‘You scratch my wrist, I’ll….’

A couple friends of Scotty and mine recently had a going away house-party.  It was well put together, complete with the compulsory oversized speakers and snacks.  At around half-past midnight, once everyone was full of libations, as my buddy Bill is known to call them, it was time for a change of venue.  The new playground was ‘Plaza,’ which can be summed up, more or less, as a debaucherous parking lot.

Some of the crew.

On one side of Plaza is a kind of deserted shopping mall.  In it are a couple of bar-type places to grab a drink.  There is also a popcorn guy hanging around, and, of course, multiple speakers playing African dance tunes loud enough to rattle your teeth.  That’s pretty much all there is to it.  If you’re a man and in need of a quick tinkle, you make your way to the overgrowth next to the lot and do your thing.  It’s a simple and silly recipe that mixes up a good laugh.

What makes Plaza really shine though is all the people watching you can do there.  It really doesn’t kick off until 1am or so, but once it does it’s a free for all.  Unfortunately, I don’t have any photos of the place, because it’s a well known pickpocket’s paradise.  A buddy of mine had his wallet lifted a few weeks back in fact.  Another time, his mobile phone.  You’ll just have to take my word for it when I say it’s a scene.

Once we located the rest of our little group, we herded together like cattle before a storm.  I was already out of it and ready for bed before we even arrived, which I attribute to the post malaria/typhoid drag, but I did my best to pretend to look engaged.

Soon after, I spotted a dude I’ve met a few times out and about.  He is always friendly and seems to go out of his way to greet me, which is nice, but also a little odd since neither one of us have every exchanged names.  One thing I’d like to add is that this fellow is, according to another friend, and I quote, ‘the biggest gangster in Makeni.’  This gangster and I chat for a minute or two about the gym and some other unimportant stuff before we decide to shake hands and go our separate ways.  Before I go on, it should also be noted that this is a rather strong, muscular man and every time we’ve slapped hands it’s been more a display of grip strength than a friendly hand shake, which is still preferable to the ‘dead fish’ style most people offer.  This time however he added a new wrinkle, or should I say, a new scratch.

This new move involved a series of three scratches with his pointer finger along the inside of my wrist.  As this is happening every muscle in my body is cinching up and I’m imagining my skin turning ghost-white.  He then added, ‘I’ll be over there’ and winked a couple of times for emphasis.  I panicked, smiled (grimaced?) and said the first silly thing that came to my mind…’uh,um, ok, I’m not sure what that means.’  He laughed and then went and sat down with his buddy on a nearby chair.

After another gentleman made a pass at me, a bisexual pal of ours wandered over to my rescue.  I told him about the uncomfortable encounter I had moments earlier and he got a good chuckle out of it.  I then had a quick flashback.  Years and years ago in middle school, my friend Rene used to jokingly tease me with this same move, so I was familiar with the meaning.  This being West Africa, I was very much hoping it meant something else.  Nope.  Turns out the scratch is a universal sign for, ‘I want to jump your bones.’  Gulp.

My buddy then informed me that if that should this ever happen again, the way to shut it down in a polite way is to offer up your fist.  Not to the other person’s nose or throat, but rather, when the aggressor goes in to shake your hand, you offer up a closed fist instead of your own open hand.  I could’ve used this information a lot sooner.

 

‘Gym’iny Cricket’

Like me, ‘Under Construction.’ Perhaps indefinitely.

I’d heard about this mysterious hotel gym for weeks, but it didn’t sound like anything I was in need of, so I kept putting it off a visit.  For one, I was still content doing my little Jane Fonda-workout at the office here, particularly since I could dictate the time I did it.  I’m a morning guy and rumor had it that the gym hours were from 14-21:00; strike two.  Finally, I’d grown weary of the insane vanity of a lot of gymgoers back home.  Exercising outdoors, free of the distraction of watching grown boys and girls admiring their muscles in a gym mirror is where it’s at.  For the friends that have heard this rap of mine before…multiple times, do forgive me.  Anyway, I joined the gym a week and a half ago.

The first thing to report is that, much to my surprise (and disappointment), that culture of ‘look at me heave this heavy, inanimate object with my muscles and, hey, while you’re at it, why don’t you snap a few photos of me doing it,’ is not relegated to the U.S.; bummer.

