This and That

·         Last week, one of the professors in the English Department, who I have had maybe two conversations with the whole year, came up to me and said, “I heard you were leaving.”

“Yes. I am,” I replied, expecting him to wish me a good trip or tell me it was a pleasure working with me.

“I have this dress that I want you to send to a woman in New York. I’ll bring it to your office with the address.”

I lacked the reaction time to respond appropriately to such a ridiculous request and just uttered, “Ummm OK, I guess.” Sure enough, the next day there was a plastic bag sitting on my chair when I arrived at my desk. I’m sure it never occurred to him that I may have better things to do when I get home than go to the post office to send a dress to the lady friend of an Angola man I barely know. It’s always a risk telling people that you are traveling outside of the country, and especially to the US. You will be immediately bombarded with a list of absurd demands from iPhones and laptops to sneakers and books. When my driver found out that I was going home in October, he asked me no less than 12 times if I would bring him back a shirt – nothing in particular – just a shirt from America.  

·         People really like certificates here. I have been organizing workshops for teachers every other week at the Embassy, and if a participant attends 3 out of 5 in a series then he or she receives a certificate. I dread certificate day. There are always at least 2 people who become furious with me and insist that there must be some kind of mistake. They watch in disdain as their fellow teachers pose for a photo op with their fancy certificates. I try to be as understanding as possible and explain that if their attendance is better next time then they too can be part of the photo. What I really want to say is, “Grow up. This piece of paper means absolutely nothing.”

Knowing that this is a big deal, I made certificates for the students who have been volunteering at the orphanage. I even got the Ambassador to sign them. They were ecstatic. One student came to my office the next day and gave me a 5-minute diatribe about how he didn’t deserve the certificate but he will keep on working on hard so that he does. It was really very sweet. I ran into another student a couple days later and he proudly took the certificate out of his bag to show me that he had it laminated.  

·        One of my housemates left flowers outside of my bedroom door. This was not a bunch of flowers with a note attached or a bouquet in a vase. There were 12 little yellow flowers all lined up in a perfect row on the floor. There’s just something that that just screams psychopath.

·         Student essays in which they had to describe someone important to them: 

“My girlfriend lived in a house full of kids like a nursery. That was amazing like Michael Jackson Neverland.”

“My father is strong, quiet, polite, humble, decisive, and kind, but he likes to have many women…I am also polygamous.”

·        One morning, I was about to make coffee and the driver walked in the kitchen so I offered him some. He said yes so I made two cups of coffee and went back upstairs to finish getting ready for work. When I came back down, he and the guard were chatting and each sipping from a mug. I looked over at the coffee pot and it was empty. Thanks, guys.

·         I have an old Nokia cell phone with a huge crack in the screen that someone gave to me from the lost and found at the embassy. It’s one of those pre-paid phones that don’t require a plan, just the purchase of minutes every few days (bought on the street of course). Those of you familiar with “The Wire” know it as a “burner.” Apparently drug dealers use them once and then throw them out their car windows to avoid police detection. I am tempted to do that all the time to feel cool. You know what’s not cool? Running out of minutes. I have had to ask complete strangers on several occasions if I could use their phones because I am a deadbeat with no credit. No one wants to be that guy. Since text messages are far cheaper than calling, people will often send me a blank text, which means that I am supposed to call them because they don’t want to use their credit. Hey, I don’t want to use mine either, buddy! This creates somewhat of a power struggle over who should call whom. I do the same thing to my Embassy friends, since they are apparently too good for burners and use real phones.  

·         Word on the street is that absolutely nothing gets done here in December and that traffic gets even worse than usual. People have offered several explanations for this, but the general consensus is that most of it has to do with Christmas shopping. Most Angolans living in Luanda buy everything from street vendors rather than stores so perhaps people are playing hooky and driving around all day looking for the perfect gift. You can buy virtually everything on the street – carpets, toilet seats, luggage, and air mattresses. I saw a guy the other day walking around with rubber duckies hanging from both arms. I was a bit surprised since I consider those somewhat of a luxury item.

A few weeks ago I needed to buy new headphones for my iPod so I asked the driver if he could stop if we see anyone. He quickly rolled down the window and yelled out to one of the guys on the street who immediately ran over. He was selling flip flops and underwear, but of course he knew someone who had what we were looking for. He scurried over to get his friend, who had wires dangling from every limb and orifice. I handed my money to the driver who completed the transaction. Mind you, this is all being done while still in moving traffic and the vendor is lightly jogging beside the car. This may be the only benefit of the snail-like traffic patterns in Luanda. The driver hands me the headphones, which I swiftly plugged into my iPod to make sure they worked. They did. Easy enough. Almost immediately after the wire man walked away, I adjusted the headphones ever so slightly and the plastic covering completely slid way revealing the blue and red wires inside. How could this Chinese, cheaply-made product that I just bought on a street in Luanda be defective? Unacceptable! I showed the damaged goods to the driver, who was outraged. He pulled the car over, grabbed the headphones, jumped out of the car, and ran down the street in search of the offending seller. He returned 5 minutes later with a brand new set of headphones and his pride restored. I was relieved that my $10 had not gone to waste and that I would be able to entertain myself for the rest of the ride home. Of course only the right earpiece works.