actually pretty nice. I buy half a gallon of it and send the farmer on his way (nobody has a scale around here; a lot of things are sold by volume, even flour).

Okay, word must have gotten out that a foreigner lives here and he eats local food. I wonder who will come next, the tomato lady, the eggplant woman, or the sweet potato man. The caterpillar girl probably shouldn’t come, she may be disappointed.