A true story...
Stop-start through the London night, winding towards Euston station
I sit, on the bottom deck, observing my fellow travellers.
There are many languages, Portuguese, I think and one side
of a phone conversation in an African language peppered with bits of English.
Hindi too, probably, and something from Eastern Europe.
Across the aisle is a man - thick set, silent, unsmiling - somewhere Asian? Not sure.
The bus stops and a man gets on, carrying a plastic bag. He sits opposite me.
He has a magnificent moustache. He takes out a small comb and grooms it. He smiles.
A broad smile - his eyes twinkle and his moustache bristles like a small bush in the breeze.
The Asian man sees the moustache and smiles back. "This is a great moustache", he says.
"Ha, ha", says Moustache Man, "Yes, sometimes people ask if they can touch it!"
I don't think I will ask that, but I feel that the Asian man might. He doesn't.
"I am from Mongolia!", he says. "Oh!", I think, "Yes, it's obvious now" - even though I've never
met anyone from Mongolia I have seen documentaries.
I wonder if Moustache Man will reveal his nationality. He does. "I am from Sudan", he says. His accent is difficult to follow from behind the facial forest and I think The Mongolian has
failed to pick this up. He doesn't seem to care and says "This moustache - very good!".
Then, from nowhere, he beats his chest with one fist - "Mongolian, strong!"
He laughs, Moustache Man laughs, I laugh.
"We are all happy!", says Moustache Man. "Yes, happy,
this is good!" says the Mongolian.
We discuss the climate and geography of Mongolia.
I tell them I am English and the Sudanese man asks me if I am from Newcastle.
I say no, but it seemed a bit random. I certainly don't think I sound like Jimmy Nail.
At 10pm it is 29C outside the air conditioned comfort of the bus.
Moustache Man points outside and says - "This is winter in Sudan!". We all laugh again.
"I live here now," says the Mongolian, "and sometimes go back.
I am happy." "I am happy", says Sudan Man, "I have been here 27 years".
I think he says 27 but the moustache has freed itself
from its earlier combing and is now interfering with his audibility.
"Why you have no beard!" says The Mongolian. "You could have
a fine big beard!". "No", says Sudan Man, "that is like the people
who make bombs. I don't like them and I am Muslim."
We nod awkwardly at this serious turn of events and Sudan Man realises he needs
a course correction and asks the Mongolian why he has no moustache.
Actually he points at him and at the mighty tache and says "You, moustache?"
The Mongolian shakes his head and indicates with his hand a pathetic straggly
moustache and beard would result.
The Mongolian indicates that it is his stop and gets up - he shakes our hands.
"This was good!"
We agree. It was good. He leaves at Paddington Green.
Sudan Man turns to me - "I love football. Who is your team?"
I try to explain Chesterfield FC to him but they are beyond explanation.
"My team," he says, and I expect Chelsea or Arsenal or Spurs, "is Newcastle
United!". Ah, that explains his earlier question. He has never been there,
but he has always liked Kevin Keegan. Actually, Keegan's perm
and the 'tache are of similar magnitude.
"1996" he says, "we should have won! But that Manchester United, they don't let us!!"
"What about Alan Shearer?" I ask. "Yes!" he shouts and mimics Shearers goal celebration.
He too realises he has to get off - "Goodbye friend!" he says. "Goodbye", I say and he
and his moustache disappear into the night.
I sit there in the last few minutes of my journey with my faith in humanity restored
by a proud Mongolian and a Sudanese with ferocious facial hair.
I would love it if all conversations between different nationalities were like this. And I hope,
if Kevin Keegan were here, he would love it too.
Tim Fellows August 2018, London, England, Europe, The World...
Image by Steve Watts from Pixabay
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