Expats in Africa often size each other up by asking how long they've been here. The longer you've been, the larger store of bizarre/beautiful Africana memories you probably have. And that's what the people who come here covet. I, in my first and possibly only year, always lose this competition.

Lost again last night. I had dinner and beer with a bunch of expats last night, and--though everyone was friendly was all hell--couldn't shake the vibe that I was a bit of a mook.

Through the week, you get to feeling pretty self-sufficient and wordly for figuring things out and poking around for stories. You wear yourself into a rut where you can be productive.

But then you meet someone who's been on a four or five year stay in the area, and you often end up feeling like a real Poseur Pete. Here's when I got that feeling last night: I just met this girl that I had attended freaking elementary school with. Between weddings and emails, I had heard she was in Ghana. So we had a nigh limitless bag of memories to draw from.

But then she mentioned how she was planning to head back to the states for some interviews.

"What am I going to say to interviewers?" she said. "Hey buddy, y'know what I can? I can shit in a hole this big," she said, making a circle with her two hands.

Check and mate. I took my cue, and spent the night deferring to her on all issues African.

And that's the end of today's blog. Posts will return to their former lengths when Allitalia finds my ratfarting luggage, which holds the adapator for me laptop.