Ugly Americans

Choose Your Friends Wisely

Dirty, dirty, dirty from head to toe, especially my feet. I can never get the soles of my feet clean. The dirt penetrates each line and wrinkle and sand settles between ten gritty toes. Trash fumes and smoke ruffle my hair. A blue-grey breeze of toxic plastic on fire: Walking down the crumbling sidewalks of Brazzaville.

I sweat through my clothes for the third time in one-day splotchy and wet. Random spots of perspiration polka dot my blouse. Wearing a bra is unthinkable because the cups fill with moisture and cling to my skin like an unwanted breast sauna. The orange substance building up on my fingernails can’t be avoided because I must wash my dishes with rusty tap water that pours from the kitchen sink.

I’m dirty in Brazzaville. Feeling sexy is a memory from the past reserved for those who own air conditioners and operate 24-hour generators. Those people- so cool and crisp- unaware of how the majority of people live their lives. They are insulated from reality.

Air-conditioned SUVs and privileges galore convince these arrogant inflated chests and bloated brains that the rest of us are for sale, rent, or on the auction block available to the highest bidder.

Disgust, unbelievable outrage... Choose your friends wisely.

Vulgar, crass, gross misuse of power... Ugly Americans in Brazzaville.