The balcony is covered in hair. Alula’s blond curls lying there like tumbleweed. We both just had several inches lopped off by Karin the lovely Swiss hairdresser (Alula has not stopped crying for about 3 hours since claiming she now looks like a boy, but that’s a whole other story.)
I stare at the sweepings and this being Bali, instead of thinking, ‘Oooh I should get a broom and throw that in the bin’ I think to myself ‘Hmmmm I should get a broom, put that in the bin and burn it just in case someone gets hold of it and puts a black magic curse on me.’
I have been here too long.
But seriously. That shit happens here. And I don’t fully trust my neighbour Nyoman. She smiles at me when I walk past and she nods and says thank you every time I hand her the money for offerings but it’s an alligator smile. I get the sense that what she’d really like to do is snap her jaws around my head and yank it from my neck in one savage go.
This happened to a friend of mine. Not the having her head ripped off by a half woman half alligator. She was sick for months and months. Finally she went to see a Balian (a Balinese priest) and was told that someone had stolen some hair from her hairbrush and used it to put a voodoo spell on her.
But I still don’t want Nyoman to get her hands on my hair so I’m going to hunt for some matches.
Better safe than sorry.