Fish Tales by Mr J.K. Bernard

I woke up in Sri Lanka, on the coast, just north of the airport and capital city of Colombo.  I knew this from my reservation, but not from any personal experience. I headed outside to explore and walked past a cricket pitch toward the open sea.  A policeman politely stopped me and asked me where I was going. I didn't know how to answer so I asked if I could just walk around. He pointed out the fish market.
Before arriving at the market I stopped to watch the women working on the beach. They were doubled over, placing hundreds of fish in neat rows to dry in the sun.  I felt a bit self conscious taking their picture, but they were unaware I was even there.

This is where I met Joe Kim Bernard. He told me he worked the terrible job of salting and drying fish everyday, and he was tired of it. I thought his English was excellent, but he assured me he needed to improve it so he could get a better job in a hotel. He offered to show us the business, and took us around the workers on the beach. We watched the fishermen unloading their catch from their nets. They hauled the biggest fish away to the market, while the women beat the smaller fish out of the nets. Bernard knew all the names of the fish and pointed out sardines, anchovies, calamari, and tuna. Some were soaked in brine solution, others were descaled by hand, and all were gutted right there on the beach.

Despite his charm I began to realize that Bernard wanted more than just to practice his English. He was very particular about the daily salary being a mere $5, and how the tsunami had devastated this area. My sons were lucky, he said, they had more opportunities.  He was trying to educate his four children in private schools and didn't even have money to give them a Christmas present. The people of this area are mostly Christians and would be celebrating with a large family party.
I knew I had to give him something... it was Christmas after all. I had no idea whether any of his story was true, but still I felt compelled to return to my hotel and get him some money.  He insisted he didn't want rupees, but he would accept Kuwaiti Dinar.

I could see he was disappointed with the amount I gave him, even though it was more than he claimed he made all day.
Bernard was working his charm.  He knew he could make more with charm, than with hard work.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Who doesn't like to be charmed?
The other vendors who sat stone-faced over their fish or fruit displays didn't get my business. I was looking for a friendly, welcoming face.
Since then we continue to meet up with Sri Lankans who have figured out that a little charm can go a long way to bettering your position in life. Our driver caters to our every need: stops for us to take pictures and buys us local fruit.  The snake charmer makes us jump and smile with his cobra

in a basket.  The nearby hotel and restaurant put on a special meal Christmas Eve with a magician to charm us.
Even Jon, who is known to not be easily parted with his money, gave something to the man with the great monitor lizards by the side of the road. He also tipped the magician!