The Motorbike Lesson

We stood on an empty dirt patch

And on the few grass hairs

Lifeless on the surface

Perpendicular to the empty block

Was a one storey building

and a few workers carried large parts of tin

on their way to erect the roof

The sun reflected on my skin

And the colour of paper

Shimmered and made the builders squint

They didn’t know that I spoke their mother tongue.

The motorbike was parked,

Separating Mr Bird and I

As though to our own half of the land

And as my teacher gave me a lesson on how to ride

Our eyes were always paused.

Uncomfortably on the bike

After awhile, the builders had finished erecting the tin roof

And they sat on it, not to test its durability

But to eat their lunch

From the metal containers packed by their wives

And to laugh at a foreign girl who couldn’t ride in a straight line.

Soon, Mr Bird turned to them - scolding

bpit hai naen!

And they finished their pointing and laughing -

Decided to subtly join in on the lesson

By motioning to me with their hands

Because it was the closest they thought they could say – “Hey, this how you do it!”