In The Country where they say G’day to you

Crazy, this place is crazy. It’s good, but also crazy. I am writing with a german keyboard, and the Z and Y are in different places, I even ment to write Y first then Z, it’s a strange keyboard. Anyway, i am changing, the people around me are again, affecting me, heavily. Country people, the french man Justin quoted, “Alwayz fuck fuck fuck, fuck.“ To Butch, the 54 year-old, old–timer picker, abronginal man living in the same farm as us. Good fella, great fella, very honest, but rough with his words. A great man, but it saddens me when I know that if I was a homosexual, I would have a very different treatment from him. Pofter, that’s the word they use for “the gay people“ Butch said.

They say a lot here, “That pofter“ “You pofter“ they keep saying. A lot of hate in them, sad.
But I can see the good side of’em. And I am (as in my physical presence on Earth, Ahmed) slowly changing to who they are, rough, always swearing, full of hatred (or un-understanding) towards their illusion of enemies. I found myself trying to race my friend in fruit-picking, and feeling jealousy and annoyance of some of Justin’s actions. I am observing it, obviously this journey is here to heal my male-ego, and return the balance within myself.

Back to physical realiy, the more interesting and fun side, I am still smoking lots of ganja, everyday, can’t help it, it always come back to me. I am beginging to think I am a bit too open. It’s all good though, still wake up 6am in the morning healthy, awake, and ready for another hard day. Lately, I have picked Peaches, Apricots, Plums, and TOMATOES! They are captilzied beacuse they were a pain in the back, you gotta “put your ass above your head“ they say. Simply means you bend your back a lot to pick them tomatoes. Good experience though, picked up a couple of pumpkins (2 days after, we had pumpkin curry, with onion, garlic, ginger, tomatoes, mixed beans and smooth and lovely coconut cream. Plus rice), 3 cucumbers, a bunch of tomatoes of course, a solo eggplant, and a big fucking zuccinni, so big it’s name changes to “Maro“ (or something like that, but crazy, no?).
(And after an hour I smashed it with a golf club, it was inedible anyway)

We also ate grass parrots, hunted and killed by our very own italian boss. I went through the stage of de-feathering them, cutting their stomach area to get all the guts, heart, and lungs out, with a finger, burning them lightly to re-clean the feathers from the skin, chop their head, legs, and wings off, stick it in a pot with some potatoes and onions, maybe carrots, and you get a really good grass parrots stew. I hope I don’t get stuck in this mind-state.

We worked a bit more, still picking, got a good amount of money, and smoked a bit more dope.
Life is good, no matter who surrounds you, even when you miss your friends back there where you can’t look at their eyes and smile in appreciation of their presence. I am finding myself feeling love from other people, because I accept who they are, or my face does. But my mind is haunted by thoughts of judgements towards them.

Although, we did have a nice day at the pool yesterday (Saturday, I am writing this on Sunday, but I would probably publish online on Tuesday. Sorry for the confusion), swam myself breathless, ate more sausages (we have been eating sausages for the past 5 days) played the card game Speed, the AWOeSommE game my older sister taught me and kicked my ass in, with other peeps, lost, and decided to jump in the pool again, this time swimming backwards in a slow relaxing motion. Very nice, I thought.

Although, 3 days ago, me and Justin were picking peaches, and came up with a “Shout“ for fruit picking, it went:
Up and down the ladder we go,
Picking fruit and that’s what we do.

We laughed on certain subjects, like Stan…

-- 10 days ago, Stan came in the picture, a German young man with a light black beard and bright blue eyes. He was a villigant man, looking for truth and asking many questions. Having never learnt how to cook proper dinner, Ahmed and Justin worked towards teaching the German young man on The Art of Cooking. Problem is, sometimes he asked a bit too many questions, leaving his fellow friends with a slight frown, adding to the already excisting frown manifested by the sun’s heat and rays. But Stan was willing to learn, and that was good. --

… being funny sometimes like a cartoon charactor, or predicting how long is going to take to fill this freaking bin with fist-full sized peaches, or about our friends back home, or our weird, yet epic, experiences we had in our life, or about how funny is the word given to italians here “WOGS“, otherwise proudly indentified by our italian boss as “people who like cash“, which explained after our question to him (9 days ago) “Why are you paying us cash?“.

2 weeks ago we also met Kevin, a 14 years veteran of fruit picking, half were which done in New Zealand, his home country. Good guy, he offered to show me around the north of the South Island when I visit in 1 year and a half.

Back to the end of this present, we are listening to good music and fighting the flies with “Fly Papers“ (sticky papers that hang from the cealing and holds down any fly that touches it, there is plenty of them.), and smoking ciggis. Time for me to disappear from the computer reality to the other one.