Bjorn was lazily observing the orcas on their way across the fjord in the direction of the village when he suddenly became aware of the white van he had let in earlier heading back up towards the check point. He first caught eye of it down at the intersection which gave him plenty of time to finish his coffee, and even go out for a quick smoke before it arrived at the barrier.
The young man greeted Bjorn with a cheerful "Hi again!" while waving his passport at him.
"Not so quick, young man," Bjorn replied politely and in an equally cheerful voice. "I need to take a quick look in the back, just to see that you're not smuggling anyone out with you."
"Okay. That's fine with me," the man replied, putting his passport back into the inner pocket of his jacket.
He stepped out of his car and opened the back of his van, allowing Bjorn to have a good look at what he was taking with him out of the colony. And while this should not have come as any surprise to Bjorn, he was amazed by all the wine, beer, cigarettes, meat products and cheeses that were piled up inside.
"That's quite a catch you got there," Bjorn commented.
"It is indeed!" the young man replied shamelessly.
"But, is this legal?" Bjorn asked, immediately realizing how silly the question was, coming from him, the supposed expert.
"Well, you should know, shouldn't you?" The young man replied with a cheeky smile. "But yes, it is indeed legal."
Bjorn was tempted to call Frank to have him confirm what the young man was saying, but since this would make him look even more clueless he chose to fake detailed knowledge of the rules once again, just like he had done with a certain degree of success down at Ane's factory the day before.
"Of course it is," Bjorn replied with a smile. "But this is hardly the intention of the law, is it?"
"I guess not. But there is nothing in the rules that say anything against this."
"No, but that is just because no one had anticipated this kind of behaviour."
"Maybe so, but I'm just playing by the rules."
It was beyond obvious that the man was smuggling a cartload of products into Norway, but Bjorn had received no other instructions than to prevent asylum seekers from escaping the colony. The lawmakers in Oslo must have made the mistake of thinking of the colony as nothing more than an enormous asylum centre, and completely ignored the fact that all sorts of other businesses could and would be established down there too. Blinded by the prospect of having a problem solved for free, they had completely lost sight of the bigger picture. The colony had not developed into the gulag or prison camp that they must have imagined, but instead morphed into a strange mix of detention centre and tax haven.
Stunned by his sudden insight into the obvious, and filled with a sense of bewilderment regarding the failure of professional lawmakers to foresee this kind of thing happening, Bjorn hesitated. And the young man must have interpreted this as a growing reluctance on Bjorn's part to let him pass.
"Surely, you've bought some cigarettes down there yourself," he insisted, grabbing hold of a carton of cigarettes and holding them up to Bjorn.
"Well... no..." Bjorn answered bemused by the young man's sudden change of tone.
"You should! It can save you a small fortune."
"Yes?" Bjorn answered, still confused. "I know! I'll buy my next cigarettes down there."
"Good for you!" The man said with a smile. "What is your favourite brand?"
"Marlboro," Bjorn answered truthfully.
"Well that is my favourite brand too!"
The man tossed the carton of cigarettes he was holding back into the van, and pulled out a carton of Marlboro instead. The carton was already broken into, and the man held it up to Bjorn as to illustrate his point. "See! I've already broken into this one," he said proudly. Then he pulled out a pack and handed it to Bjorn.
"Why don't you keep this one, since we're smoking buddies and all?" The man insisted, tossing the carton back into his van before closing the back doors.
"Well, that's very generous of you," Bjorn replied. "But you really don't have to. I mean... You don't have to bribe me to get out, you know."
"Hey! Of course not!" the man retorted, pretending to be appalled by what Bjorn had just said. "If I wanted to bribe you, don't you think I would have given you something more than just a pack of cigarettes? Do I look like the kind of guy who would try to bribe people with pennies?"
"No, you don't," Bjorn admitted, not able to hide his amusement. "So, I can keep these?" he continued, feeling confident that the pack of cigarettes could hardly be classified as a bribe.
"Of course you can!" the young man replied. "We're buddies after all."
"Sure we are," Bjorn replied with a knowing smile.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
53
Bjorn was in the middle of a cup of coffee when he suddenly spotted several orcas over by a small island at the other side of the fjord. At first, he didn't quite see what it was, but through his binoculars he could see that the disturbances of the water in the distance were in deed caused by whales coming up for air. And by studying them further, Bjorn concluded that the whales must be orcas. Later on, when they swam closer to Lundby, there was no longer any doubt about the whales. Their characteristic white and black patterns could be clearly seen, and Bjorn could congratulate himself on having come to the right conclusion right from the start.
Just like the day before, a fishing boat headed for Lundby at the beginning of Bjorn's shift. And with a second fishing boat heading for Ane's processing plant towards the end of Bjorn's shift, Bjorn concluded that Ane's factory was doing quite well. This did not in any way surprise him, of course, considering how well organized the woman had appeared when he had the pleasure of meeting her.
However, what did surprise Bjorn quite a bit was the number of cars heading for the colony. Neiden was after all quite far away, almost two hours by car, so anyone bothering to take this journey would have to have a pretty good reason for doing so. And with Neiden housing less than three hundred people, five cars entering before noon was quite a lot.
One driver in particular had puzzled him. It was a woman with her daughter of five years or so insisting on entering the colony even without a passport. Bjorn pointed out that entering the colony without a passport may make it difficult to leave later on, but the woman brushed his explanation off as irrelevant.
"It is not like there's any doubt that I'm Norwegian, right?" the woman insisted, in a broad local accent.
"No," Bjorn had to admit. "But this is a restricted area. We have to check people for valid passports as they leave."
"And what if I´m not going to leave?" The woman asked.
"But you are, aren't you?" Bjorn asked, incredulous of her assertion.
"No. Not in many years, I´m not."
"Really?"
"And by then, I´ll have the papers sorted out for you. You can be sure of that."
Bjorn felt reluctant to go along with the woman's story. There was something manic about her intense insistence, and it made Bjorn uneasy. However, as far as he knew, his duty was limited to keeping people inside the colony. He had seen nothing about preventing people from entering, and the only reason he was asking people to show their passports was to prevent people from accidentally finding themselves trapped in the colony.
"Anyway," the woman insisted as if she had read his mind. "You have no right to keep me out."
"No... That's true..." Bjorn replied reluctantly. Then, he pushed the green button, thereby raising the barrier and letting her in.
Just like the day before, a fishing boat headed for Lundby at the beginning of Bjorn's shift. And with a second fishing boat heading for Ane's processing plant towards the end of Bjorn's shift, Bjorn concluded that Ane's factory was doing quite well. This did not in any way surprise him, of course, considering how well organized the woman had appeared when he had the pleasure of meeting her.
However, what did surprise Bjorn quite a bit was the number of cars heading for the colony. Neiden was after all quite far away, almost two hours by car, so anyone bothering to take this journey would have to have a pretty good reason for doing so. And with Neiden housing less than three hundred people, five cars entering before noon was quite a lot.
One driver in particular had puzzled him. It was a woman with her daughter of five years or so insisting on entering the colony even without a passport. Bjorn pointed out that entering the colony without a passport may make it difficult to leave later on, but the woman brushed his explanation off as irrelevant.
"It is not like there's any doubt that I'm Norwegian, right?" the woman insisted, in a broad local accent.
"No," Bjorn had to admit. "But this is a restricted area. We have to check people for valid passports as they leave."
"And what if I´m not going to leave?" The woman asked.
"But you are, aren't you?" Bjorn asked, incredulous of her assertion.
"No. Not in many years, I´m not."
"Really?"
"And by then, I´ll have the papers sorted out for you. You can be sure of that."
Bjorn felt reluctant to go along with the woman's story. There was something manic about her intense insistence, and it made Bjorn uneasy. However, as far as he knew, his duty was limited to keeping people inside the colony. He had seen nothing about preventing people from entering, and the only reason he was asking people to show their passports was to prevent people from accidentally finding themselves trapped in the colony.
"Anyway," the woman insisted as if she had read his mind. "You have no right to keep me out."
"No... That's true..." Bjorn replied reluctantly. Then, he pushed the green button, thereby raising the barrier and letting her in.
Monday, April 28, 2014
52
Bjorn was deep asleep when his alarm went off. He had been dreaming, but of nothing unpleasant, and he was in no mood for introspection, so he let the lingering dream evaporate without any effort to hold on to it.
Bjorn had set his alarm to go off at the time when no one was using the bathroom, just after Ante had been there, and before Thomas and Espen would appear. Assuming that everyone were as sett in their routines as they appeared to be, he figured he should be able to have the place for himself by targeting the fifteen minutes interval between Ante and the two other men.
As it turned out, Bjorn was correct in his calculations. He went to the bathroom the moment he heard Ante close the door to his room, and ended up having the bathroom to himself for the whole duration of his shower and morning routine. Not until he was back in his room did he hear Thomas and Espen walk past on their way to the showers.
Bjorn smiled to himself on his way down to breakfast. His main discomfort as far as the check point was concerned was the lack of privacy, especially during his morning routine, and by having found an opening for himself where he could have the bathroom for himself, he felt relieved and happy. "If this pattern keeps, my stay here will be almost as pleasant as a resort vacation," Bjorn thought as he skipped down the stairs.
The weather looked promising, with the sun shining through the south facing windows of the kitchen. Ante was in his usual good mood, and Bjorn felt a relaxed eagerness to enjoy the day to its fullest. Chatting casually with Ante, Bjorn ate his bacon and egg breakfast, not paying much attention to the time. But when Espen appeared, shortly followed by Thomas, he knew that it was time to go down to the glass box to relieve John from his duty.
John was as eager to leave his post as always, and disappeared up to the barracks as soon as he had handed the keys over to Bjorn. However, Bjorn felt positively happy about being once again all to himself. He put his thermos of coffee down next to the one he had brought with him yesterday, but forgotten to take in, before sitting down in the office chair to take in the panoramic view.
Pretty soon, he felt an urge to have a cigarette, so he stepped out on the sunny side of the office to light one for himself. The sun, bright and unobscured over the mountains to the north, was warm and invigorating. He closed his eyes for a minute while facing the sun straight on. In the background he could hear the light trickle of melting snow. Life was slowly returning to the arctic wilderness, one drop of melting snow at a time.
After a few puffs of his cigarette, Bjorn became suddenly aware of a white van coming down the windy road from Neiden, and he thought to himself, slightly bemused, that this was in fact the first car he had seen on that road apart from the truck with the snow plow. He followed the car with interest as it came closer, until it came to a full stop in front of the barrier.
Bjorn tossed the cigarette on the ground, and stepped on it while the driver rolled down his window.
