Will You Be My Friend?

Making friends in a new place can be hard. Especially if there isn't some activity that provides a built-in system for making friends, like work or school. Its not really a surprise, therefore, that despite arriving nearly 9 months ago, I have made no friends. M.'s colleague-friends don't count. And certainly not the imaginary ones who compliment me on my colombo.

Of course, email and online telephony make it incredibly affordable to keep in touch with far away friends. Since my town has been equipped with high speed internet for over a year now, my friends can not email and not call with an immediacy that is striking.

Thankfully, I am married to my best friend. But, one friend is not really enough. How else to complain about the other?

Inevitably, there is what could be considered a lowering of standards. Not in quality, mind you, but in what kind of relationship constitutes a friendship and who, in my new system of categorization, is considered a friend.

So, with the new standards in place, here is my (modest) list of new friends:

Our vegetable lady
The woman who sells us our vegetables every week at the market in BasseTerre was perhaps my very first friend. Like most of my new friends, Marie-Denise (that's her name) did not immediately become my friend. She remained polite but distant with me and M. But after buying from her stand consistently every week, she has warmed up appreciably. She even calls me by a term of endearment, doudou. Of course, I've heard her use doudou for other customers, but that doesn't diminish her obvious affection for me in particular. We are now so close that she occasionally gives me produce for free, and her husband makes off-color remarks with ease.

The driver for the little bus in our town (the skinny one)
This was my first friend that I made on my own. Not daring to cross the threshold my first week here, I finally mustered up the courage to take the bus to the bourg. Fears conquered, I went with some frequency to the bourg, to buy bread, to pick up the newspaper, to go to the library - just to get out. And more often than not, he would be the one to drive me there and back. Sometimes, I'm not quite sure what he is saying when we chat since he has a bit of Antillais accent, and he also tends to mumble, but friends don't need words to understand each other. Unfortunately, now that I go to BasseTerre quite regularly, I go to the bourg far less. But, there is no risk of losing him as a friend; when we pass each other on the road, I wave and he gives me a friendly "ça va?" flash of his headlights.

The secretary at my driving school
I've only been going to the driving school for about a month, but I can already see that the secretary is going to be my new best friend. She's about my age (or older...her generous curves makes me think she might already be a mother). She's got an adorable chuckle and laughs easily. I like for my friends to have a sense of humor. And since I had to submit an application full of personal information before beginning my lessons, she already knows my life story. Now, I just have to learn hers. Yesterday, I discovered her name is Madeleine. I'm sure there's quite a bit more - who doesn't have a complicated life story? - but I've already got a good start.