Day 40

So I got to sleep in today. I had some stuff to do in town (I’ll get to that later) but as a result I got to sleep in because stores are only open from like 9:00am to 3:00pm here. Before I left, however, I managed to break my bed. Now, it’s not the first time I’ve broken a bed, but it’s definitely the first time I’ve broken the bed by myself. I plopped down on the bed after I got out of the shower and the entire mattress sank to the floor. I broke the support beam and several of the cross beams. I put it back together and am hoping my (evidently fat) ass will not break it again before I leave.

I wanted to find a photo lab, order a slew of sarongs for my kids, and purchase a couple of DVDs and thus needed to be in town during normal business hours. I was negotiating up a storm, which I HAAAAAAATE doing, but have to here. When I got home I asked Esther how much a sarong costs and she said 250 Ksh, and I got them for 230!! So I feel good about that, even though I HATE nickel and diming people, especially people with no money, but after the over charging I’ve faced, I suppose turnabout is fair play. I mean, the lesson to be learned is don’t top if you aren’t gonna bottom.

When I got to work, Clueless had done ALL the cleaning, which I felt kind of bad about, I thought there would be a Dutch volunteer there with her, but it turns out they were both off. Later, I heard retching in the bathroom and came to find out that she had thrown up! I felt kind of bad for her, she looked awful, but then she was out drinking tonite, so I’m beginning to think maybe it was hangover vomit session? Bitch.

The afternoon kids were ANGELS today. It was so good, they did all their work and then we wrote the lyrics to “Car Wash” by Christina Aguilera off the “A Shark’s Tale” soundtrack (these kiddies LOOOVE their Pixar/Dreamworks shit) and then sang the song. I also threw in “Lollipop” by Mika because 1) it sounds like a kids song, 2) they know what a lollipop is, 3) I like Mika, and 4) I’m still working on making them all gay.

I stayed after and played Free the Bunch for a solid hour. I was sweat soaked and had to borrow a shirt from Ongeri. Older Mary finally opened up a bit and played and I saw her laugh for the first time, so that was nice. I really think she’s a sweet, wonderful girl, just a few problems (obviously, I mean all of my kids have serious, real world problems). I gave them a DVD with the last 7 James Bond films on it, but just as I gave it to them the power went out, so they didn’t get to watch it. Hopefully I can watch the new “Casino Royale” with Daniel “I-Could-Eat-His-Ass-For-Days” Craig in it.

I am a Goddamn-pussy-eating- (cock sucking just didn’t fit for obvious reasons) idiot. I forgot my camera’s battery in the charger this morning. 4 days left and I’m camera-less. I should be hung on a tree by my balls. This might be a good time to mention that neither of my parents have particularly foul mouths. First and foremost, English is their second language so to pepper one’s dialogue with such descriptive profanity requires a certain proficiency with a language. But mostly I didn’t pick up my mouth from them because they’re not nasty dirty mouthed whores; just a couple of classy Iranians livin la vida loca in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

The following is the conversation I had on the matatu on the way home:

(Conductor gives me back 75 Ksh in change instead of the 80 Ksh he’s supposed to give me)

Me: Ey! Hapana ishirini na tano, ishirini.
Him: Ishirni na tano.
Me: Hapana.
Him: It’s rush hour.
Me: Mi mi si mzungu. Ishirini.
Him: (gives me back my change) Una nini?
Me: Mi mi ni Mkenyan.
(Laughter all over the matatu)
Guy #1: Una toka wapi?
Me: Mi mi ni New York.
Guy #2: Una sema Kiswahili mzuri.
Me: Asante.
Guy #1: Una kuja wapi?
Me: Port Reitz. Mi mi ni mwalimu.
Guy #1: Una enda wapi?
Me: CMC.
Guy #1: Nini? (pointing to my tattoos)
Me: Baba na mama.
Guy #1: Wewe Marabian?
Me: Hapana, mi mi ni Marakani, mama na baba Miraniani.
Guy #1: Mzuri. (his stop) Kwa heri.
Me: Nimufurahi kukujua.
Guy #2: Wewe, nzuri usiku.
Me: Usiku mwemwe.

Now, obviously that means nothing to you, but the fact that I speak and understand that much Swahili is MIND BOGGLING!!! Who knew? I’m sure context clues give away most of it, but they asked where I was coming from, where I was going, what my tattoos were, where I’m from, and goodbye/good night. It was still pretty fucking amazing, the whole time I was telling myself “don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up, listen carefully, don’t fuck up”. I mean, I know I’m amazing, but today I really blew myself away. Yay me!

I got home, had dinner, went to the internet café and the internet was down, so I’m now at home typing on MS Word hoping to copy and paste onto my blog. On the way home, a street kid asked for money, I said no, come with me though, and went to a street vendor to buy some food, when I turned to ask him what he wanted I saw he was huffing on a bottle of glue and gasoline. I screamed at him and told him to go to Onesmus Boys Centre to get his act together and left. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my tuk-tuk driver GAVE HIM A CIGARETTE! This kid was like 11 or 12 years old. Normally I tip my drivers (which is unheard of here) but I sure as shit didn’t tip that fucking enabler. I was so mad that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Had I been, I would have gotten off his tuk-tuk and gotten on another one so as to not give this guy my business. Fucking cigarette dishing out asshole.

Finally, I’m sitting on my bed on a pile of clean laundry and realized I probably didn’t explain what happened with the maid/money situation. So I wrote her a little note and said “I’m going to give you 500 Ksh for my laundry instead of 300. Don’t tell Esther you’re doing my laundry, if she asks just tell her I’ve started doing it myself”. This started two weeks ago. Today I left her 1,000 Ksh (about $17). I also left my underwear in the pile of laundry. When we first arrived we were told that even if we paid to have our laundry done, we’d have to hand wash our own underwear because in Kenya it’s rude to have someone else wash your underwear. My rebuttal: it’s rude to ask a paying houseguest for money, so wash my knickers you biatch.