Day one in the gym and I immediately see two guys pounding away on their pecs from every possible angle.  One fella had what can best be described as a spaghetti-strapped tank top.  The ‘Franz’ to his ‘Hans’ was wearing a skintight sweatshirt, even though it was sweltering inside and out.  I dress like a hobo at the gym.  Some may argue out of it as well, so I’m not judging.  Ok, I am judging, but I want you to get the scene.  As these two were training they took photos of one another from at least as many angles as they hit their chests, which was substantial.  Mind you, this isn’t a huge space with private nooks.  This was on display for all to gawk at, and yet, no one seemed bothered?

Machines…yuck!

And here’s the beef of the story if you’ll pardon the pun.  I’m nearing the end of my session and am now sitting on the floor with my headphones on and my shoes kicked off.  My legs are stretched out in front of me and I’m attempting some gymnastics move called an ‘L-sit.’  Well, I have a severe tightness in whatever muscle it is that allows one to lift their legs off the ground in this position.  Of course, I already know this, but I attempt it sometimes just for giggles. I would soon get plenty of them.

Out of nowhere, I see a rather robust African gentleman squatting down in front of me.  Without warning he starts lifting up my dirty socks…with my feet in them!  He’s trying to tell me to push through the pain and lift my legs.  In response, I tell him, unsuccessfully, that my legs do not in fact go in that direction at this time, but it’s simply not translating.  Before you know it, I’m attempting to pantomime my entire medical history to explain why it is I cannot perform this exercise properly.  We finally reached an understanding.  He surmises that it’s my lower back that’s to blame.

The good gym Samaritan, this ‘Gym’iny Cricket,’ then begins to take my arms and twist me rather vigorously in different directions.  At first, I resist, not sure I know the rules of this little game.  He goes off balance a few times and then I tune in that I’m meant to stay loose and relaxed.  Easy for him to say!

The scene of the crime.

The real comedy starts when he demonstrates the next prescribed move.  For this demonstration, he stood, arms at his side, feet together.  Did I mention he was one of these fellas sporting a massive upper body with legs that defy the laws of physics?  How he balances on those things with that bulk on top is beyond me.  In any event, I’m now facing him with the same body position he has and I can’t help but picture us looking like a salt and pepper shaker.  From this position he starts gyrating his hips in small circles…rapidly.  He then starts gyrating mine…gulp.  All during this I’m straining more attempting not to laugh than I did during my actual workout.  He was quite serious though, so I played along until I couldn’t take it anymore. I simply had to get outside and laugh. I humbly suggest you all do the same.

‘A quick followup to last post!’

Those who know me are well accustomed to my sudden bursts of laughter, seemingly for no reason at all.  I’ll admit, from the outside I must look like a madman, but, I assure you, there is ALWAYS a reason!  It just doesn’t always translate as well as I’d like. That said, my buddy Bill requested I add a few of the silly observations I’ve had here so far.  Without further adieu and of no particular importance…

“My friend!”

Ok, I’ve said this before, but I HATE roaches and would rather be in a room with a savage beast than one filled with roaches.  Well, one night I showered at the office (cause they had water and we didn’t) and then took a motorbike ride back to the ‘Chateau.’  Between the shower and breeze I got on the bike, I was feeling pretty good, a.k.a. not sweaty.  I had every intention of keeping it that way too.

When I got home I realized I had the place to myself for a bit, so I stripped down to my burgundy colored shorts as to stay cool while I finished up the rest of my pre-bed ritual.  There I was, brushing my teeth in the restroom and I spot him…a massive roach, a scant few feet above my head, perched on the wall.  He was looking at me, his antenna flopping about, as if to test the which way the wind was blowing (there wasn’t any wind, but you get the picture).  I calmly stoped what I was doing, picked up an alcohol dispenser that was sitting on the sink and took aim….and then…I completely missed him!  The disinfectant just spilled to the floor.

During those unfortunate seconds, the roach was emboldened and decided to lunge at me!!!  Now I’m using speedy hands to try and get this f’n thing off me, only I’m unsuccessful in that endeavor too and he falls from my stomach to my shorts, which are practically the same color of the roach, and then IN my shorts.  From here there is only one option and I take it, ripping my shorts off in a flash and frantically begin swinging them around like a lunatic, but I STILL can’t find where this thing went!??

