Things that are not Events, but are nonetheless Worth Noting:
Corridor, originally uploaded by la vrai nomade.
I am reading Irene Nemirovsky’s posthumously published Suite Francaise. It is good, if for no other reason than that it is diverting. I recently finished Life of Pi, making me the last literate human being alive to read it. Also quite good, for many reasons, including being utterly, fantastically, marvelously diverting. Thumbs up, Yann Martel.
Proof that socialization is contextual: some weeks past, Anais, Amuchi, and Kaliche all married Adrinana’s stuffed Elmo. Because Elmo is Muslim, you see, so he can have three wives. No cognitive dissonance there.
Adriana is a total gremlin these days; Anais is fast becoming a wayward and conniving adolescent, but wraps me in the tightest of hugs whenever I come home and refuses to let go. I missed you soooo much. Which bursts my heart. Adriana proudly tells the new nanny one day, She’s my big sister! Not quite, my little screamer, not quite. D.H. and I contemplate her future as the next Annie Sprinkle - it’s a distinct possibility.
The Don has resurfaced! Hallelujah. E and I downed a box of that ol’ “mezclan de vinos differentes” (that would be Spanish for ‘spit-bucket wine’) on Val’s Day, as they call it here - when they’re not calling it National Chocolate Day, that is. Belated Happy V-Day, by the by! I wore my favorite red dress and thought happy vulva thoughts and wished I had thought to bring my copy of the Monologues with me. Next time.
I’ve noticed of late that the pictures on my flickr with the most hits are the supermarket, the sanitation workers, and the footballers - indicators of a modern, urban, fairly affluent West Africa that is so often elided in mainstream media representations. I want people to see that this exists and is no less authentic than the standard AIDs/rebellion/corruption/starvation stories that have become the frame in which all other knowledge about the continent is understood and contextualized. So, yes. Good. Keep looking, everyone. It’s not as dire out here as you’ve been led to believe.
Daniel, the translator, keeps calling. He’s fun in small doses - catching up on the gossip on the staff from my old pad, that crazy Mme. Lien, etc. - but I don’t really want to hang out. He and his friend Sam, who has a car, gave me a lift home the other day, poking fun at each other in ‘Broken’ (pidgin) all the way to Labone Junction. I love listening to broken. Why you de talk, my brodah? He de no get for shiver, you de forget am, o. There was a pidgin ad for coca cola on the radio the other day! I nearly plotzed.
I hate the new dog. The new dog, frankly, is possessed. It bites people’s ankles. Adorable old Sandy, on the other hand, delights in licking my feet. It sends her into a state of frenzy, tongue a-flapping, tail a-wagging. I love it. If my hug quotient is down overall out here, at least there is some compensation. Speaking of which: snugglefest, sometime after July 1? Who’s in? I’m taking advance bookings now.
Oh yeah, Dubya and contingent are here, you’ve probably heard. My dad worries that I will be arrested; I take this as a compliment, but since I’ve been puking my guts out, that seems unlikely. They took over one of the five star hotels by the beach, blocked strategic roads all over Accra, and closed down the international school for two days. Pretty absurd, if you ask me. While waiting for my lab results at the hospital the other night: So, you should feel better, your president is coming! Uh, he’s not my president. (Perplexed look.) Right, well, you don’t have malaria, so…