Day Twenty Nine

I had the craziest dream last night. I dreamed that I was the keynote speaker at some massive political convention being held in a big overrated hotel. I was supposed to be giving a speech praising President Bush because I was supposed to be his best friend. In the middle of my speech, I suddenly decided that I hated George so I changed my speech and started slandering him in the worst language imaginable. For some reason, at a convention that was supposed to be praising the president, my speech elicited a roaring round of applause.

So after the speech, I went into the hotel lounge and sat down to have a drink. Suddenly, First Lady Laura Bush comes in and starts telling me I need to apologize to George because those were mean things that I said. When I woke up, I started laughing first about this because my mind had recreated Laura Bush perfectly, right down to the accent and mannerisms. She managed to convince me, so I went to look for George. I found him in this booth in the corner of the lounge crying because I hurt his feelings. So I apologized and then I woke up. I don’t remember what all we had for dinner, but I hope I don’t dream like that every time we have it.

This morning, the house was full of children and food and laughing and dancing and singing. Mrs. Sabet has established an NGO to instruct young girls and boys in life-skills, moral education, English, and a few other subjects. The English teacher is leaving to go University, so they were having a party to send her on her way. The girls really like to sing! They sing on the way out of the classroom, they sing on the way into the classroom, they sing between lessons, they sing when they’re going home, they sing when they’re arriving. It’s a wonder they get anything done! Ordinarily the singing sounds kind of overly practiced, but this morning it was a little more lively and soulful with some feeling in it.

I decided instead of getting in the way while they were trying to have their party I’d go eat at a Chinese restaurant I pass every day, “The Lilylike House.” It was expensive! I spent $9.00 on an order of dumplings, some tomato-based meat dish, rice, and a Coke. I could have bought an equivalent amount of food on the street for a fraction of that price, but then again I probably wouldn’t have been able to sit down and take my time eating, nor would there have been at least the illusion of sanitary cooking practices. I fully expected to have some “gastrointestinal distress” from the food, but it tasted good and settled well.

The dala dala on the way to the Bahá’í Centre actually had a working radio in it, and even speakers in the back! That’s quite a luxury. The driver had it on a station playing Western music, so I got to hear a Backstreet Boys song and “Lady in Red.” Oddly enough, the man behind me was singing along.

At the Bahá’í Centre, I was taught the correct way to stop the dala dala, as well as the name of the stop for the house and the Bahá’í Centre. The house stop is called “macho,” which means “eyes” in Swahili, because there’s a hospital nearby that specializes in treating the eyes. I spent probably fifteen minutes trying to explain to them that “macho” was an English word, too. They told me the stop near the Bahá’í Centre was “supastah,” but when I asked what it translated into they said it was an English word! It turns out they were trying to say “super star,” but they’ve Africanized it so it doesn’t sound at all like the way I say “super star.” So the word to indicate that you want to disembark is “shusha,” which means “disembark” (duh). It also means to have an orgasm. There are a lot of words here that have multiple meanings, so I guess they just rely on context to figure out which one you mean. Otherwise it seems like there could be some serious mix-ups.

At the “supastah” stop, I was having a terrible time getting a dala dala to stop for me. After two times, this secondary school student came over to me and asked me where I was going. She said they probably weren’t stopping because they were either too full or because I was a mzungu and mzungus don’t usually ride the dala dala. She told me she’d get one to stop for me and then batted her eyelashes and smiled sweetly. I thanked her, but it kind of weirded me out. I’ve been “warned” several times that many girls will flirt with mzungus and that before I leave I’ll probably have gotten a handful of marriage proposals, but this girl couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16! It seems that many people have the idea in their minds that they only want to marry a mzungu because they think it means a better life and that they’ll get to leave the country. Dr. Sabet told me that when they were living in Zambia and Mrs. Sabet was out of town once, the maid patted her stomach and asked him, “Sir, can I have your baby?".