"Good morning," Bjorn said with a smile. "Do you have your passport with you?"
"Yep, here it is," the young man replied waving it in his hand.
"Okay," Bjorn replied without bothering to inspect it, reaching instead into the office to push the green button next to the door.
The barrier rose, letting the young man into the colony without further delay. Bjorn followed the van with his eyes until it disappeared behind a barren knoll where the snow had already receded from the top, pushed back by a mix of wind and sun. Then, back in the office, he caught another glimpse of the van as it took a left turn at the intersection with the road joining the village to the port.
Bjorn had set his alarm to go off at the time when no one was using the bathroom, just after Ante had been there, and before Thomas and Espen would appear. Assuming that everyone were as sett in their routines as they appeared to be, he figured he should be able to have the place for himself by targeting the fifteen minutes interval between Ante and the two other men.
As it turned out, Bjorn was correct in his calculations. He went to the bathroom the moment he heard Ante close the door to his room, and ended up having the bathroom to himself for the whole duration of his shower and morning routine. Not until he was back in his room did he hear Thomas and Espen walk past on their way to the showers.
Bjorn smiled to himself on his way down to breakfast. His main discomfort as far as the check point was concerned was the lack of privacy, especially during his morning routine, and by having found an opening for himself where he could have the bathroom for himself, he felt relieved and happy. "If this pattern keeps, my stay here will be almost as pleasant as a resort vacation," Bjorn thought as he skipped down the stairs.
The weather looked promising, with the sun shining through the south facing windows of the kitchen. Ante was in his usual good mood, and Bjorn felt a relaxed eagerness to enjoy the day to its fullest. Chatting casually with Ante, Bjorn ate his bacon and egg breakfast, not paying much attention to the time. But when Espen appeared, shortly followed by Thomas, he knew that it was time to go down to the glass box to relieve John from his duty.
John was as eager to leave his post as always, and disappeared up to the barracks as soon as he had handed the keys over to Bjorn. However, Bjorn felt positively happy about being once again all to himself. He put his thermos of coffee down next to the one he had brought with him yesterday, but forgotten to take in, before sitting down in the office chair to take in the panoramic view.
Pretty soon, he felt an urge to have a cigarette, so he stepped out on the sunny side of the office to light one for himself. The sun, bright and unobscured over the mountains to the north, was warm and invigorating. He closed his eyes for a minute while facing the sun straight on. In the background he could hear the light trickle of melting snow. Life was slowly returning to the arctic wilderness, one drop of melting snow at a time.
After a few puffs of his cigarette, Bjorn became suddenly aware of a white van coming down the windy road from Neiden, and he thought to himself, slightly bemused, that this was in fact the first car he had seen on that road apart from the truck with the snow plow. He followed the car with interest as it came closer, until it came to a full stop in front of the barrier.
Bjorn tossed the cigarette on the ground, and stepped on it while the driver rolled down his window.
"Good morning," Bjorn said with a smile. "Do you have your passport with you?"
"Yep, here it is," the young man replied waving it in his hand.
"Okay," Bjorn replied without bothering to inspect it, reaching instead into the office to push the green button next to the door.
The barrier rose, letting the young man into the colony without further delay. Bjorn followed the van with his eyes until it disappeared behind a barren knoll where the snow had already receded from the top, pushed back by a mix of wind and sun. Then, back in the office, he caught another glimpse of the van as it took a left turn at the intersection with the road joining the village to the port.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
51
The foreign minister was busy defending Norway's military actions in Libya as well as his own involvement in it in what was clearly a well orchestrated interview with no surprise questions.
"Simply bombing rebel positions is not enough to ensure security for our national interests," the foreign minister explained. "We will need an additional five hundred men in order to defend our economic interests in that country, which coincidentally are one and the same as the interest of the Libyan people. Only a stable and peaceful environment can ensure prosperity for all, and as a leading peace nation we have a particular moral duty to make this happen."
The economic interests the foreign minister was talking of were of course the oil fields in which the state controlled oil company, Statoil, was heavily invested. However, this was not mentioned by a word, nor did the interviewer make any inquiry into what the foreign minister was referring to by his words. Instead, she moved on to ask him why he, and not the minister of defence, was in charge of the operations.
"The answer here, of course, comes down to the nature of our involvement in Libya," the foreign minister replied with a confident smile. "Since we are not at war, but simply helping the Libyans in their struggle to rebuild their national institutions after decades of neglect under the deposed dictatorship, our involvement can best be described as foreign aid, which falls under my department. What the Libyan people are labouring under on a daily basis is the absence of good national institutions, and the first and foremost of these is of course the institution of law and order which can only be achieved by legitimate and dispassionate force. Hence the involvement of our armed forces."
"Libya is not at war," the foreign minister continued. "It is burdened by civil unrest, and we have a duty to the world community to take our share of that burden. All of this has been laid out in detail by the UN, and we cannot simply ignore this and pretend that things will sort themselves out without our involvement. Such an approach has already been tried, with terrible consequences, and no one wants to see a repeat of that."
And again the foreign minister was referring to things without mentioning them. Neither the foreign minister nor the interviewer felt it necessary to explain that the terrible consequence referred to was a particularly bloody attack on a Statoil installation in the south of Libya where almost everyone had been killed in cold blood. Those that tried to escape were gunned down, and those that surrendered were ritually beheaded. The videos of the beheadings went viral on the Internet, and were in large part responsible for the surge in support for the foreign minister's anti-immigration party, which in turn won him a seat in the current government, and ultimately his current position as foreign minister.
Having risen to his current position on the back of the outrage that the bloody attack had caused, the man clearly felt that no further explanation was necessary. And the interviewer, presumably no big fan of the foreign minister, had even less of a desire to delve into the memories of the terrible incident.
After a few more questions about Libya where the foreign minister got the chance to repeat his objection to the word "war", re-emphasizing instead that this was all about foreign aid and nation building, the interviewer changed the subject to Lundby, which made Bjorn sit up and pay even closer attention. "Another mention of us," Bjorn thought. "We really are about to become famous!"
"Some say that the colony violates our constitution, and is in breach of basic human rights," the interviewer said with a stern face.
"Well, that is simply not true," the foreign minister replied, brushing aside the question. "Moving all asylum seekers to Lundby is a hugely popular move, with a recent pole showing more than seventy percent of eligible voters in favour of it, and it is in no way contrary to our constitution. Such a assertion is simply political nonsense."
"But what about the claim that the colony is in conflict with the indivisible sovereignty of Norway?"
"Well, first of all, Lundby is not a colony. It is as much a part of Norway as any other part. The fact that it has been turned into an asylum centre does not make it any different from any other place with special rules, such as airports, prisons, and, well, asylum centres. We have merely moved and co-located the centres already in Norway to a remote location where the inhabitants will be unable to cause stress or anxiety among ordinary Norwegians."
"And what about the claim that there is a casino up there? Isn't that in violation with Norwegian law?"
"Well, it is true that there is a casino in Lundby. Although, as far as I gather, it is hardly a place worthy of such an extravagant name. It is more like a bar where there is some gambling going on. However, the claim that this is in violation with Norwegian law does not take into account the Sami reparation act which give Sami people wide powers to regulate this kind of activities on their own land. The casino is fully owned and regulated by the Sami people, and as such completely legal."
"And the report that casino tokens are circulating as money, surely that is in violation of the recent amendment to the constitution making only Norwegian Kroners legal tender in Norway."
"But those tokens are not money," the foreign minister retorted with a big smile. "They are tokens. They have no value or use outside the asylum centre. Do you really think that anyone will accept a casino token outside of that village, far away from the casino? Of course not! The tokens are no more money than what similar tokens would be inside a closed club. They can be used inside the club, but have no value outside of it, so they are clearly not money. Only Norwegian Kroners are money in Norway."
And by this the interviewer had exhausted her questions related to Lundby and its constitutionality. She continued with a few questions regarding the centre and the claim that it was violating human rights. But here too, the foreign minister had no problem defending his position. And in the end, the whole interview seemed to Bjorn to be more like an orchestrated promotion of the foreign ministers policies than a truly critical inquiry.
Bjorn turned off the TV, impressed and a little surprised by what he had just seen. He had not expected such an open talk on Libya, and even less so on Lundby. But now that it had been aired, Bjorn got a strong feeling that the foreign minister was on the offensive, anticipating things to come, and positioning himself as best he could for some imminent storm. "He is a sly fox," Bjorn thought to himself. "This interview was no doubt carefully planned, putting him one step ahead of the rest. By answering questions before they were fully formulated by the opposition, he had effectively silenced most of his critics by making it very hard for them to come with a different interpretation of things."
The mention of more boots on the ground in Libya had left Bjorn a little worried, though. It was absolutely not a place he would like to be sent, and even the remote possibility of being sent there gave him the shivers. He had after all signed onto his three year contract with the army with the checkpoint along the Neiden to Lundby road specifically in mind, and he was at the interview lead to believe that this was indeed the only position he would ever be expected to fill. But the contract he had signed was deliberately vague on the exact scope of his duties, so he could possibly, at least in theory, be sent to Libya against his own wishes.
And with this worry lingering uncomfortably in the back of his mind, he set his alarm for the next morning, hoping that the spectre of Libya would not interfere too much with his sleep.
"Simply bombing rebel positions is not enough to ensure security for our national interests," the foreign minister explained. "We will need an additional five hundred men in order to defend our economic interests in that country, which coincidentally are one and the same as the interest of the Libyan people. Only a stable and peaceful environment can ensure prosperity for all, and as a leading peace nation we have a particular moral duty to make this happen."
The economic interests the foreign minister was talking of were of course the oil fields in which the state controlled oil company, Statoil, was heavily invested. However, this was not mentioned by a word, nor did the interviewer make any inquiry into what the foreign minister was referring to by his words. Instead, she moved on to ask him why he, and not the minister of defence, was in charge of the operations.
"The answer here, of course, comes down to the nature of our involvement in Libya," the foreign minister replied with a confident smile. "Since we are not at war, but simply helping the Libyans in their struggle to rebuild their national institutions after decades of neglect under the deposed dictatorship, our involvement can best be described as foreign aid, which falls under my department. What the Libyan people are labouring under on a daily basis is the absence of good national institutions, and the first and foremost of these is of course the institution of law and order which can only be achieved by legitimate and dispassionate force. Hence the involvement of our armed forces."
"Libya is not at war," the foreign minister continued. "It is burdened by civil unrest, and we have a duty to the world community to take our share of that burden. All of this has been laid out in detail by the UN, and we cannot simply ignore this and pretend that things will sort themselves out without our involvement. Such an approach has already been tried, with terrible consequences, and no one wants to see a repeat of that."
