Tuesday, October 15, 2019

In the square at the heart of the city, there's a traffic jam of wheelchairs and baby carriages. A holiday celebration has drawn a small crowd. There should be plenty of room to get around the makeshift stage and rows of plastic chairs, but two canopied urban go-carts have been parked and abandoned in the worst possible place. Only two people at a time can squeeze past them, and only one person who is on wheels. As I stand to the side, I see people jam the bottleneck, trying to roll through it in opposing directions at the same time. If a wheelchair and a baby carriage conflict, the wheelchair usually wins. Respect for the aged is so ingrained in people here that it tames even arrogant drivers. If two wheelchairs face one another, the caregivers guiding them quickly reach agreements. If two baby carriages meet, though, the mothers stand their ground, each waiting for the other to back up. That takes longer. Once, I see an old woman stand and shove the carriage nearer to her out of the way. Otherwise, one of the mothers eventually yields, with a deep sigh signalling to the heavens that the universe is once again being particularly unfair to her. Onstage, a drummer and a singing guitarist work their way through medleys of the usual popular religious songs. When they pause, they announce community singing later in the evening. I'm too tired to stick around.