Man vs Woman...

This story is based on true events from my personal life during my years in Mauritius. The incidents described here were inspired by real experiences in and around Grand Baie and were originally written in 2012. While some details have been adapted for storytelling purposes, the humour, atmosphere, and many of the situations are drawn directly from life as I experienced it.

Christian Bass

A man can’t go shopping with women, especially not on a rainy Sunday morning. If only he’d realised that beforehand, those gathering storm clouds would probably have passed him by.

But hindsight is a wonderful thing.

It all started at the uncovered bus stop near her residence. Shared taxi or bus? Of course they couldn’t agree. Jean despised the slow, cockroach-infested bus, and he hated the overcrowded, sweat-soaked cattle perch at the back of the rattling heap of scrap metal on four wheels that groaned mournfully at every bump and pothole.

Before a proper argument could even develop between them, a lonely bus crept in their direction and Krishan’s arm immediately shot out, signalling to the sleepy driver that two more brave souls wished to join this suicide mission. He didn’t even give her the chance to object. Sometimes a man is simply quicker than a woman, even if that rarely has anything to do with wisdom. Against a woman’s elephant-like memory, a man never really stands a chance. Still, in such rare moments, a man enjoys a brief victory.

Contrary to Jean’s expectations, they even managed to secure a cockroach-free bench seat all to themselves somewhere in the middle of the bus. Who cared that the window no longer closed properly and the rain cheerfully blew in? They were already soaked anyway.

Perhaps Krishan should have looked into her eyes for once, because then he might have noticed the dark storm clouds gathering above his head.

Slowly the bus rolled towards the former fishing village of Grand Baie, occasionally being overtaken by hurried cyclists and then even managing to miss a busy bus stop. The driver briefly slowed down, apparently realised he would overshoot the lay-by, and accelerated again. Instead of slamming on the brakes, as Krishan knew bus drivers in Hamburg would have done, people in the north-west of Mauritius simply carried on driving. The next bus would surely pick them up, provided it actually arrived and then actually stopped. Taking the bus in Mauritius was much like a lottery.

For a brief moment, Krishan and Jean were united in their smug satisfaction. This time it had happened to someone else. Thank God. A man needs a bit of luck now and then, and she was willing to grant him that.

Slowly the bus rattled past the small tourist boutiques and the almost deserted beach of the great bay. Not even the local fishermen were selling their freshly caught fish by the roadside, which was certainly not only because it was Sunday, but probably because the light drizzle was keeping people away from the beach and business would have been poor. On a day like this, it probably just wasn’t worth the effort.

As soon as the next stop came into view — the one directly outside the Shopping Village and closest to the supermarket — Jean pressed the stop button.

Nothing. No signal sounded.

She pressed it again, this time more firmly and with greater determination.

Still nothing.

Now it was a man’s turn, and Krishan, ignoring her protests, reached across her and tried his luck. He pressed the button with all his masculine ego and, lo and behold, a barely audible beep sounded. Encouraged, he tried again. This time he applied even more pressure and actually managed to make the signal ring loudly through the bus for a brief moment.

Delighted, Krishan released the button, shot Jean a triumphant glance and grinned away the last traces of colour from the storm clouds.

Only reluctantly did the driver reduce his already minimal speed and somehow managed to stop directly at the bus stop. A skill hardly any bus driver in the world seemed to possess. As soon as the bus stopped, the two of them headed for the exit. However, the driver kept the door closed and made no attempt whatsoever to open it. Perhaps he didn’t want the rain, which had long since eased off, getting into the bus. Whatever his reasons, Krishan now had to wrestle the door open manually.

Jean hovered impatiently behind him, pointing out that the supermarket would be closing very soon and that if he wanted anything for dinner, he would have to hurry up for once. Krishan ignored her impatience and continued fiddling with the door lever, which apparently was no longer interested in doing what it had originally been designed for. After practically throwing his entire weight onto it, the lever finally gave way and could be pushed down. The door sprang open. At last.

Immediately Krishan stepped down the two steps, onto the pavement, and headed straight for the supermarket.

But he had barely gone a few paces when Jean’s venomous comment followed.

“Can’t you wait for once?”

Puzzled, he stopped. Of course a man could wait. He looked around for Jean, intending to help her if necessary as she got off the bus. But what did his attentive eyes behold?

