What the fuck are you doing Made?

A week into our Balinese Adventure and all is well. Fantastic in fact. I am sleeping like a log at night, the kids are not fighting and books are being read. We have discovered a beautiful beach and the kids all had their first surfing lesson yesterday, and I am not shitting you when I tell you they were all standing up after an hour. Apart from Jack who chose to do some more hawker shopping on the beach. And get a fake tattoo of a heart with wings on his arm. He also got 2 braids in his hair which were done on the top of his head. They stick straight up, making him look like a bumble bee. My mini bogan in the making.
We have settled into villa life with great aplomb. All of the Balinese staff are wonderful. Most speak a little English and make up for the gaps with huge smiles and plenty of nodding.
Made mainly smiles and nods.
Made is the gardener and sometimes drives. You cannot really drive yourself here unless you have a confirmed death wish. There is no reasoning in the way the traffic works in Bali. You get to your destination eventually, and if Made is driving, you will quite often go via every village. The man needs a satellite navigation system. And soon.
Made, can you please take us to Seminyak Square?”
“Yes”. Nods and Smiles and delivers you to to Sanur, on the opposite side of the island.
Made comes up to my shoulder. I have to resist the urge to pat his cheery little head when he passes by. His daily uniform consists of some sort of t-shirt with a Disney Character on it, shorts and a red conical straw hat. He is a bit like a Disney character himself come to think of it. I have taken to practicing my Balinese with him in the car by use of a phrase book. It mainly ends up with him saying “What?? What??” and me getting frustrated. Then he nods and smiles.
Made is not only a gardener and sometimes driver, it would seem he is also studying reflexology.
My sister Mrs Ryan was having a moment of supreme relaxation recently, taking advantage of the fact that we had all gone to the beach and she was spending some quality day-bed time with her book. Made arrives back from dropping us to the beach via the airport and spied her. And her feet. He speaks to her, nodding and smiling, and she looks up from her book to greet him. Without further notice or warning, Made begins to pummel her feet.
The language barrier prevented too much chit chat, and questions like ‘What the fuck are you doing Made?” are left unanswered. But is would seem Made had had enough of tending to the lawns and wanted some feet action. Mrs Ryan eventually gave in and allowed Made to explain as he pressed into the soles of her feet. “Here is your liver…..” “Here is your keedenee..”
And the foot assault ended as abruptly as it began, with a smile and a nod. And he went to rake up some cat shit while Mrs Ryan was left to wonder what just happened.