Weekend Update

Friday – July 23, 2004 to Sunday – July 25, 2004

I didn’t pay as badly as I feared for my late night on Thursday. I was tired, certainly, but it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. I think I psyched myself out so much that my brain helped me out with chemicals or whatever to make me more awake than 3 hours of sleep deserved.

Yinka and I had to spend most of the morning looking at the expiring measles money to see where we could shift things around so as not to lose anything. I think we found a way to move some charges from a newer allotment that will not expire for a while to the expiring ones so that money is used up. We also broke down the request for money to Madagascar for its campaign in September into more manageable chunks.

As soon as work was over, I headed home for a nap. Yinka had told me that I needed to show up to this good-bye party for the lab director of polio for the African region. That meant not going to the Marine House for their weekly cocktail party and movie night. I had messaged Trent to tell me where people were going afterward, but I never heard from him. Oh well, didn’t matter, b/c the dinner party was fun!

We had all kinds of food that came out in shifts. One of the office guys was the MC, and I’ve learned that these goodbye parties are as much a roast as anything. They spent a lot of time getting people to share memories of the lab director as well as another girl who’s leaving the office to join her husband in New Zealand. At one point, they told a poop joke on the lab director, who was called “Professor”. In polio, the only way to identify the virus is through a stool sample. That’s how it spreads. Anyway, apparently the Professor was in the WHO bathroom one day singing and grunting. He then said what a joy it was to take a shit in a bathroom after having grown up just dropping loads anywhere in the bush! African humor is interesting, and it often has sexual undertones to it. That’s not so different from American humor, but they say things at office parties that would get you in a HEAP of trouble in the US. Little sexist comments here and there, as well as off color statements, usually directed toward a female.

It turns out that “Professor” is a higher title in African culture than “Dr.” In the US, the two are interchangeable, with Professor merely showing that you teach, usually in a university. Here, a person earns the honorific of “Professor” through outstanding achievement. You usually do have an academic background, but you don’t need to be teaching in order to earn the title. This guy built the polio lab network from the ground, so he’s well earned his title of “Professor”.

In his speech to the group, the Professor talked about returning to Nigeria and getting involved in politics. He said that more scientists needed to stop being afraid and get involved in the politics of their home country. They ignore it at their peril, he said. He also went into a criticism of Africa relying on other nations to fix its own problems. He felt that for Africa to be truly independent, it must be able to take care of itself. The reason it can’t, he says, is due to a couple of things. First, political corruption where the powerful few line their pockets with the state treasury. Second is the African tendency to plan today for yesterday while every one else in the world is planning for 5-10 years in the future. He makes some good points.

They had some champagne there that was fantastic. It was from South Africa (and therefore shouldn’t be called champagne, but that’s just the French being uptight) and went down really smooth. I ended up drinking a whole bottle over the course of the night, in between being forced onto the dance floor to African music. Actually, African music is more easier to dance to than American “dance” music. The rhythms are more natural and it’s easier to get into sync with the music.

It was about 11 or so when we left, so Yinka and Everard took me home and I just went to bed.

On Saturday, I got up around 11am and was pretty lazy. I went out by the pool and finished one of my books. I then fell asleep in the sun, listening to my CD walkman. I woke up about 1pm, and was cooked! At least half of me was. The right side of my face burned while the left was mostly spared. My shoulders, arms, and legs were fried too. Whoops! They weren’t kidding about that Zimbabwean sun J Unfortunately, the water pressure was still very poor, so I had to bathe out of the kitchen sink again. By the time I was finishing, Yinka called to say she was having a braai in her backyard. I called Eddie who was picking someone up at the airport, and I told him I’d wait. Turns out he got confused, and thought I was at Yinka’s already and needed a ride home, not the other way around. He got there, and finally took me to Yinka’s house. The food was just done, so I arrived in good order.

We hung out, drank beer, ate, and just had a good time. People stopped by and left. Plans were made for the evening. I decided I’d like to go out too, so I hung out at Yinka’s and watched Moulin Rouge. We got Sasha out and she was given the leftovers to eat. That dog would eat bone and all! I would be afraid to let my dog eat chicken bones like that, since they can splinter on the inside, but Yinka seemed OK with it. Sasha certainly enjoyed chomping down on the bones and eating everything on them.

