The God of Ham

They knew exactly what they wanted. They walked, no it was more than that, they strode into the supermarket with purpose. As they made their way from aisle to aisle they gained momentum and became louder. The excitement was visible, eyes were widened and the pitch became higher, faster.

“Crumpets! Oh how I’ve missed you crumpets” screamed the fourth little traveller.

“Quick! Quick! Has anyone seen the chocolate bullets?”

“Jackpot! yelled the third little traveller with a packet of chicken crimpies in his hand.

I looked up from the dairy section to see the second little traveller caught up in the decision of which bread “so many choices” she beamed back at me.

As we stood at the check out the third traveller lifted the leg of ham above high above his head and closed his eyes, his lips began to move.

“What are you doing?”

“Praying to the god of ham. I’m just paying my respects – saying thank you”.

Everything is a little bit exciting. Masterchef, ABC3, pork sausages and Golden Gaytimes (we love our gaytimes). But there remains to be surprises, moments when I ask myself how I’ve somehow missed certain Australianisms. How did they not know?

“What’s that man on the motorbike doing Mum?”

“Do you mean the postman?”

We don’t even have a postbox in Qatar. This makes the concept of mail delivery truly fascinating to our travellers.

“It’s nice to be home” the third traveller announced as we made our way across the car park today. I was interested in the concept of home for a boy who was born in Malta with a North American accent.

“Does it feel like home? Even though you’ve never officially lived here.”

“Yep, Qatar is school and friends – but here is home. It’s where I belong. It feels right.”

And he’s right. It does.

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