New jewelry and free booze - chronicles of my hardships in Africa

Yup. Ended up being snatched up by a pretty sizable secretary - a proper matron of the tribe of secretaries - and being whisked off to buy jewelry. Awesome, beautiful and expensive jewelry made of Zambian semi-precious stones and silver or gold. A shopping trip, the result of which is a proper 'all's well that ends well' moment. 

There really was no way I could have said no to this shopping outing. I have to admit I was afraid that had I not showed up in the hotel lobby at the precise time I was expected my chauffeur, the secretary, would have taken the stairs, two at a time no doubt, up to the third floor, not bothered with knocking, but pounded down my room door with ease, and ended up hoisting me over her shoulder, and running me to the shop herself. For those of you who are aware of my my corpulence I can only say that this woman could so have taken me. For those of you who have never met me, think of a female East German shot put champion, double that, add braids that probably weigh several kilos and voilá you got Mrs J. - a personal secretary extraordinaire and a woman who will probably inhabit my nightmares for a while (I only equal one East German shot put champion, and that's on a good hair day). 

Mrs. J. waited in the car while I made my way hastily into the shop, probably ready to intercept any possible attempts at escape. She need not have been on her guard, you are locked into the shop after you enter. I think they might not let you out until you buy something. Anyway, I decided to play it safe and started to browse. 

For some time I have been searching for a present for my friend in Denmark. I have long since given up trying to decipher her exquisite sense of style and just get her something expensive instead. Then at least I have a fighting chance of getting it right. At a glance, the products at this boutique seemed to fit the bill. Ended up picking a cute pair of earrings. Fighting chance...

And that is when I spotted it:  Sell-your-soul-to-the-devil-and-throw-in-a-firstborn-or-two beautiful bracelet made of two kinds of Zambian stones and pearls, and set in silver. I had to have it. My credit card practically jumped out of my wallet. All of my fears seemed to melt away, and a sense of immense (rather orgasmic, but lets not go there this time) gratitude came over me. I, in my younger years somewhat prudent Finn, did not think twice, and I thoroughly believe what the hotel manager told me upon my return to the hotel: "In the future you will only regret that you didn't buy more." I might go back there on Saturday  - with a different credit card, and yes please, when I die bury me with the bracelet, clothes and coffin optional. Thanks.

As I raced to my room to securely place my new investment into the safe. (Yes, otherwise it would have most likely spent the next couple of weeks in my Harry Potter-ish purse that could hold a cow should the need arise, to be taken out and fondled until some of the stones fell off) I found an invitation on the bed accompanied by two of the most awesome chocolates since Finland. Me and the hubby are invited for a networking cocktail party at the hotel pool tonight - an invitation which I decode to mean free booze for at least an hour. Oh, the hardship that is my existence! 

New jewelry and free booze - what more could a girl ask for?

i rely love yuor bloog;

Today at the scrumptious hotel breakfast the manager of the hotel came and sat down with us for a while. The following took place:

Hotel Manager: (in a machine gun fashion while holding his breath) So have you been able to get around Lusaka at all? Well, there really isn't that much to see, is there? Are you getting bored already?

Me: Oh no, not at all. I'm just doing here exactly what I would be doing at home any...

Hotel Manager: (cutting me off) I can organize for my secretary to take you to this wonderful place where they sell gemstones. Garnets, amethysts. My wife loves the place.

Hubby lets out a very audible shriek and his eyes roll back into his head (No, this behavior does not embarrass me at all). 

Hotel Manager: (to hubby) No no, they are not expensive. I would in no way want to bankrupt you. (to me) I think you would enjoy it. I bought my daughter's birthday, christmas and graduation gifts from there. You see, they all match. Isn't it wonderful? For a hundred dollars you can get an amazing ring, or a pair of earrings?

Me: Thank you. Uhm... perhaps... yes... hmm...well. (finally resorting to flagging down a waiter and asking for more coffee).

I am now left wondering whether I really look that bored or that jewelry happy. I am majorly JH, but it's not supposed to show, and I feel I have been having a great time in Zambia. 

I have been busy drinking cheap wine, reading, getting quite a bit of writing done, not to mention hanging out in the blog-o-sphere, making new acquaintances, and reading up on the old ones, when the internet has been working that is. On a side note, if my novel is ever published I will have to thank this hotel for their crap internet connection, and for thus curbing my Facebook addiction, enabling me to write instead. Sad but true...

However, this hanging out on the internet combined with cheap wine has brought on a new issue. The real point of this post:

Commenting while intoxicated. 

I believe that the sad trend of either calling or texting your ex after having had much too much to drink has been well documented, but what about the newer trends of drunken (and stupid) facebook statuses, Twittering under the influence, wine-fueled hotmailing, googling old crushes after some beers and WikiWorldbook informing them of this, post bar-crawl blogging, and my personal downfall, the above mentioned commenting while intoxicated.