Yinka talked about how Sasha was supposed to be an indoor-outdoor dog, but as she got bigger, she wouldn’t obey and wouldn’t remain calm in the house. So now she lives in the garage. Poor girl gets lonely, but she is still very much a puppy, even at 2 yrs of age. All she really needs is training. I’ve used some of the techniques I’ve used on my dogs, and she responded. She knows not to jump on me or I’ll grab her paws and not let her down. She will sit when I ask her, and I use her love of being petted to enforce it. If she wants to be petted, she has to remain calm and sit pretty. If Yinka took time to train her, Sasha would be an excellent dog that could be indoors when Yinka is home.

I had to come back to the cottage to change my clothes for the club. Apparently, shorts are not allowed. We then went to the club, but it was closed! Mind you, this is a Saturday night, and a major dance club is closed. I couldn’t believe it! We ended up going to this place called Vogue. We texted Amy to come out with us, but she claimed exhaustion until I mentioned where we were going. By this time, we were at the club, so she had to come out on her own to join us.

I was feeling a bit queasy from the beer in the afternoon. My stomach was sour, which annoyed me. I tried drinking only Coke to quiet it, but nothing worked. I ended up just sitting down at a table and people watching the whole night. It cost $20,000 Zim to get into the club, which isn’t bad since that’s about $3 US. The club was on the top floor of this building, and really was a hole in the wall. It reminded me of the dance floor at Godfrey’s in Richmond or the Bar Complex’s upstairs dance room in Lexington. It really had the atmosphere of a gay joint, although it certainly was not. I was one of two white guys in the place.

The music wasn’t bad. It was a mix of older pop hits and some more modern hip hop, but not gangsta rap. What amazed me was despite the fact that a sign was posted saying no one under 18 admitted, it was obvious that high schoolers were present. Even more appalling were the pregnant high school girls out dancing, smoking, AND drinking! I was horrified. Here were these girls about 7 months or so pregnant out at a smoky club. Now, a pregnant lady who wants to go out dancing should have that right, but you should use some judgment about where you go dancing! The kicker was first seeing these very pregnant girls smoking. Then they bought a bottle of champagne and starting drinking that mixed with Coke! At one point, they asked if I’d watch their bottle while they danced. I agreed, and then could not believe I was watching a bottle of booze for some pregnant chicks. It was all I could do not to lecture them on the effects of alcohol and smoking on their unborn children. If you make the commitment to have a child, you should be responsible enough to not poison that child, unborn though it may be. Those kids will be lucky if they are only underweight from the smoking, let alone if they also have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. I felt like a fuddy-duddy, but what they were doing was just wrong! The sad thing was that you could tell these girls did not care.

Meanwhile, Amy and Anne Marie (girl who hosted a party last Saturday) were busying hooking up with friends of Everard who were 21 years old. Amy was just horny, God bless her. She had told me earlier in the evening that she was quite sexually frustrated, although I didn’t know she was also into black guys. I suppose being in to black guys would help if you’re a single person stationed in Africa. For me, there was absolutely no eye candy. Even if I were single, there would be no one here to tempt me. The white gays, it seems, have long since fled. Can’t say I blame them, but still…it would be a long, lonely haul if were here permanently and single to boot. Anyway, Amy and Anne Marie are more open to interracial lovin’ than I am, and they both had a good time. Amy even disappeared to the “bathroom” for about an hour, and we were ready to go, and she was still missing. We didn’t leave until we had hunted her down though. I don’t know why she lied; she could have easily told us she was going to hook up and we would not have worried. But just disappearing in Africa is not smart. We found them, and they had taken Amy’s car off to “see the sights”. See the sights, indeed. We know what they were doing, and nothing to do with sights outside of what was in the car! J

I called Richard again to share my horror of the pregnant girls, and then went to sleep. I spent Sunday being lazy again. It was nice. I just read, watched movies on TV, and relaxed. I called my grandma too since she had not heard from me in a while. The shower actually had water pressure, so I was able to take a REAL shower!!! I was so happy J I made the “Mince Mate” (Hamburger Helper equivalent) for dinner and it was really good! It tasted like chili, which is something else I miss from home. I’ll have to get that again.

I also noticed that I've been here in Harare for 4 weeks now! That means I'm halfway done with my time here, and it's all downhill until I head back to Atlanta on Friday, August 20.