In the corner of an internal hallway of the President's Office (Do not be impressed. "The President's Office" encompasses a ten story building), waiting for Mr. Stronger, outside the metal door to his office. It's like a restaurant freezer door, with the handle towards the middle. In the corner, twine sacks hold old metal drawers. No idea what that could possible be for. There are dents and smudges all over the wall, and fogged glass in front of all the offices. African bureaucratic fogged glass--it's everywhere--throws off some nasty Feng Shui.
Stronger arrives, and while picking his nose, he tells me that I have to go to another bureaucracy across town to get what I'm looking for. He writes down the address in a memo book, tears it off straight using a ruler, and says goodbye to me.
The guy on the piece of paper is not in, so I call it a day and stand in line to catch a matatu. The line, which snakes though a roundabout parking lot, seems to be run by one affluent looking guy. He's got matching green cloth jacket and pants, each with a CAT patch on it, and name brand boots. Big guy. He waves people twelve at a time toward each matatu.
When our turn comes, he waves us over, and some other big guy wearing a heavy flannel shirt and with a burnt matchstick in his mouth tries to jump in our matatu--right in front of me, actually. I ignore it, but the folks behind me start yelling for CATman.
CATman puts a large hand on flannelguy's shoulder, and the flannelguy tries to shrug him off. They get into a Swahili argument while we board.
All the way home, all matatu passengers take their vehicle's personal space deadly serious. When a pickup truck cuts us off, they tisk and yell at the driver. We are a team.
(segue)
Back at home, the entomological--learned that word from my brother--theorizing is in Day Two: went to the kitchen last night, and there's a big bug on the wall. Cockroach brown, but his back wasn't quite right for a roach. Part of it was translucent, and I thought I could just be looking at a pair of folded wings.
So I dinked him, and he fell to the ground and immediately scampered in roachy panic for some darkness. No wings were employed. I went and got a shoe, but he was gone. That guy shows up again, he's Poops McGee.
Back in the room, there's what appears to be an acme rubber spider on my floor. I kicked it boosh over teakettle, but the thing just kept skittering away. But the invasion of our house continues.
The day two theory: it's the rainy season here. Haven't had any rain this week, but I think the insects know their season regardless. And so they are attracted to the dryness, the peanut butter, the horrid navelly-fixated blogging of my room.