I have been told that there is some sort of site somewhere on the internet where you can go and answer some questions and after answering you will either be allowed access to your e-mail, facebook, blogger, etc accounts, or you will be classified as too drunk and told to try again the next day. If anyone knows the whereabouts of this miraculous invention, the information would be much appreciated.

As you can probably gather from this lament, no such site is in use when I'm out there cruising the highways of the world wide web. Nope. No sirree.

Yesterday, for some reason I quoted the bible in one of my comments. Me, the atheist. If you are the owner of that specific blog - sorry. You might be religious and not appreciate my grand idea of comparing the 'meek of the earth' to people who have no problem queuing for unspecified amounts of time. The thought seemed very logical at the time. 

A couple of days ago I also recommended 'cimifuga' to someone, only I couldn't remember how to spell it so it came out more like 'fumigator', which taken for PMS might be a bad idea. Again, my apologies.

Lastly, I greatly regret all of my spit-related (in or out of beverages) comments. I have been preoccupied with the thought for some days now and it might have spilled over to some of the comments. Mea culpa. I will lay off of the spit now.

I also apologize for the spelling, or the lack thereof, and any other weird things I might have written, such as things in languages you have no knowledge of, or referring to a post you certainly did not write (problem with multiple windows).

Thank Zeus most of you have no idea who I am, and those of you who do, probably see this as an improvement. 

At least I'm keeping in touch for once.  

A snapshot of life from Lusaka, Zambia

I'm at the hotel gym. I have it all to myself and I'm enjoying a brisk walk on the treadmill. On the big, fancy television there is Gladiator, the soundless version, as I am unable to reach the remote. I turn my eyes towards the smaller screen in the corner. It is emitting slightly more sound. A Zambian morning program seems to be on.

Picture this:

There are two massive, sky-blue, fake-suede armchairs with a couple of throw rugs that appear to have a Zebra-motif, symmetrically positioned over the seats and the backs. Behind the chairs, on the back wall of the 'set', is a grainy blow up of a 20 000 kwacha bill, an amount of money equal to $4 USD. On the chairs sit a man and a woman. There are newspapers and a glass bowl of what appear to be avocados on a wooden coffee table placed directly in front of the chairs. 

It appears that the woman is the host of the program. She keeps nodding her head as the man talks. She is wearing something that to me seems a prom dress, the short kind. The garment is pink, has immense puffy sleeves and a little pink lace on the collar. The picture is cut so that you cannot see her shoes, but you are painfully aware of the fact that she has not shaved her legs in a while. She has, however, obviously gotten her hair/wig done in the recent past and it sits atop her pretty nodding head like a helmet, not a hair out of place.      

The man keeps talking to the camera and to the woman. He is very serious, bald, and middle aged. He is wearing a brown plaid jacket, the like of which I have never before laid eyes on, a white shirt,light brown pants, and a tie that matches the jacket in the browns, but not in the pattern, as it has diamond shapes on it. He is in all possible shades of chocolate, and somewhat clashes with the zebra-motif and the chairs.

And, as if this scene is not enough to knock me off the treadmill, the camera cuts to the bowl of avocados. There are three of them, two on the bottom, and one positioned on top of the two. I stare at the screen in disbelief - directly behind the bowl in the picture is the man's crotch. He is sitting with his legs parted and appears to have grown a pair of green testicles and an odd shaped penis with a little black dot right on the tip.

I practically wet myself.    

Alien inhabitation

The hubby is on yet another tour of southern Africa, due to work and I am left to fend for myself. I used to do this quite a lot and almost felt like a single woman, just without the pressure of finding a man, or even, you know, trying to look respectable in case I came across someone suitable. I already had that special someone, he was just busy working hard, trying local delicacies, and buying me cool jewelry in somewhere like Kuala Lumpur, Santiago de Chile, or Surabaya, as I partied the night away.

However, maybe it's the age that is slowing me down, or perhaps it really is true what I just wrote to my BFF in Mexico: I seem to have developed a new South African persona. This gal is much more outdoorsy and domestic than I normally give myself credit for. She goes to the gym, to spinning class, she likes hiking and participating in races at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings. She cooks, she cleans, and almost watches no television. She gets excited about going on a game drive, or a sporting event, and doesn't drink nearly as much as the Mexican, the Danish, or the Finnish me. 

Weird. 

Dontcha just looove nature?!?!

I think I just saw a mouse scurry under the house in the back yard behind the kitchen. 

There is a dead something underneath the kitchen door and it just might turn out to be a cockroach.

Yesterday I saw ants coming out of the kitchen tap.

Earlier this month there was a dead bird on the balcony. I made the maid get rid of it.

I have weird itchy bites on me, and I think I've seen something hop on the bed.

Two months ago I bludgeoned a spider to death with my flip flop. The spider was most likely a black widow.

One night there was a mouse on the stairs, inside the house.

A dog followed me home today and 'watered' the downstairs couch. Thank Zeus the thing is rented, and the dog had a couple of numbers on his collar, so he's home already. 

At least the air is clean and it's warm.