And again the foreign minister was referring to things without mentioning them. Neither the foreign minister nor the interviewer felt it necessary to explain that the terrible consequence referred to was a particularly bloody attack on a Statoil installation in the south of Libya where almost everyone had been killed in cold blood. Those that tried to escape were gunned down, and those that surrendered were ritually beheaded. The videos of the beheadings went viral on the Internet, and were in large part responsible for the surge in support for the foreign minister's anti-immigration party, which in turn won him a seat in the current government, and ultimately his current position as foreign minister.
Having risen to his current position on the back of the outrage that the bloody attack had caused, the man clearly felt that no further explanation was necessary. And the interviewer, presumably no big fan of the foreign minister, had even less of a desire to delve into the memories of the terrible incident.
After a few more questions about Libya where the foreign minister got the chance to repeat his objection to the word "war", re-emphasizing instead that this was all about foreign aid and nation building, the interviewer changed the subject to Lundby, which made Bjorn sit up and pay even closer attention. "Another mention of us," Bjorn thought. "We really are about to become famous!"
"Some say that the colony violates our constitution, and is in breach of basic human rights," the interviewer said with a stern face.
"Well, that is simply not true," the foreign minister replied, brushing aside the question. "Moving all asylum seekers to Lundby is a hugely popular move, with a recent pole showing more than seventy percent of eligible voters in favour of it, and it is in no way contrary to our constitution. Such a assertion is simply political nonsense."
"But what about the claim that the colony is in conflict with the indivisible sovereignty of Norway?"
"Well, first of all, Lundby is not a colony. It is as much a part of Norway as any other part. The fact that it has been turned into an asylum centre does not make it any different from any other place with special rules, such as airports, prisons, and, well, asylum centres. We have merely moved and co-located the centres already in Norway to a remote location where the inhabitants will be unable to cause stress or anxiety among ordinary Norwegians."
"And what about the claim that there is a casino up there? Isn't that in violation with Norwegian law?"
"Well, it is true that there is a casino in Lundby. Although, as far as I gather, it is hardly a place worthy of such an extravagant name. It is more like a bar where there is some gambling going on. However, the claim that this is in violation with Norwegian law does not take into account the Sami reparation act which give Sami people wide powers to regulate this kind of activities on their own land. The casino is fully owned and regulated by the Sami people, and as such completely legal."
"And the report that casino tokens are circulating as money, surely that is in violation of the recent amendment to the constitution making only Norwegian Kroners legal tender in Norway."
"But those tokens are not money," the foreign minister retorted with a big smile. "They are tokens. They have no value or use outside the asylum centre. Do you really think that anyone will accept a casino token outside of that village, far away from the casino? Of course not! The tokens are no more money than what similar tokens would be inside a closed club. They can be used inside the club, but have no value outside of it, so they are clearly not money. Only Norwegian Kroners are money in Norway."
And by this the interviewer had exhausted her questions related to Lundby and its constitutionality. She continued with a few questions regarding the centre and the claim that it was violating human rights. But here too, the foreign minister had no problem defending his position. And in the end, the whole interview seemed to Bjorn to be more like an orchestrated promotion of the foreign ministers policies than a truly critical inquiry.
Bjorn turned off the TV, impressed and a little surprised by what he had just seen. He had not expected such an open talk on Libya, and even less so on Lundby. But now that it had been aired, Bjorn got a strong feeling that the foreign minister was on the offensive, anticipating things to come, and positioning himself as best he could for some imminent storm. "He is a sly fox," Bjorn thought to himself. "This interview was no doubt carefully planned, putting him one step ahead of the rest. By answering questions before they were fully formulated by the opposition, he had effectively silenced most of his critics by making it very hard for them to come with a different interpretation of things."
The mention of more boots on the ground in Libya had left Bjorn a little worried, though. It was absolutely not a place he would like to be sent, and even the remote possibility of being sent there gave him the shivers. He had after all signed onto his three year contract with the army with the checkpoint along the Neiden to Lundby road specifically in mind, and he was at the interview lead to believe that this was indeed the only position he would ever be expected to fill. But the contract he had signed was deliberately vague on the exact scope of his duties, so he could possibly, at least in theory, be sent to Libya against his own wishes.
And with this worry lingering uncomfortably in the back of his mind, he set his alarm for the next morning, hoping that the spectre of Libya would not interfere too much with his sleep.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
50
Back in his room, Bjorn sat down on his bed, turned on the TV, and flicked through some channels before settling on a reality show on a cooking channel where competitors faced each other in a "bake off" to make "the best chocolate cake ever."
"Just the right kind of entertainment after a festive dinner," Bjorn thought to himself with a smile. Then he let his thoughts drift, inspired by the spirited conversations he had just taken part in. He really felt he had come to know his colleagues quite a lot better over the dinner, and that he now finally had been fully accepted by his colleagues. Not that they had ever been anything but polite and friendly with him. But getting to know people always take a bit of time, and if anything, Bjorn felt that the process in this case had been surprisingly quick and pleasant.
Bjorn had taken an immediate liking to Ante, who had welcomed him wholeheartedly from the very beginning. Maybe primarily because Ante neither liked Geir much nor fit very well into the card playing group. Not that the card players were unpleasant in any way. But they were a closed group, uninterested in opening up much to others. However, over dinner they had opened up quite a lot, and Bjorn thought them all quite likable in their own way.
Thomas had consistently made positive comments regarding Lundby and Ane's business, arguing against John and Frank who both were of the opinion that the village would eventually blow up due to a combination of internal social tensions and right out desperation. Thomas pointed instead out the fact that the general atmosphere, as experienced by Bjorn, was positive, even optimistic, and that people always have a tendency to sort out their differences in a peaceful manner if left to themselves.
Espen on his side was always quick to oppose any position with facts to the contrary. His strange habit of never looking anyone in the eye, had made Bjorn jump to an early conclusion that Espen was suffering from some sort of autism. But Espen's well developed sense of humour soon made Bjorn realize that whatever was the matter with Espen, it was not interfering with his ability to see things clearly and humorously. When John and Frank argued that the village should be shut down, or at the very least be policed properly, Espen commented dryly that that would hardly save the government any money, which was the whole point of the establishment of the colony in the first place. And when Thomas, confidently stated that people have a tendency to sort things out peacefully when left to themselves, Espen suggested the so called "liberated Libya" as an example of how well people get together once the central government is gone, or left impotent.
John on the other hand revealed himself as truly sceptical to people's ability to take care of themselves, stating at one point that he would be lost without the strict routines of military life, and that he would probably not even get out of bed if it was not for Frank's schedules. "That's why you are our night watchman," Frank replied to this with a great big smile. "You don't seem to mind when you have to get up as long as I'm the one telling you to do so."
Realizing that he had thoroughly embarrassed himself by admitting his deep seated insecurity about his own ability to make even basic decisions regarding his own life, John quickly retorted that he was just making an exaggerated point and that he did not really need someone hanging over him for him to get through his daily routines. But none of his colleagues were very convinced, and taunted him for his silly comment for some time before focusing again on what they would all do on Friday evening.
"Poor guy," Bjorn thought to himself as he recalled the deeply embarrassing insecurity that John had admitted to. "I might be lost," Bjorn thought. "But I'm not as lost as John." And with this in mind, Bjorn flicked through several channels before stopping at one where the foreign minister was in the middle of an interview. "Ah, here he is," Bjorn thought. "The man at the centre of the universe."
"Just the right kind of entertainment after a festive dinner," Bjorn thought to himself with a smile. Then he let his thoughts drift, inspired by the spirited conversations he had just taken part in. He really felt he had come to know his colleagues quite a lot better over the dinner, and that he now finally had been fully accepted by his colleagues. Not that they had ever been anything but polite and friendly with him. But getting to know people always take a bit of time, and if anything, Bjorn felt that the process in this case had been surprisingly quick and pleasant.
Bjorn had taken an immediate liking to Ante, who had welcomed him wholeheartedly from the very beginning. Maybe primarily because Ante neither liked Geir much nor fit very well into the card playing group. Not that the card players were unpleasant in any way. But they were a closed group, uninterested in opening up much to others. However, over dinner they had opened up quite a lot, and Bjorn thought them all quite likable in their own way.
Thomas had consistently made positive comments regarding Lundby and Ane's business, arguing against John and Frank who both were of the opinion that the village would eventually blow up due to a combination of internal social tensions and right out desperation. Thomas pointed instead out the fact that the general atmosphere, as experienced by Bjorn, was positive, even optimistic, and that people always have a tendency to sort out their differences in a peaceful manner if left to themselves.
Espen on his side was always quick to oppose any position with facts to the contrary. His strange habit of never looking anyone in the eye, had made Bjorn jump to an early conclusion that Espen was suffering from some sort of autism. But Espen's well developed sense of humour soon made Bjorn realize that whatever was the matter with Espen, it was not interfering with his ability to see things clearly and humorously. When John and Frank argued that the village should be shut down, or at the very least be policed properly, Espen commented dryly that that would hardly save the government any money, which was the whole point of the establishment of the colony in the first place. And when Thomas, confidently stated that people have a tendency to sort things out peacefully when left to themselves, Espen suggested the so called "liberated Libya" as an example of how well people get together once the central government is gone, or left impotent.
John on the other hand revealed himself as truly sceptical to people's ability to take care of themselves, stating at one point that he would be lost without the strict routines of military life, and that he would probably not even get out of bed if it was not for Frank's schedules. "That's why you are our night watchman," Frank replied to this with a great big smile. "You don't seem to mind when you have to get up as long as I'm the one telling you to do so."
Realizing that he had thoroughly embarrassed himself by admitting his deep seated insecurity about his own ability to make even basic decisions regarding his own life, John quickly retorted that he was just making an exaggerated point and that he did not really need someone hanging over him for him to get through his daily routines. But none of his colleagues were very convinced, and taunted him for his silly comment for some time before focusing again on what they would all do on Friday evening.
"Poor guy," Bjorn thought to himself as he recalled the deeply embarrassing insecurity that John had admitted to. "I might be lost," Bjorn thought. "But I'm not as lost as John." And with this in mind, Bjorn flicked through several channels before stopping at one where the foreign minister was in the middle of an interview. "Ah, here he is," Bjorn thought. "The man at the centre of the universe."
Thursday, April 24, 2014
49
"Ante sure knows how to throw a party," Bjorn thought to himself as he entered the kitchen where most of his colleagues had already sat down to eat. Only Thomas and Espen were still over by the stove heaping up generous amounts of steak, baked potatoes and vegetables for themselves. There was no shortage of whine either, but John and Espen were both having water, either for personal reasons, or in sympathy with the official rules banning any kind of alcohol consumption from Norwegian military bases. But Bjorn saw no reason to be any more prudent than Frank or Ante, and poured himself a big glass of red wine to go with the food.
