Status Updates

White Things

A seven year-old boy balancing a hoe on his shoulder with dirt smeared across his face looked at me yesterday and started laughing. I thought being white might have something to do with his pleasant hysteria. The joy of his laughter was contagious, so I looked into his eyes and let the ha, ha pour from me too. We must have maintained eye contact as my sneakers cruised over five or six sidewalk squares.

A man working on the fifth floor of a building hung sloppily over the balcony shouting "Bienvenue Le Blanche" waving his hands and smiling frantically at me. I smiled when I saw his joy, and I thought "I am the white!"

A Congolese soldier walked me to my friend's place on a sultry Brazza night because I was lost, and I knew no one would touch us. The kind of respect he commanded was total (probably because he shoots people.) Can't touch this! And I have a friend who is former French Foreign Legion. Where else in the world?

I went to the embassy post office to mail a letter to my mom, and my colleague who works there told me to buy stamps online: He didn't have any on hand. Such is life in Brazza. And the mosquito bite on my ankle sure does itch. Ankles are one of the worst places for such bites, don't you think?

I was cursed in three text messages by an unknown man who wished me méchant because he accidently sent me his 1,500 CFA phone credit (I think). When my friend helped me delete the messages, he crossed himself in the Catholic fashion as did I. Better ways to start the morning... I wish for one.

The refugees in front of the embassy this October 2010 were not happy with the U.S. or the UNHCR.