Our bank is secure

There are apparently two security companies in Dili.  Their job is to defend and protect premises.  Some homes have security men, as do some businesses.  Being in the business of money, ANZ has a mini-army of security men - usually three; two outside, one inside.  They patrol the doors - entry and exit - which are side by side.  As you approach the bank, theses men in logo-ed uniforms scrutinise.  Are you a security risk?  Are you carry anything that might aid you in becoming a security risk?  Mostly they let people in.  The security guard on the inside lets people out.

The three classes I teach at ANZ are all after hours.  This means that the security guards are even more speculative about who gains entrance.  Basically, if you're not wearing an ANZ logo you've got Buckley's and no chance of stepping into the cool, cool air-conditioning (which to be honest can be one of the many reasons you actually want to get into the bank.) 

I have the name of the HR manager saved in my phone.  I dial.  She answers.  Someone comes and lets me in.

Okay.  I'm cool with that.  We do, after all, like our banks to be secure and let's face it, my salary gets paid into an ANZ account at this very branch.  I would hardly support a robbery.

So . . . last Tuesday, following my scooting ordeal, I arrived.  Perhaps it was the pink helmet with the flowers on it (Hey it was given to me!  Given to me people!), perhaps it was the very attractive helmet hair, or perhaps the flustered, "Don't mess with me.  I've just driven round and round in your damned traffic down your damned one-way streets!" look on my face.  I don't know and as I can't speak that much Tetun, I wasn't about to find out.  Anyway . . . .

I parked my bike next to a row of bikes and in front of two security guards.  They eyed me up and down.  Clearly I was of suspect character (and sadly I would probably have to agree with this snap assessment). 

The older one frowned.  "Where are you going?" he asked.
I pointed to the bank.  "I'm here to teach English."
To say the younger one beamed is to liken the midday sun to a 10 watt light bulb.  His grin was broad, flashing every snow-white tooth.  "Teacher!" he said, and, reaching out a hand, ushered me forward . . . . he moved before me and opened the door!  He opened the door and ushered me, still clutching my helmet, into the inner sanctum.

I too smiled broadly, "Obrigada!  Obrigada!"  "Thank you!  Thank you!"