The atmosphere was positively festive which made Bjorn almost embarrassed to think that he had suddenly felt so uncomfortable in the living room less than two hours earlier. "This is not a bad place at all, is it?" Bjorn thought to himself. "And they are definitely a friendly and polite bunch." And to encourage himself to be more positive in his view of things, he concluded his short lecture for himself. "This is far better than I had imagined," He thought. "So why not be a little more grateful over this unexpected bit of good fortune?"
Almost immediately after sitting down, Bjorn was bombarded by questions from his colleagues which served to underscore his deliberately positive view of his colleagues. They were all curious to hear what he had to say about Lundby, and genuinely interested in all he had to say. They were especially curious to hear about Ane's factory, which none of them had visited before. But Ante was also very curious to hear about the open air market, and everybody thought the replacement of perfectly good pavement with a Portuguese style cobbled stone alternative excessively extravagant, especially in light of the poor living conditions that most of the inhabitants were suffering under.
At one point, they all descended into a discussion on the environmental aspect of the fish processing plant, sparked by Bjorn's description of how all the waste was simply spewed directly and untreated into the water underneath the plant. They all agreed that this could not possibly be legal. But with the alternative being to send everything to China with no guarantee that the environment would be treated any better over there, they could not agree on the factory´s net effect on the global environment. The local environment would surely come under strain from Ane's careless waste treatment, but would things really be any better if the exact same was done in China?
This in turn brought up the idea of a global government. A government with global powers on environmental issues, but they all agreed that such a solution sounded too utopian, and that it had to be up to local governments all over the world to make sure that people like Ane could not go around polluting the environment without any kind of cost or consequence.
Having settled on a conclusion of sorts as far as the fish processing plant was concerned, the talk turned towards the planned outing on Friday night, with Ante raving about Nora's place for which he clearly had great expectations. And Frank was all enthusiastic about the casino, eagerly describing the place as he remembered it from an earlier visit.
Bjorn gathered from the talking that all of the men, except John, had been down in the village on one or more occasion. John, it seemed, was fearful of the village, and the enthusiastic raves by his colleagues made him only less eager to ever visit the place, which made Bjorn think that the young man might be fearful of a lot more than just the village. John, it seemed, was not only fearful of the village, he was fearful of himself.
The atmosphere was positively festive which made Bjorn almost embarrassed to think that he had suddenly felt so uncomfortable in the living room less than two hours earlier. "This is not a bad place at all, is it?" Bjorn thought to himself. "And they are definitely a friendly and polite bunch." And to encourage himself to be more positive in his view of things, he concluded his short lecture for himself. "This is far better than I had imagined," He thought. "So why not be a little more grateful over this unexpected bit of good fortune?"
Almost immediately after sitting down, Bjorn was bombarded by questions from his colleagues which served to underscore his deliberately positive view of his colleagues. They were all curious to hear what he had to say about Lundby, and genuinely interested in all he had to say. They were especially curious to hear about Ane's factory, which none of them had visited before. But Ante was also very curious to hear about the open air market, and everybody thought the replacement of perfectly good pavement with a Portuguese style cobbled stone alternative excessively extravagant, especially in light of the poor living conditions that most of the inhabitants were suffering under.
At one point, they all descended into a discussion on the environmental aspect of the fish processing plant, sparked by Bjorn's description of how all the waste was simply spewed directly and untreated into the water underneath the plant. They all agreed that this could not possibly be legal. But with the alternative being to send everything to China with no guarantee that the environment would be treated any better over there, they could not agree on the factory´s net effect on the global environment. The local environment would surely come under strain from Ane's careless waste treatment, but would things really be any better if the exact same was done in China?
This in turn brought up the idea of a global government. A government with global powers on environmental issues, but they all agreed that such a solution sounded too utopian, and that it had to be up to local governments all over the world to make sure that people like Ane could not go around polluting the environment without any kind of cost or consequence.
Having settled on a conclusion of sorts as far as the fish processing plant was concerned, the talk turned towards the planned outing on Friday night, with Ante raving about Nora's place for which he clearly had great expectations. And Frank was all enthusiastic about the casino, eagerly describing the place as he remembered it from an earlier visit.
Bjorn gathered from the talking that all of the men, except John, had been down in the village on one or more occasion. John, it seemed, was fearful of the village, and the enthusiastic raves by his colleagues made him only less eager to ever visit the place, which made Bjorn think that the young man might be fearful of a lot more than just the village. John, it seemed, was not only fearful of the village, he was fearful of himself.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
48
Bjorn turned on the PC. "Let's check the gold price," he thought to himself. "There were something about it in the news, something about it falling, and this being a sign of health in the economy." How exactly a falling gold price was a sign of health was not explained. But with TV news necessarily being brief, this was not unexpected. A comprehensive explanation on the relationship between gold and the economy would surely required more air time than a five minute slot in the daily news. However, a quick internet search might turn up some good articles on the subject.
Finding a graph of the gold price was not difficult. The first link he clicked on turned up a scalable one where he could zoom in to see the price fluctuations from minute to minute, real time, as well as the overall movement of gold over longer periods, all the way up to years and even decades. The long term trend was clearly upwards, but the last few years had seen the gold price fall, and the price had turned sharply lower over the last couple of days, falling as much as ten percent in less than a week.
"So I guess we have had a recovery in the economy over the last few years, then?" Bjorn thought sarcastically to himself, finding this very hard to believe with unemployment and poverty relentlessly on the rise during these same years. "And this latest drop is somehow proof that everything is rapidly improving?"
However, after some more searching, Bjorn found an article on gold, and its relationship to stock prices, pointing out the obvious fact that low gold prices necessarily mean that other assets measured against gold are valued higher. Very high stock prices relative to gold is an indication of euphoria among investors, while very low stock prices relative to gold is an indication of depression among investors. The article then went on to explain that gold is a better yard stick to measure investor sentiments than fiat currencies like the dollar, since the quantity of gold is relatively stable, while the quantity of dollars sometimes increase in leaps and bounds.
"Well that makes some sense," Bjorn thought to himself. "If gold functions as a yard stick for investor sentiments, then the latest drop in the price of gold combined with the stock market making new highs every day must be an indication of optimism among investors. But is optimism among investors necessarily a good indication of economic health? Could it not just as well be an indication of unsubstantiated euphoria?"
Bjorn read the article to the end, and could not from what he had read conclude that investor sentiment in itself had much to do with the state of the economy. "What really drives the economy is real investments made with real savings," the article concluded. And by real investments, the author meant machines, factories and education. And by real savings the author meant savings accumulated from productive labour. Money created out of nothing by simple fiat would, according to the author, do little more than distort the economy.
The article was clearly anti-establishment. But it was level headed and to the point. The author was critical of what he called the Keynesian School of Economics, embracing instead something he called the Austrian School of Economics. And the author certainly gave the impression of knowing what he was talking about. It was well written, to the point, and easy to understand. Surprisingly easy in fact, which made Bjorn a little suspicious of it possibly being over simplifying things quite a bit.
Leaning back in his chair and once again looking out over the village and the fjord, Bjorn's thoughts were drawn to Ane and her factory. Her factory was certainly a good example of something created from real savings. Her grandfather had put his life savings into it at one point, and apparently gone bankrupt. But somehow managed to save it for his granddaughter. The factory had all the elements described as real investments in the article. Even education, if on the job training could be considered education.
However, the workers were barely earning enough to stay alive. All the profits went directly into Ane's pockets, which could hardly be described as fair, or even healthy for the economy. The author of the article had not taken into account the human aspect of the economy, it seemed. Ane's greed for profits was pretty much a guarantee that her workers would never earn more than an absolute minimum.
But Bjorn could not help liking Ane despite her shameless greed. She was refreshingly direct and to the point. Very unsentimental, even when talking about her grandfather, who she had mentioned with a direct and to the point fondness. She made no secret of anything it seemed, and her forwardness in explaining things to Bjorn was generous and unashamed.
Then, in a flash, Bjorn remembered the heavy revolver strapped to Ane's thigh. He could not help it, but he thought it insanely sexy. She was after all a beautiful young woman, and the gun highlighted this by its obscene contrast to her feminine frame. The gun made her the queen of her estate in a primitive, shameless and sexual way.
Bjorn imagined her pulling the gun at him, and the thought made him ice cold and excited at the same time. "What a woman," he thought to himself. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, he heard two distant knocks.
"Dinner is served," a voice said, almost equally distant, and with this Bjorn was pulled out of his budding daydream.
"I'll be right there!" Bjorn replied, shaking off the light daze of imminent sleep interrupted.
Finding a graph of the gold price was not difficult. The first link he clicked on turned up a scalable one where he could zoom in to see the price fluctuations from minute to minute, real time, as well as the overall movement of gold over longer periods, all the way up to years and even decades. The long term trend was clearly upwards, but the last few years had seen the gold price fall, and the price had turned sharply lower over the last couple of days, falling as much as ten percent in less than a week.
"So I guess we have had a recovery in the economy over the last few years, then?" Bjorn thought sarcastically to himself, finding this very hard to believe with unemployment and poverty relentlessly on the rise during these same years. "And this latest drop is somehow proof that everything is rapidly improving?"
However, after some more searching, Bjorn found an article on gold, and its relationship to stock prices, pointing out the obvious fact that low gold prices necessarily mean that other assets measured against gold are valued higher. Very high stock prices relative to gold is an indication of euphoria among investors, while very low stock prices relative to gold is an indication of depression among investors. The article then went on to explain that gold is a better yard stick to measure investor sentiments than fiat currencies like the dollar, since the quantity of gold is relatively stable, while the quantity of dollars sometimes increase in leaps and bounds.
"Well that makes some sense," Bjorn thought to himself. "If gold functions as a yard stick for investor sentiments, then the latest drop in the price of gold combined with the stock market making new highs every day must be an indication of optimism among investors. But is optimism among investors necessarily a good indication of economic health? Could it not just as well be an indication of unsubstantiated euphoria?"
Bjorn read the article to the end, and could not from what he had read conclude that investor sentiment in itself had much to do with the state of the economy. "What really drives the economy is real investments made with real savings," the article concluded. And by real investments, the author meant machines, factories and education. And by real savings the author meant savings accumulated from productive labour. Money created out of nothing by simple fiat would, according to the author, do little more than distort the economy.