Really, he should have expected it, yet it still surprised him. Jean had spotted the many colourful shop windows of the overpriced boutiques in the Shopping Village and, once again, couldn’t resist them. She was admiring the displays, unable to stop herself from dreaming just a little about the beautiful figure-hugging dresses and complaining that the shop doors were firmly locked on a Sunday.

She refused to work weekends herself, yet somehow expected it of everyone else. It was a side of her that Krishan had often found amusing.

He waited patiently beside her, whispering the occasional tiny lie into her ear. Of course that dress would look especially good on her; and yes, that bikini had clearly been tailored specifically for her figure. He also agreed with her several times about how unfortunate it was that the shop doors did not swing open before her and invite her to empty his credit card.

And the moment he dared glance at his watch, after all the supermarket wasn’t open forever, especially not on a Sunday morning, she immediately snapped at him. Why was he so impatient? She had been forced to endure his snail’s pace on the public bus. Did he even know how many shared taxis had overtaken them?

Krishan merely shrugged. Naturally, he had no idea about such things. Why would he? Useless information simply wasn’t stored in the limited space available in his brain. Besides, he had been paying more attention to the surroundings drifting past than to the road itself.

Jean cast one final glance into the shop window, then informed him that she wouldn’t be difficult and that they could now go to the supermarket together. Looking at the overpriced new fashions behind the glass had put her in a merciful mood and kept the gathering storm clouds from breaking for the time being.

And so it happened. Without another stop, they strolled up the little side street that led from the coastal road to the main road, which just beyond Grand Baie widened into a motorway and formed the island’s main route to the south. Past cosy, though still closed, restaurants and bars at this time of day, all the way to the supermarket’s large car park. There the storm would gather even further, only to explode shortly afterwards.

Before they had even reached the car park, a discussion began about which route was actually the shortest; diagonally across between the parked cars, using the parking area as a footpath, or the zebra crossing specifically marked out for pedestrians, laid out at a right angle to the main entrance.

While Krishan preferred the time-saving, though somewhat life-threatening, diagonal route, Jean considered herself the wiser one and was not about to compromise her own safety. Not even applied mathematics could convince her. Rather than waste even more time on pointless arguments, they simply decided to go their separate ways to the entrance.

United in pride and driven by the determination not to give in under any circumstances, they marched across the car park, only to discover that they actually arrived at the entrance doors at exactly the same time.

Jean could not bring herself to admit defeat, even though the draw clearly proved that her route was neither shorter nor faster. Krishan, on the other hand, could live perfectly well with a draw, though rather less so with her insistence on being right.

The moment they were standing opposite one another, Jean informed him in no uncertain terms that she had been right. Her right-angled route had clearly been the shorter one and, had that elderly gentleman with his walking aid not blocked her path, she would have arrived before him and once again would have had to wait for him.

What was he supposed to say to that? Knowing full well that he couldn’t possibly give the right answer, he remained silent. A mistake. A mighty mistake that nearly caused the storm clouds to explode.

Jean studied him closely and then wanted to know whether he was upset because she had won the race. What race? And wasn’t he going to congratulate her on having been right from the very beginning and on only losing time because of him?

Female elephant memory, eh? And what about the elderly gentleman with the walking aid?

Oh well, whatever.

“Yes, darling, of course you were right,” said Krishan, unaware that he had just caused the storm clouds to burst. “Sorry, my mind was somewhere else.”

“Not on that curvy brunette over there, I hope?”

“No. Where’s that come from?” Krishan didn’t really understand what was going on. He looked around and, sure enough, spotted a woman standing a little distance away who certainly matched the description.

Damn! How did I miss her? Wow. Absolutely gorgeous, and those lips... probably very good at...

“And I’m supposed to believe THAT?” Her anger was now beginning to boil over, and she wasn’t even trying to keep it under control anymore.

“Yes. You know there’s only you for me, my angel,” Krishan flirted.

And the storm clouds finally burst.

“I knew it! I knew it all along!” hissed Jean.

Once again, Krishan realised that he simply couldn’t do anything right in her eyes, because she was always right. He backed down, muttered a quiet apology, ducked his head and followed her silently into the supermarket like a drowned rat. Slowly he too became aware of the storm that had been building up, though he failed to realise that it had already broken.

Man! Just let Jean win! screamed his internal alarm bells; not entirely unheard.

Unfortunately, his WOMAN/MAN – MAN/WOMAN translator was still away on its weekend break and, as was usually the case whenever he actually needed it, it was unavailable to him that morning as well.