Morning Carousel

You need these covered Walkways in the Tropics, come rain or shine. They abound in Lion City. Very little need to get burnt or drenched in this unforgiving climate; and if you have aircon, well, one can pretend Sorriento or the French Riviera. (The beaches themselves might be another story. There are tree plantings, and quite likely outdoor fans, possibly even on the sand; then there is the water of course, surprising to hear in a recent report from a housemate, clean, despite the huge container terminal and the oil processing plants and the rest.) The fifty year single party dynastic democratic arrangement here is far from all bad. As the sweet gal who runs the cafe/upholstery shop in Tanjong Pagar exclaims on each return from Langkawi and Cameron Highlands, Thank god for the PAP! Otherwise we might be like Malaysia.
         But the Walk-ways. In this case through the Haig Road housing blocks off Carpmael. This morning in the eighty metre middle stretch two strollers, one wheelchair and a leash, more or less in a row. One of the maids was in a hurry to get either lunch or the washing on; the other easy with her charge. Both Indons, unacquainted seemingly. Chubby and thin; dowdy and pretty. Native warmth and loveliness presenting no difficult task to fathom. Hurrying gave a rapido smile; the more leisurely other more rapido still, because she was a little preoccupied with the older, more inquisitive child she was pushing. As often, on the lawn—let’s call it that—someone had placed a food offering on a couple of pieces of cardboard one beside the other, little candles lined in front, the Buddhist thing for ancestors still fondly recalled. In passing the little boy, rather too big for his conveyance, points a finger for Auntie Maidie.
         — Apple, he declares swiveling around for her. 
         Hurrying for the lunch preparation or the laundry, the young woman indulgently corrects the little man. 
         — Orange. 
         Fruit was certainly correct. Difficult circs. here for learning the imposed foreign language without added tuition, the Prep. Schools &etc. Not within the means here it looked.
         The wheelchair carted Ah-ma must have been in her nineties, slowly sailing below the shelter, a brief cooing behind at one point ceasing when the foot-steps were heard possibly. Ah-ma may have cancer, or simply lost her hair. A look of alertness. Slowly gliding as if afloat on the breeze. The tall girl in the cheap discount China-wear had found a measure of stride that carried the pair along as if they were mounted on a carousel. Odd the grace the girl delivered in that simple, even pacing between the columns. The shoulder of the chair was at a comfortable height even for a tall girl like her, acne-marked, a single band for her hair. A hidden light hand effortlessly propelling the chair.
         Strange to report, on the other side of the Block the doggie was leading a pair of elderly locals. Not a maid. A rare occurrence here that made the viewer look long after them.