The article was clearly anti-establishment. But it was level headed and to the point. The author was critical of what he called the Keynesian School of Economics, embracing instead something he called the Austrian School of Economics. And the author certainly gave the impression of knowing what he was talking about. It was well written, to the point, and easy to understand. Surprisingly easy in fact, which made Bjorn a little suspicious of it possibly being over simplifying things quite a bit.
Leaning back in his chair and once again looking out over the village and the fjord, Bjorn's thoughts were drawn to Ane and her factory. Her factory was certainly a good example of something created from real savings. Her grandfather had put his life savings into it at one point, and apparently gone bankrupt. But somehow managed to save it for his granddaughter. The factory had all the elements described as real investments in the article. Even education, if on the job training could be considered education.
However, the workers were barely earning enough to stay alive. All the profits went directly into Ane's pockets, which could hardly be described as fair, or even healthy for the economy. The author of the article had not taken into account the human aspect of the economy, it seemed. Ane's greed for profits was pretty much a guarantee that her workers would never earn more than an absolute minimum.
But Bjorn could not help liking Ane despite her shameless greed. She was refreshingly direct and to the point. Very unsentimental, even when talking about her grandfather, who she had mentioned with a direct and to the point fondness. She made no secret of anything it seemed, and her forwardness in explaining things to Bjorn was generous and unashamed.
Then, in a flash, Bjorn remembered the heavy revolver strapped to Ane's thigh. He could not help it, but he thought it insanely sexy. She was after all a beautiful young woman, and the gun highlighted this by its obscene contrast to her feminine frame. The gun made her the queen of her estate in a primitive, shameless and sexual way.
Bjorn imagined her pulling the gun at him, and the thought made him ice cold and excited at the same time. "What a woman," he thought to himself. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, he heard two distant knocks.
"Dinner is served," a voice said, almost equally distant, and with this Bjorn was pulled out of his budding daydream.
"I'll be right there!" Bjorn replied, shaking off the light daze of imminent sleep interrupted.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
47
Bjorn folded the Gazette, and put it down on the coffee table in front of him. Seeing that it was still a little crumpled from having been in the pocket of his jacket, he gave it a few strokes with the back of his fingers. Then, looking over to his three colleagues, still waiting for Thomas, Bjorn was again struck by a sudden feeling of being lost in the world. Seemingly out of nowhere, he heard his inner voice once again ask critically of himself "why are you here?"
A sudden urge to have some time to himself gripped him, and so he rose from the sofa, excusing himself politely to his colleagues before heading to his room. Once there, he sat down in his office chair feeling strangely exhausted. He stared out of the window for a long while, letting his thoughts drift freely.
His lap top on the table in front of him remained closed, and the TV on his wall remained turned off. And the dead silence surrounding him felt soothing.
He was obviously tired from all the impressions of the day, but the recurring feeling of aimlessness was worrying. Not least because it reflected the truth. Bjorn's main motives for taking the job as a border guard were that it got him away from Oslo and that it required no special skills. He had no other reasons for being at the check point than that, and with no plans for the future he had effectively stopped thinking of his life as having any purpose or direction. This, as far as he was concerned, was the final stop of his journey.
Then, for some reason, he thought of the boy from Senegal again. His strangely positive attitude had made a strong impression on Bjorn. Clearly, the boy was convinced that circumstances would change, that things would get better. How else were he and his father able to deal with their terrible lot? And it struck Bjorn that he too had sensed an energetic excitement while down in the village. It had been quite an adventure, and the place was infected with a weird sense of optimism despite desperate conditions for most of its inhabitants.
It was the check point and his own lot that was depressing Bjorn. His sense of being aimlessly adrift had nothing to do with the village. In fact, the village was the only thing that seemed to promise something other than just an endless repetition of days with the same format and same content. Just knowing that he would soon return to the village to spend an evening out with his colleagues, going to a restaurant and probably to the casino as well, made everything seem worth while, even exiting.
While his own life was a mess and with no purpose, the village was a mystery, ready to be explored. "Who cares if life has no purpose," Bjorn thought to himself. "At least I have this village to decipher, and who knows, maybe I'll discover something significant. If nothing else, deciphering the village will be an interesting and pleasantly distracting undertaking." And with this in mind, Bjorn grabbed the casino chips he had in his pocket and spread them out on the table in front of him. "Gold backed casino chips," Bjorn thought to himself. "What a strange thing to use as money. Surely, using regular Norwegian Kroners, or US Dollars for that matter, would have been more practical."
A sudden urge to have some time to himself gripped him, and so he rose from the sofa, excusing himself politely to his colleagues before heading to his room. Once there, he sat down in his office chair feeling strangely exhausted. He stared out of the window for a long while, letting his thoughts drift freely.
His lap top on the table in front of him remained closed, and the TV on his wall remained turned off. And the dead silence surrounding him felt soothing.
He was obviously tired from all the impressions of the day, but the recurring feeling of aimlessness was worrying. Not least because it reflected the truth. Bjorn's main motives for taking the job as a border guard were that it got him away from Oslo and that it required no special skills. He had no other reasons for being at the check point than that, and with no plans for the future he had effectively stopped thinking of his life as having any purpose or direction. This, as far as he was concerned, was the final stop of his journey.
Then, for some reason, he thought of the boy from Senegal again. His strangely positive attitude had made a strong impression on Bjorn. Clearly, the boy was convinced that circumstances would change, that things would get better. How else were he and his father able to deal with their terrible lot? And it struck Bjorn that he too had sensed an energetic excitement while down in the village. It had been quite an adventure, and the place was infected with a weird sense of optimism despite desperate conditions for most of its inhabitants.
It was the check point and his own lot that was depressing Bjorn. His sense of being aimlessly adrift had nothing to do with the village. In fact, the village was the only thing that seemed to promise something other than just an endless repetition of days with the same format and same content. Just knowing that he would soon return to the village to spend an evening out with his colleagues, going to a restaurant and probably to the casino as well, made everything seem worth while, even exiting.
While his own life was a mess and with no purpose, the village was a mystery, ready to be explored. "Who cares if life has no purpose," Bjorn thought to himself. "At least I have this village to decipher, and who knows, maybe I'll discover something significant. If nothing else, deciphering the village will be an interesting and pleasantly distracting undertaking." And with this in mind, Bjorn grabbed the casino chips he had in his pocket and spread them out on the table in front of him. "Gold backed casino chips," Bjorn thought to himself. "What a strange thing to use as money. Surely, using regular Norwegian Kroners, or US Dollars for that matter, would have been more practical."
Thursday, April 17, 2014
46
Frank got up from his easy chair, and followed Geir over to the doorway on Geir's way out. Then, sitting down with Espen and John over at the table with the deck of cards ready for their bridge playing session, he asked his colleagues if they had seen the news about Lundby. When they said they hadn't, Frank turned briefly to Bjorn to have him confirm that Lundby had actually been mentioned by name on TV.
"Sure," Bjorn said, still sitting in the sofa with the Gazette in his hand. "But its hardly the first time. It's not like it is a big secret that there is going to be a single asylum seeker centre up here."
"Well, yes and no," Frank retorted. "Compared to the war in Libya, and even the never ending mess in Syria, we're hardly being mentioned."
Bjorn shook his head thoughtfully. "It's not like there is a war going on up here. What is there really to say?"
"So, what did they say on the news," Espen asked, turning to Frank and ignoring Bjorn's rhetorical question.
Frank gave his interpretation of what he had seen, and since it was factually correct, Bjorn did not bother to interfere in the conversation. Instead, he turned his attention once again to his newspaper, only paying scant attention to what his colleagues were saying. From the little he heard, he gathered that both Frank and John were convinced that the Lundby experiment would eventually turn violent, and while Frank sounded rather exited about such an outcome, John sounded fearful. Espen on the other hand could not quite see a violent uprising coming out of such an isolated place. "They would be massacred on their way to Neiden," he said calmly and sensibly. "And if they tried to escape by boat, they would be sunk long before they managed to reach Kirkenes, or any other place for that matter."
"Or they would simply succumb to the cold and starvation," Bjorn thought to himself. "No one will ever successfully escape the village. Certainly not through violent means." And then his thoughts went briefly to the kid from Senegal, and the hopeless situation he and his father had gotten themselves into. "They are not going to get asylum in Norway, and there is no way they will ever get enough money to return to Senegal," he thought. "They are stuck, plain and simple. Imagine, coming from sunny Senegal and then get stuck up here."
Bjorn looked out of the window where he could see no let up in the low hanging clouds drifting in from the Barents Sea. Then, focusing again on his newspaper, he finished the last couple of paragraphs of the article on the bowling alley before leafing idly through two pages of advertisements.
There was no big and immediately recognizable difference in the ads in this copy of the Gazette compared to the previous one. The casino and Pingo were both generously represented, and the casino did not hide the fact that just about anything goes. Gambling and light entertainment was of course the main focus of the ad, but prostitution, and even recreational drugs were hinted at as being available for those seeking such vices. However, the casino ad was put together in such a way that it did not say straight out that this was available. Only a closer look at the ad's collage of images gave the hint of this.
However, smaller, more to the point offerings of sex for money, listed directly under the casino ad added to the general feeling of anything goes. And to Bjorn's surprise, there were even an ad making no secret of their business being recreational drugs. The ad was not very big, and Bjorn might have overlooked it in the previous copy of the Gazette, but the message was unmistakable. "The Sky is Not the Limit," it said. "Get your recreational drugs at David's Pharmacy." A small map indicated that the pharmacy was located next to the church, on the street running parallel to the village square.
There were also all sorts of other small ads in the paper, such as rooms for rent, houses for sale, and various taxi and delivery services, but none of this came as any big surprise to Bjorn who had seen first hand the hustle and bustle in and around the village square. But an ad shamelessly promoting recreational drugs was something Bjorn had never seen before.
"Sure," Bjorn said, still sitting in the sofa with the Gazette in his hand. "But its hardly the first time. It's not like it is a big secret that there is going to be a single asylum seeker centre up here."
"Well, yes and no," Frank retorted. "Compared to the war in Libya, and even the never ending mess in Syria, we're hardly being mentioned."
Bjorn shook his head thoughtfully. "It's not like there is a war going on up here. What is there really to say?"
"So, what did they say on the news," Espen asked, turning to Frank and ignoring Bjorn's rhetorical question.
Frank gave his interpretation of what he had seen, and since it was factually correct, Bjorn did not bother to interfere in the conversation. Instead, he turned his attention once again to his newspaper, only paying scant attention to what his colleagues were saying. From the little he heard, he gathered that both Frank and John were convinced that the Lundby experiment would eventually turn violent, and while Frank sounded rather exited about such an outcome, John sounded fearful. Espen on the other hand could not quite see a violent uprising coming out of such an isolated place. "They would be massacred on their way to Neiden," he said calmly and sensibly. "And if they tried to escape by boat, they would be sunk long before they managed to reach Kirkenes, or any other place for that matter."
