I have several slightly humorous stories I thought I'd
share, just for the fun of it. They didn't happen all together, I've been
collecting them for several weeks. But the effect better all in one go, I
think. Unfortunately, no pictures. But you can use your imaginations.
Fruit Raid
Walking home one day, I watched as a pickup truck full of
matching polo clad men came screeching around the corner, nearly dumping one of
their comrades to the curb. The instant these yellow shirts were spotted,
everyone around sprinted into action. Although it took me a moment to fully
realize what was happening, I was witnessing a crack-down on unlicensed
businesses. There are two fruit stands on the side of this road. At the first
of these stands the staff in its entirety, including several men, a mother, and
her child, all grabbed as many pineapples as they could carry and ran behind
the nearest gate. A bodda (motorcycle taxi) driver from across the street
darted through the traffic and helped secret several more of the precious
fruits. In less than ten seconds-- the time it took the pickup to come to a
stop and the men in back to jump out-- a fully stocked fruit stand now contained
nothing more than a few hands of bananas and some bruised mangos. The second
stand on the road faired even better. The extra distance down the road gave
them a few precious moments, and they used them well. Of the two vendors, one
ran across the street burdened with the precious pineapples. Another bodda
driver was on his heels, stashing away the remainder of the pineapples. With
the precious merchandise taken care of, the other vendor was able to pack all
his mangos into a huge gunnysack. The moment the last mango was placed, another
bodda drove up, the vendor hoisted himself and the mangos onto the back, and
they were off. They left no trace. The best part of the whole chaotic scene was
the look on the face of the escaping mango man. He turned around and threw a
smirk over his shoulder that was the perfect expression of the satisfaction of
a clean getaway. One point for the little guy.
Rat Attack
I told this story to Claire and Jane. They said I had to
write it down, although I am still a bit traumatized by it. To fully appreciate
the story, you have to understand that I have a deep-seated loathing for all
rodents. Rats are the worst. I just taught about the plague in history class.
Those devils killed millions. Horrible creatures. That being said...
One Friday evening after a lovely dinner with the school
board, I was in the kitchen with several other people cleaning up. Suddenly and
inexplicable, seemingly out of nowhere, a hairy brown torpedo shot across the
counter, launched itself off the edge into thin air, and plummeted into the
middle of the kitchen floor. Then this wild and unpredictable rodent proceeded
to jump and flip around in a crazed frenzy before finding a dark corner in
which to run. Needless to say, we were screamed as if our toes had been
filleted by machetes. Which I think is a completely justifiable response. Jason
came in and when he discovered we were screaming because of a rat (and not being mowed down by
a serial killer) he and Martin soon had the vermin trapped behind the fridge.
They set up an elaborate rat run complete with fool proof snare at the end, so
Lee Erin and I, having full confidence in their plan, went back to doing
dishes. Unwise. Despite the well engineered trap, this particular minion of
Satan cam flying out into the middle of the kitchen, and out feet were in
direct line of fire. I had no idea we had the speed and agility necessary to
jump onto the counter as fast as we did. Once the rat was again cornered Lee
Erin and I saw our chance to make a break for it. She got down and made it to
the door, but the second my feet hit the floor the rat chose to shoot out of
its hiding place. Luckily Jason met it with a well placed, if gory and
disgusting, stomp. And that was the end of that. Or so we thought. The rat was
in a plastic bag, ready for disposal. Twenty minutes after the stomp, we were
standing around stomping, and the bag started to move. I've never screamed to
much in one night.
Eyebrow Shoot Down
Walking back home from school one day I was passing the
corner where all the bodda guys wait. I had already given my customary negative
reply to all the "We go?" questions thrown my way. One of the guys,
whom I think is fairly new, decided to yell out a flirtatious, "Heyyyy,
Baaaaabyyyy." On immediate instinct I shot him one of my classroom
perfected "eyebrows of disapproval" looks. He shut up real quick.
Also, all his bodda friends laughed at him. It's god to know my skills are
effective against more than mere eleven year olds.
Urkel the Worship
Leader
Out of the typical line up of worship leaders one Sunday
morning, one tiny many stood out as looking particularly dorky, pleated khakis,
glasses, and all. But then came his turn to lead a song. Oh my. I have never
seen anyone, man or woman, swing their hips so exuberantly.
Transformer Blow-Up
Most of the time here our electricity is fairly reliable. It
is rarely out, and when it is out it comes back within a few hours, half a day
tops. There was one instance, though, where the power was reliably off. And we
knew it would take days to return. I was coming down the hill towards our
house, and directly in front of me, about 15 yards down the road the
transformer literally blew up. As in sparks, smoke, four foot flames, the whole
enchilada. The bodda driver correctly summed up what we'd seen by saying,
"Wow, that's no good." Profound assessment of the situation.
Interestingly enough, there was a pickup truck emblazoned with the power
company symbol that was parked just underneath the offending power pole. At
least three jumpsuit and hardhat clad men stared, baffled, into the smoky mess.
I'm not sure what they did, or even that they were the direct cause, but it
didn't inspire much faith in their aptitude. At our gate the ever cheerful
guard, Mike, was shaking his head and chuckling, "That is bad. They will
not fix that for days; not for DAYS!" Luckily for us those days
didn't turn into weeks. After four days a power company truck finally showed up
with a new transformer, and by evening we were once again on the grid.
Out the Kitchen
Window
In our compound, there are four houses. Our neighbors, a
lovely Sudanese family, tend to spend a lot of time in the courtyard behind
their house. Our kitchen window faces directly towards this courtyard. So
naturally our neighbors are my main source of entertainment while doing dishes.
Sometimes I worry that I am actually a nosey old lady inside. Most days there
is nothing too extraordinary to see, but on one particular occasion m
watchfulness yielded much entertainment. The neighbors car is usually parked directly
in front of our window, and a very remarkable figure was hanging over the
engine. This man had a black 10 gallon hat, complete with shiny silver band,
that would have made any Texan proud. He sported racecar sunglasses. His hair
was styled in three dreadlocks that reached past his shoulders. Three. Yes,
three. I counted. It wasn't hard. The two on either side of his face gave him
an uncanny resemblance to Goofy. He T-shirt proudly bore a lovely bright
tie-dye swirl. On his fingers he carried either four separate gaudy golden
rings, or brass knuckles. I couldn't tell which. These matched his Mr. T
inspired necklaces. No-nonsense military green camo pants tucked into combat
boots finished the ensemble. Save for one thing. The piece de resistance. The crowning
jewel. The final touch of flair for this fashionista car mechanic. An American
flag fanny pack.
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