As you can imagine, any dry coolness I was experiencing five minutes prior was now long gone.  I spent the next twenty minutes out in the backyard in nothing but flip-flops attempting to cool down before bed.  Soon after I laid down I heard the door open; Jules and Rafaela were now home.  I relayed my story, Rafaela lost it and then proceeded to track down the roach, scooped it up as if it were a butterfly and walked it outside to freedom, laughing at me all the while.  Incidentally, it was Rafaela who came up with the name ‘friend’ to mock me.   Not my proudest moment.

 

‘Why did the chicken cross the road?  Why!?’

Here is a retelling of the events that transpired on the morning of Friday, May 18th, 2018.  It was approximately 7am and I was waiting on a motorbike to make my way to the office.  The following scene unfolded before my very eyes…. a chicken is crossing the road (not a joke), a motorbike zooms by, barely trying to avoid it, if at all.  The motorbike runs over the chickens legs.  The chicken makes a sound a chicken would make if it had just had it’s legs run over by a passing motorbike.  A child is nearby.  The child makes a sound of surprise, one that I beleive is unique to this part of the world.  The child then runs off behind his house, seemingly to explain what happened to someone in his house.  The child then runs back out, rips the chicken off the muddy road, where it had been laboring to drag itself across to safety (yes, it was very sad looking) and then runs home with the poor, mauled chicken in his grip.  Moments later a semi-wild puppy appears.  The puppy begins playing with the chicken’s feathers that were still flying around in the air, just like you’d see in a cartoon.  It would make for a cute calendar picture with a different backstory.  I stood there slack-jawed at the chain of events.  That was how I started the morning of May 18th.

‘Mama Mia’

As you might imagine, nudity here, especially in some of the more remote villages, doesn’t have the same stigma attached to it as it does back home.  That said, there has been one topless woman that stands above the rest and her name is….!!!???

My co-workers and I were on a site visit to examine one of the 200 ponds WorldFish monitors.  We stopped at a house to ask one of the locals the exact location of it.  One fellow volunteered to take us there.  I should mention that there were a few people in the area and one woman in particular was very animated and friendly.  She was shaking my hand, saying something in Timneh (another local language here that I do not know), so I just shook her hand back and mustered a smile of my own, which came easy because she was a lot of fun.

As we began to make our way from the house, she taps me good on the shoulder, and as I turn around (we all turned around actually), she starts saying something…loudly.  I couldn’t make it out of course, but when she pulled out her left breast from beneath her shirt, shook it at me with her left hand whilst using her right had to point at our pond guide, I solved the mystery.  The woman was trying to explain that the guy was her son.  We all had a good laugh at that one.  I thought it would’ve been easier to just have someone tell us it was her son, but I appreciated the theatrics. 😀

*These are but a few of the many mishaps I’ve experienced thus far.  I will add more as I go.

 

 

‘Here in a Flurry’

‘Personal escort to the End Zone’

I’d seen it on television plenty, have even played around in it on a number of occasions, but never have I had the opportunity to play football in the snow…until yesterday that is!  After a relatively balmy morning, the weather made a rather drastic change and it started snowing.  First lightly, then pretty heavily.  It might be a little dramatic to call throwing football in the snow one of my ‘life long dreams,’ but it was definitely on my list of ‘hmm…wonder how fun that would be?’  Well, now I’ve got my answer and here it is…VERY fun it turns out!  It’s extra nice when you’re doing it on your work break.  I had been up since 2am and felt as though I was sleepwalking all morning.  Not exactly tired, but not entirely present.  Once I was out on the frozen tundra playing though, I came right back to life.  I don’t know if it’ll be a regular thing, but I was grateful for the simple, but special moment.  A big thank you to Dave and Sisay, both of whom also served in ‘the Corps’ I might add, for not being (your own derogatory term here) and coming out with me! 😀

‘Touchdown Jesus’

‘3:25’

That’s what time I’ve been up since. I had a challenging time falling asleep last nite too, so that only compounded the affect. It was cold in my room, but I managed to get out of bed and get dressed for the gym. I swung through Donnie’s for a large coffee that was so hot, I held off drinking it for a solid ten minutes and wound up sipping it between sets of exericise. The rest of the day was a blur.  I am now sitting at Starbucks getting a sun tan whilst drinking my third coffee of the day. I promise myself this will be the last.