"Or they would simply succumb to the cold and starvation," Bjorn thought to himself. "No one will ever successfully escape the village. Certainly not through violent means." And then his thoughts went briefly to the kid from Senegal, and the hopeless situation he and his father had gotten themselves into. "They are not going to get asylum in Norway, and there is no way they will ever get enough money to return to Senegal," he thought. "They are stuck, plain and simple. Imagine, coming from sunny Senegal and then get stuck up here."
Bjorn looked out of the window where he could see no let up in the low hanging clouds drifting in from the Barents Sea. Then, focusing again on his newspaper, he finished the last couple of paragraphs of the article on the bowling alley before leafing idly through two pages of advertisements.
There was no big and immediately recognizable difference in the ads in this copy of the Gazette compared to the previous one. The casino and Pingo were both generously represented, and the casino did not hide the fact that just about anything goes. Gambling and light entertainment was of course the main focus of the ad, but prostitution, and even recreational drugs were hinted at as being available for those seeking such vices. However, the casino ad was put together in such a way that it did not say straight out that this was available. Only a closer look at the ad's collage of images gave the hint of this.
However, smaller, more to the point offerings of sex for money, listed directly under the casino ad added to the general feeling of anything goes. And to Bjorn's surprise, there were even an ad making no secret of their business being recreational drugs. The ad was not very big, and Bjorn might have overlooked it in the previous copy of the Gazette, but the message was unmistakable. "The Sky is Not the Limit," it said. "Get your recreational drugs at David's Pharmacy." A small map indicated that the pharmacy was located next to the church, on the street running parallel to the village square.
There were also all sorts of other small ads in the paper, such as rooms for rent, houses for sale, and various taxi and delivery services, but none of this came as any big surprise to Bjorn who had seen first hand the hustle and bustle in and around the village square. But an ad shamelessly promoting recreational drugs was something Bjorn had never seen before.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
45
Bjorn turned his attention back to the newspaper, and was busy reading an article on a new bowling alley being built in an old storehouse located close to the casino when the four o´clock news started on TV. Being more interested in what the Gazette could reveal about Lundby and its economy than what the national broadcaster had to say, he kept on reading the article, locking out the background chatter from the TV until Frank suddenly broke his concentration.
"Hey Bjorn! They are talking about us!" Frank said in a loud proud voice.
Bjorn looked up from the newspaper.
"... lack of control and transparency," a male voice said while a map of the Lundby area illustrated how far north and isolated it was. "No one should be forced to move up there."
The map disappeared, and was replaced by a live image of a female interviewer and a middle aged man dressed up as if he was some sort of punk rocker from the eighties. In the background, a small group of protesters were waving banners and holding up signs saying things like "Shut Down the Gulag", "We are All Human" and "Life and Liberty Before Profits".
The protestors were gathered in front of a gated property with several houses with numerous people peering out of windows, and hanging out their own banners in way of protest.
"The new asylum policy is simply inhumane," the punk rocker continued.
"But isn't it too late to do anything about this now?"
"It is never too late to stop this kind of fascism. We need to bring awareness to what's going on, and we will not stop until dignity and justice is restored to those seeking protection by our government."
"But in this particular case, we are talking about people who have had their asylum application rejected. Closing this particular centre and letting them choose whether to go to Lundby or back where they came from is actually giving them more choice, not less."
"The choice they are faced with is between the plague and cholera. It is no choice at all. Most of these people would have been given asylum under the old rules, so we are not only protesting the Lundby project, which is clearly outrageous, but also the change in procedures that our fascist government has put in place."
"But the decision to relocate all asylum seekers to a single centre in the north is hugely popular with most Norwegians. Do you really think you will be able to revert this policy?"
"Yes we do. Most people know deep down that there is something very immoral and wrong with this whole project, and once we manage to expose the true nature of what is going on up in Lundby, I am sure popular opinion will be turned firmly against it."
The interview ended abruptly on this optimistic note, and the anchor woman thanked the interviewer for her contribution without the interviewer having a chance to respond. Up next was a piece on the inauguration of the ex-prime minister as the new head of NATO, followed by some economic news with a piece dedicated to the falling gold price which was seen as proof of an imminent recovery of the world economy.
"Why did they choose Jens as new head of NATO?" Bjorn wondered out loud the moment Frank turned off the TV set.
"Well, he did lead our government for two terms in a row, and he got plenty of political experience," Frank replied.
"But he's not much of a fighter is he?" Bjorn continued. "Whenever there was a conflict he just disappeared for days on end until the dust settled. He was little more than a figure head."
"I liked him," Geir interjected. "He managed to hold the coalition together. You have to give him credit for that."
"Sure, but he was fiercely anti-NATO in his youth. He's a pacifist at heart, don´t you think?"
"People change," Geir replied thoughtfully. "But you're right, he is not exactly a great military leader."
"It is a bit strange," Frank conceded. "Odd choice for a leader of a military organization. Our foreign minister would have been a more natural choice. He is at least actively making military decisions on Libya these days."
"Yeah," Geir said with a big smile. "He's really showing those rag heads who's boss, isn't he?"
"He is pretty much running the whole government if you ask me," Bjorn added in agreement.
The conversation would have continued had it not been for Espen and John appearing in the doorway, wondering if there would be the regular card playing session despite the change in daily routines caused by Bjorn and Geir's visit to Lundby.
"Well, Thomas is still in the glass cage," Frank responded. Then turning to Geir he asked if he could take over for Thomas for an hour or two so that the four card players could get together for their regular session.
"Well, I still have three hours of service to complete for today," Geir replied. "I might as well take that now."
"Hey Bjorn! They are talking about us!" Frank said in a loud proud voice.
Bjorn looked up from the newspaper.
"... lack of control and transparency," a male voice said while a map of the Lundby area illustrated how far north and isolated it was. "No one should be forced to move up there."
The map disappeared, and was replaced by a live image of a female interviewer and a middle aged man dressed up as if he was some sort of punk rocker from the eighties. In the background, a small group of protesters were waving banners and holding up signs saying things like "Shut Down the Gulag", "We are All Human" and "Life and Liberty Before Profits".
The protestors were gathered in front of a gated property with several houses with numerous people peering out of windows, and hanging out their own banners in way of protest.
"The new asylum policy is simply inhumane," the punk rocker continued.
"But isn't it too late to do anything about this now?"
"It is never too late to stop this kind of fascism. We need to bring awareness to what's going on, and we will not stop until dignity and justice is restored to those seeking protection by our government."
"But in this particular case, we are talking about people who have had their asylum application rejected. Closing this particular centre and letting them choose whether to go to Lundby or back where they came from is actually giving them more choice, not less."
"The choice they are faced with is between the plague and cholera. It is no choice at all. Most of these people would have been given asylum under the old rules, so we are not only protesting the Lundby project, which is clearly outrageous, but also the change in procedures that our fascist government has put in place."
"But the decision to relocate all asylum seekers to a single centre in the north is hugely popular with most Norwegians. Do you really think you will be able to revert this policy?"
"Yes we do. Most people know deep down that there is something very immoral and wrong with this whole project, and once we manage to expose the true nature of what is going on up in Lundby, I am sure popular opinion will be turned firmly against it."
The interview ended abruptly on this optimistic note, and the anchor woman thanked the interviewer for her contribution without the interviewer having a chance to respond. Up next was a piece on the inauguration of the ex-prime minister as the new head of NATO, followed by some economic news with a piece dedicated to the falling gold price which was seen as proof of an imminent recovery of the world economy.
"Why did they choose Jens as new head of NATO?" Bjorn wondered out loud the moment Frank turned off the TV set.
"Well, he did lead our government for two terms in a row, and he got plenty of political experience," Frank replied.
"But he's not much of a fighter is he?" Bjorn continued. "Whenever there was a conflict he just disappeared for days on end until the dust settled. He was little more than a figure head."
"I liked him," Geir interjected. "He managed to hold the coalition together. You have to give him credit for that."
"Sure, but he was fiercely anti-NATO in his youth. He's a pacifist at heart, don´t you think?"
"People change," Geir replied thoughtfully. "But you're right, he is not exactly a great military leader."
"It is a bit strange," Frank conceded. "Odd choice for a leader of a military organization. Our foreign minister would have been a more natural choice. He is at least actively making military decisions on Libya these days."
"Yeah," Geir said with a big smile. "He's really showing those rag heads who's boss, isn't he?"
"He is pretty much running the whole government if you ask me," Bjorn added in agreement.
The conversation would have continued had it not been for Espen and John appearing in the doorway, wondering if there would be the regular card playing session despite the change in daily routines caused by Bjorn and Geir's visit to Lundby.
"Well, Thomas is still in the glass cage," Frank responded. Then turning to Geir he asked if he could take over for Thomas for an hour or two so that the four card players could get together for their regular session.
"Well, I still have three hours of service to complete for today," Geir replied. "I might as well take that now."
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
44
Bjorn hung off his coat in the hallway before going into the living room, leaving Ante to clean and dice vegetables in the kitchen. He pulled out the crumpled copy of the Lundby Gazette from his pocket as he left his jacket behind, and sat down in the sofa next to the large window with a view of Lundby, half hidden behind the near hill.
A football match was playing on the TV in the corner, and Frank and Geir were sitting in front of it in their separate easy chairs, watching it while talking softly about Ane's factory. Bjorn did not bother to listen in on their conversation, un-crumpling the newspaper instead.
Bjorn scanned the article on the imminent influx of asylum seekers to Lundby until he reached the point were he had stopped reading it while down in the village, and while doing this he noticed how the grammar was much improved from the previous copy of the newspaper. This latest copy was far easier and more pleasant to read.
Reading on from where he had stopped, Bjorn learned that the old military airport would be opened the next week to handle the immigration, and that "special arrangements" were being put in place to make sure any criminal elements would be "identified and neutralized". There was no mention, however, of what exactly the special arrangements and neutralization entailed.
This was all new to Bjorn, and curious to know how much of this was known to his colleagues, he asked Frank about the airport and the screening that evidently was going to take place down there.
"Yep, that's true," Frank replied. "The airport is going to open on Thursday, and we will have to go down there on Wednesday to make sure everything is in order."
"And what about the special arrangements put in place for the immigrants?" Bjorn asked.
"I have no idea. As long as they do not break the terms of our agreement, it's all up to them what they do with the refugees."
"And what exactly are these terms?"
"I believe they agreed to comply with the UN rules on the matter. Isn't that so Geir?"
Geir nodded. "Which leaves the field wide open, apparently," he added. "You've seen how they are treating the people already there, haven't you?"
"And now they're going to add another layer of misery to it all?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"Apparently," Geir answered. "But on the up side, I'm sure that will cut down even more on how many people come to Norway begging for asylum."
A football match was playing on the TV in the corner, and Frank and Geir were sitting in front of it in their separate easy chairs, watching it while talking softly about Ane's factory. Bjorn did not bother to listen in on their conversation, un-crumpling the newspaper instead.
Bjorn scanned the article on the imminent influx of asylum seekers to Lundby until he reached the point were he had stopped reading it while down in the village, and while doing this he noticed how the grammar was much improved from the previous copy of the newspaper. This latest copy was far easier and more pleasant to read.
Reading on from where he had stopped, Bjorn learned that the old military airport would be opened the next week to handle the immigration, and that "special arrangements" were being put in place to make sure any criminal elements would be "identified and neutralized". There was no mention, however, of what exactly the special arrangements and neutralization entailed.
This was all new to Bjorn, and curious to know how much of this was known to his colleagues, he asked Frank about the airport and the screening that evidently was going to take place down there.
"Yep, that's true," Frank replied. "The airport is going to open on Thursday, and we will have to go down there on Wednesday to make sure everything is in order."
"And what about the special arrangements put in place for the immigrants?" Bjorn asked.
"I have no idea. As long as they do not break the terms of our agreement, it's all up to them what they do with the refugees."
"And what exactly are these terms?"
"I believe they agreed to comply with the UN rules on the matter. Isn't that so Geir?"
Geir nodded. "Which leaves the field wide open, apparently," he added. "You've seen how they are treating the people already there, haven't you?"
"And now they're going to add another layer of misery to it all?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"Apparently," Geir answered. "But on the up side, I'm sure that will cut down even more on how many people come to Norway begging for asylum."
Monday, April 14, 2014
43
Bjorn carried the vegetables, cheese and wine into the kitchen where he found Ante busy preparing two large roasts for dinner.
"Here´s your groceries, debit card and receipt," Bjorn said with a smile, putting everything onto the large dining table occupying the centre of the room.
"Great! And how did you like the place," Ante replied, giving Bjorn only a brief glance before continuing the process of marinating the meat.
"Well, it certainly is a strange place."
"You liked it though, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did. But it is a desperate place, isn't it? At least for some."
Ante didn't respond to this, turning instead to the basin where he washed his hands briefly before going over to the groceries left on the table by Bjorn.
"Not a bad catch for so little money, don't you think?" Ante asked while checking the receipt.
"It's unbelievable," Bjorn agreed. "Here we are, way up in the arctic, with everything priced as if we were in some southern European country."
"And have you seen the price of the cheese?" Ante asked with a sly smile.
"Yeah, I was wondering about that. Those are Norwegian cheeses, but the prices are just a fraction of what they are in Oslo."
"You know why, don't you?"
"Well, there is no taxes on anything," Bjorn ventured.
"No, that's the wine. No alcohol tax and no sales tax. The cheeses are subsidised."
Ante was quite enthusiastic about this fact and continued eagerly on his explanation. "The colony is not only tax exempt, it gets all its food from abroad, so we get the double advantage of not having to pay any taxes while having tax payers fork over money to us whenever we buy stuff with export subsidies."
"Really?" Bjorn asked, not sure if this was something to celebrate.
"Yeah! And we all benefit from this since the food budget is fixed according to Oslo prices," Ante continued. "The combination of no taxes and export subsidies is what allows us to live like royalty here on the base while military bases all over the country are cutting back on everything due to the crisis."
Bjorn nodded and smiled as this was explained to him. "I must say I was expecting something less extravagant when I came here, especially in light of the news stories about military personnel driven to their wits end, and almost revolting due to the cutbacks."
"Here´s your groceries, debit card and receipt," Bjorn said with a smile, putting everything onto the large dining table occupying the centre of the room.
"Great! And how did you like the place," Ante replied, giving Bjorn only a brief glance before continuing the process of marinating the meat.
"Well, it certainly is a strange place."
"You liked it though, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did. But it is a desperate place, isn't it? At least for some."
Ante didn't respond to this, turning instead to the basin where he washed his hands briefly before going over to the groceries left on the table by Bjorn.
"Not a bad catch for so little money, don't you think?" Ante asked while checking the receipt.
"It's unbelievable," Bjorn agreed. "Here we are, way up in the arctic, with everything priced as if we were in some southern European country."
"And have you seen the price of the cheese?" Ante asked with a sly smile.
"Yeah, I was wondering about that. Those are Norwegian cheeses, but the prices are just a fraction of what they are in Oslo."
"You know why, don't you?"
"Well, there is no taxes on anything," Bjorn ventured.
"No, that's the wine. No alcohol tax and no sales tax. The cheeses are subsidised."
Ante was quite enthusiastic about this fact and continued eagerly on his explanation. "The colony is not only tax exempt, it gets all its food from abroad, so we get the double advantage of not having to pay any taxes while having tax payers fork over money to us whenever we buy stuff with export subsidies."
"Really?" Bjorn asked, not sure if this was something to celebrate.
"Yeah! And we all benefit from this since the food budget is fixed according to Oslo prices," Ante continued. "The combination of no taxes and export subsidies is what allows us to live like royalty here on the base while military bases all over the country are cutting back on everything due to the crisis."
Bjorn nodded and smiled as this was explained to him. "I must say I was expecting something less extravagant when I came here, especially in light of the news stories about military personnel driven to their wits end, and almost revolting due to the cutbacks."
Friday, April 4, 2014
42
Geir paid for the petrol with Ante's debit card. The man operating the pump, typed in the price to be paid on a small handheld device, and all Geir had to do before leaving the petrol station was to type in the pin code to execute the transaction.
"It's not really Ante's debit card, is it?" Bjorn asked as Geir drove back into the street. "It's more like a common card for all of us at the check point, for groceries and petrol and stuff, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess I shouldn't call it Ante's card when it really is our card. But Ante is the one administrating our food budget, and he's the one who got hold of it. He's responsible for it. But, you're right. It isn't Ante's personal account we're dipping into when we're using it."
Bjorn caught sight of the captain from the fishing boat, heading for the tiny market in the middle of the square, together with some of his crew members, just as Geir pressed the accelerator, heading back in the direction of the check point. "What a strange place this is," Bjorn thought to himself. "Terrible wage conditions, civilians carrying guns, a casino, no taxes on food, wine, or petrol. And people not even using real money, but casino tokens instead."
"So, what's with the wine?" Bjorn asked, taking another quick look at the receipt from Pingo which he had been absentmindedly fingering since he sat down in the car. "It's kind of un-Norwegian to drink wine at a military base, isn't it?"
"It sure is," Geir replied. "It's not even legal."
"That's what I thought too. So why isn't Frank putting his foot down?"
"Because he likes it... He's a bit of an alcoholic."
"Really?"
"He and Ante," Geir continued. "Ever since Ante started buying food from Pingo, wine has been constantly available at the base."
"And you're not tempted to report this?" Bjorn asked.
"I am, but it wouldn't be very popular."
Bjorn nodded in agreement. He liked Ante and his wine, and would not be very happy himself if Geir was to spoil the little pleasures provided by Ante.
"It's not really Ante's debit card, is it?" Bjorn asked as Geir drove back into the street. "It's more like a common card for all of us at the check point, for groceries and petrol and stuff, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess I shouldn't call it Ante's card when it really is our card. But Ante is the one administrating our food budget, and he's the one who got hold of it. He's responsible for it. But, you're right. It isn't Ante's personal account we're dipping into when we're using it."
Bjorn caught sight of the captain from the fishing boat, heading for the tiny market in the middle of the square, together with some of his crew members, just as Geir pressed the accelerator, heading back in the direction of the check point. "What a strange place this is," Bjorn thought to himself. "Terrible wage conditions, civilians carrying guns, a casino, no taxes on food, wine, or petrol. And people not even using real money, but casino tokens instead."
"So, what's with the wine?" Bjorn asked, taking another quick look at the receipt from Pingo which he had been absentmindedly fingering since he sat down in the car. "It's kind of un-Norwegian to drink wine at a military base, isn't it?"
"It sure is," Geir replied. "It's not even legal."
"That's what I thought too. So why isn't Frank putting his foot down?"
"Because he likes it... He's a bit of an alcoholic."
"Really?"
"He and Ante," Geir continued. "Ever since Ante started buying food from Pingo, wine has been constantly available at the base."
"And you're not tempted to report this?" Bjorn asked.
"I am, but it wouldn't be very popular."
Bjorn nodded in agreement. He liked Ante and his wine, and would not be very happy himself if Geir was to spoil the little pleasures provided by Ante.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
41
Bjorn could not help admiring the boy's optimism in the face of the hopeless situation he and his father had gotten themselves into. With the minimal wages paid by Ane, neither the boy nor his father were likely to see their family in Senegal again any time soon. Certainly not as long as they were sending whatever little extra they were making back to their loved ones.
"Here is five MG for your help," Bjorn said, fishing out the smallest chip he could find from his pocket. "Keep the change!"
"Thank you," the boy replied, suddenly switching to Norwegian, and grinning from ear to ear.
"So you speak Norwegian, do you?" Bjorn asked, also switching to Norwegian.
"A little, I lived almost six months in Oslo before we got busted and sent up here."
Bjorn found the boy's story fascinating while Geir clearly found it less so. Impatient to get going, Geir demonstratively got into the car while Bjorn exchanged a final few words with the boy, encouraging him to keep up his Norwegian, and wishing him good luck for the future.
When the boy finally left, heading back to the village square, Bjorn discovered that he was holding the receipt from Pingo in his hand, and he was for a moment surprised by this before remembering that he had absentmindedly picked it out of one of the bags when putting away the groceries in the trunk of the car. He scanned the receipt briefly before entering the car, seating himself in the passenger seat next to Geir.
"That's interesting," Bjorn said, as Geir started the engine. "This receipt from Pingo has a field for the sales tax, and it is set to zero."
"And?" Geir asked with an irritated tone of voice that Bjorn chose to ignore.
"Well, it means that king Pedro is not collecting any taxes on the food. So we still don't know how he's making any money on this project."
"Maybe he owns Pingo," Geir suggested.
"You think he went to all this trouble just to open a grocery store in the arctic?" Bjorn asked mockingly.
"I don't know," Geir replied, even more irritated. "And you know... I don't really care either."
A bus had stopped to let out a fairly large number of passengers right next to the parking lot, and it took some maneuvering on Geir's part to avoid the many pedestrians crossing the road. Then, he drove the car over to the petrol station where a man greeted them at the pump. Geir rolled down the window on his side, and asked the man to fill up the tank.
"You don't see that very often anymore," Bjorn remarked as the man went ahead with the business of filling their tank with petrol. "In fact, I can't remember having seen this kind of service since I was a kid."
"We have thankfully progressed from back then," Geir countered while tapping the steering wheel lazily with his hand.
"Yeah," Bjorn agreed. "It is not hard to come up with this kind of services when salaries are close to zero."
"Exactly!" Geir nodded. "We have come a long way since the seventies."
"Here is five MG for your help," Bjorn said, fishing out the smallest chip he could find from his pocket. "Keep the change!"
"Thank you," the boy replied, suddenly switching to Norwegian, and grinning from ear to ear.
"So you speak Norwegian, do you?" Bjorn asked, also switching to Norwegian.
"A little, I lived almost six months in Oslo before we got busted and sent up here."
Bjorn found the boy's story fascinating while Geir clearly found it less so. Impatient to get going, Geir demonstratively got into the car while Bjorn exchanged a final few words with the boy, encouraging him to keep up his Norwegian, and wishing him good luck for the future.
When the boy finally left, heading back to the village square, Bjorn discovered that he was holding the receipt from Pingo in his hand, and he was for a moment surprised by this before remembering that he had absentmindedly picked it out of one of the bags when putting away the groceries in the trunk of the car. He scanned the receipt briefly before entering the car, seating himself in the passenger seat next to Geir.
"That's interesting," Bjorn said, as Geir started the engine. "This receipt from Pingo has a field for the sales tax, and it is set to zero."
"And?" Geir asked with an irritated tone of voice that Bjorn chose to ignore.
"Well, it means that king Pedro is not collecting any taxes on the food. So we still don't know how he's making any money on this project."
"Maybe he owns Pingo," Geir suggested.
"You think he went to all this trouble just to open a grocery store in the arctic?" Bjorn asked mockingly.
"I don't know," Geir replied, even more irritated. "And you know... I don't really care either."
A bus had stopped to let out a fairly large number of passengers right next to the parking lot, and it took some maneuvering on Geir's part to avoid the many pedestrians crossing the road. Then, he drove the car over to the petrol station where a man greeted them at the pump. Geir rolled down the window on his side, and asked the man to fill up the tank.
"You don't see that very often anymore," Bjorn remarked as the man went ahead with the business of filling their tank with petrol. "In fact, I can't remember having seen this kind of service since I was a kid."
"We have thankfully progressed from back then," Geir countered while tapping the steering wheel lazily with his hand.
"Yeah," Bjorn agreed. "It is not hard to come up with this kind of services when salaries are close to zero."
"Exactly!" Geir nodded. "We have come a long way since the seventies."
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
40
Bjorn felt strangely exited as he stepped out into the grey outdoors together with Geir, with a bag containing three wine bottles in one hand and a bag full of carrots and cheeses in the other. Everything about the village felt both strange and familiar at the same time. Its exotic foreignness contrasting sharply with the drab predictability of its arctic setting.
A light drizzle had started once again, and Bjorn felt a sting of pity for the merchants out on the market place, struggling to keep their wares dry by covering their flimsy make shift stalls as best they could. An enterprising merchant had hammered together a roof of sorts, covered with canvas, which he slid into place with the help of three teenage kids. The others simply covered their wares with large sheets of transparent plastic.
Everything about the village seemed ad hock and badly planned. But there was no sign of despair anywhere. People seemed to accept their lot, some even with visible enthusiasm.
"You need help carrying that?" a tall black teenager asked, appearing out of nowhere.
"No," Bjorn answered instinctively, feeling uncomfortable by the sudden and uncalled for attention.
"One MG, and I'll carry it all the way home for you," the teenager insisted.
"One MG?" Bjorn asked, surprised by the miniscule amount asked for. Then, still feeling uncomfortable, he excused himself by saying he didn't carry such small change.
"That's all right," the youth continued. "I got change for as much as twenty MG." And he held up a handful of tiny casino tokens to prove his point.
The teenager smiled broadly as he nagged Bjorn once more, insisting on helping him carry the bags.
"You heard him, didn't you?" Geir said with an aggressive tone of voice, clearly in an effort to help Bjorn rid himself of the teenager.
"But you're not helping him, are you?" the teenager insisted, pointing out that Bjorn was carrying two bags, while Geir was not carrying any.
"He's my assistant," Geir proclaimed proudly. "Now, go away, will you."
"Is that so?" the teenager asked, looking at Bjorn with a mocking smile.
"Yeah," Bjorn admitted reluctantly. "But you know what?" he continued. "Why don't you carry these bags for me over to our car up there at the parking lot."
The teenager broke out in a big smile, took the bags, and started strolling in the direction of the parking lot, alongside the two men. Geir hissed a Norwegian curse. "Don't feed the stray dogs," he said, lecturing Bjorn on his mistake. "You'll never get rid of him now."
But Bjorn ignored Geir's whisper, turning to the boy instead.
"So where are you from?" Bjorn asked. "Your English is very good."
"Thanks! I'm from Senegal."
"Really? And you speak English in Senegal?"
"No. We speak French. I learned English at school."
"Comes in handy up here, doesn't it? Not very many people speak French here, do they."
"Quite a few do, actually. But English is the language that everybody understands."
"It is, isn't it?" Bjorn agreed. "And you are here with family?"
"I'm here with my father. My mother and sisters are back home in Senegal."
Bjorn had no idea where Senegal was, and completely clueless to its language, history or culture, he wondered out loud why someone would want to leave sunny Africa for the arctic.
"We were sent up here from Oslo, just the other day," the boy explained. "My father was working for a cleaning agency. But they got busted."
"Really? So you are not looking for asylum."
"Officially we are. But we are really just looking for work."
"Officially?" Bjorn asked, curious to learn about the boy's and his father's thinking.
"Well, with the new rules and all, we knew that we would be sent up here for free if we asked for asylum. So when my father got busted, he asked for asylum, and we got sent up here."
"But that´s hardly an improvement on what you had, is it?"
"We would have preferred to stay in Oslo. But since that isn't an option any longer, my father figured we'd try our luck up here."
"And how is that working out so far?"
"Not very well," the boy had to admit. "But at least my father still has a job."
"He does? Where?"
"At the fish processing plant."
"Not making very much money, is he?" Bjorn asked, looking for a confirmation for his quiet outrage over Ane's terrible wage policy.
"No, it is much less than what he used to get in Oslo. But it is still better than no job at all. And my father and I still have enough to send some money home to the family."
"Really? How is that possible?" Bjorn asked, genuinely surprised.
"We don't spend much money on ourselves."
"Clearly..." Bjorn nodded in confirmation.
"But things will get better," the boy concluded optimistically as they reached the car at the parking lot. "A lot better."
A light drizzle had started once again, and Bjorn felt a sting of pity for the merchants out on the market place, struggling to keep their wares dry by covering their flimsy make shift stalls as best they could. An enterprising merchant had hammered together a roof of sorts, covered with canvas, which he slid into place with the help of three teenage kids. The others simply covered their wares with large sheets of transparent plastic.
Everything about the village seemed ad hock and badly planned. But there was no sign of despair anywhere. People seemed to accept their lot, some even with visible enthusiasm.
"You need help carrying that?" a tall black teenager asked, appearing out of nowhere.
"No," Bjorn answered instinctively, feeling uncomfortable by the sudden and uncalled for attention.
"One MG, and I'll carry it all the way home for you," the teenager insisted.
"One MG?" Bjorn asked, surprised by the miniscule amount asked for. Then, still feeling uncomfortable, he excused himself by saying he didn't carry such small change.
"That's all right," the youth continued. "I got change for as much as twenty MG." And he held up a handful of tiny casino tokens to prove his point.
The teenager smiled broadly as he nagged Bjorn once more, insisting on helping him carry the bags.
"You heard him, didn't you?" Geir said with an aggressive tone of voice, clearly in an effort to help Bjorn rid himself of the teenager.
"But you're not helping him, are you?" the teenager insisted, pointing out that Bjorn was carrying two bags, while Geir was not carrying any.
"He's my assistant," Geir proclaimed proudly. "Now, go away, will you."
"Is that so?" the teenager asked, looking at Bjorn with a mocking smile.
"Yeah," Bjorn admitted reluctantly. "But you know what?" he continued. "Why don't you carry these bags for me over to our car up there at the parking lot."
The teenager broke out in a big smile, took the bags, and started strolling in the direction of the parking lot, alongside the two men. Geir hissed a Norwegian curse. "Don't feed the stray dogs," he said, lecturing Bjorn on his mistake. "You'll never get rid of him now."
But Bjorn ignored Geir's whisper, turning to the boy instead.
"So where are you from?" Bjorn asked. "Your English is very good."
"Thanks! I'm from Senegal."
"Really? And you speak English in Senegal?"
"No. We speak French. I learned English at school."
"Comes in handy up here, doesn't it? Not very many people speak French here, do they."
"Quite a few do, actually. But English is the language that everybody understands."
"It is, isn't it?" Bjorn agreed. "And you are here with family?"
"I'm here with my father. My mother and sisters are back home in Senegal."
Bjorn had no idea where Senegal was, and completely clueless to its language, history or culture, he wondered out loud why someone would want to leave sunny Africa for the arctic.
"We were sent up here from Oslo, just the other day," the boy explained. "My father was working for a cleaning agency. But they got busted."
"Really? So you are not looking for asylum."
"Officially we are. But we are really just looking for work."
"Officially?" Bjorn asked, curious to learn about the boy's and his father's thinking.
"Well, with the new rules and all, we knew that we would be sent up here for free if we asked for asylum. So when my father got busted, he asked for asylum, and we got sent up here."
"But that´s hardly an improvement on what you had, is it?"
"We would have preferred to stay in Oslo. But since that isn't an option any longer, my father figured we'd try our luck up here."
"And how is that working out so far?"
"Not very well," the boy had to admit. "But at least my father still has a job."
"He does? Where?"
"At the fish processing plant."
"Not making very much money, is he?" Bjorn asked, looking for a confirmation for his quiet outrage over Ane's terrible wage policy.
"No, it is much less than what he used to get in Oslo. But it is still better than no job at all. And my father and I still have enough to send some money home to the family."
"Really? How is that possible?" Bjorn asked, genuinely surprised.
"We don't spend much money on ourselves."
"Clearly..." Bjorn nodded in confirmation.
"But things will get better," the boy concluded optimistically as they reached the car at the parking lot. "A lot better."
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