Bright days on the Dark Continent

Friday night I got a call from Peter. Turns out that when I spoke to him last weekend the cause of the soreness in his back was, in fact, hard work: The snack bar is open!

First chance I got Saturday I cajoled virtually the entire VA house into coming to check it out. It sits on the edge of his uneven parcel, which borders on the parking lot/yard of a huge church beside High St. It’s a prime location, sure to get tons of foot traffic Sunday mornings. The rest of the week shouldn’t be too bad either since the churchyard is frequently used as a thoroughfare for the residents of the shantytown behind it.

The structure itself is about 8’x 10’ with a linoleum-topped counter on one edge and a plastic table and four chairs inside. Pieces of corrugated aluminum set on a simple post-and-lintel frame serve as a ceiling; and instead of walls a waist-high picket fence runs along the other three sides. Everything has a fresh coat of white paint. The western side, opposite the counter, is dominated by two large posters that serve as shades: Britney Spears and Allen Iverson. On the southern side, a hanging woven rug depicting Dogs at Billiards serves the same purpose.

The Britney Spears poster in particular is a ridiculous thing, 3’x 4’ in all, at least 3 sq ft of which is cleavage spilling out of a pink lace bra. Her eyes are dark and deep, but blank as deep space. Par for the course for her, I guess, but it seems especially lewd and soulless in the clean, honest churchyard snack bar. That said, it is definitely an oddity; not a vulgarity. The little snack bar is so neat and happy that it cannot be anything but downright charming.

Some other things you can find there are: a small glass display case with a dimly backlit sign that says “Hot Food!”; a juice dispenser with a clear plastic rectangular tank on top and a fountain that keeps the bright orange stuff circulating; a conspicuous shelf above the counter with three brand new blue-tinted plastic margarita glasses, each with a cartoonish foot instead of a base; a young girl (Peter’s daughter) hostessing and singing Christmas carols into the microphone of a dollar-store miniature electric keyboard. Yes, charming is an understatement.

We had spring rolls, samosas, water, Malta, and even a fancy blue glass of the orange drink. Peter’s daughter did the waitressing, his wife Emilia did the cooking (inside the family kitchen, which is now really one big fryer), and he did the managing.

While we were waiting for our goodies I had a chance to talk to him a bit more, and he filled me in on the rest of his activities this past month. In addition to the snack bar launch, he has opened an account at Opportunity International. Between his balance and the new business, it looks like he might qualify for a loan in the next couple months. Hard to say how thrilled I was—and am—to hear this news. Man! Getting ahead of myself, of course, but just to think that all he needed (in addition to a critical mass of desire and follow-through) was a suggestion and the names and addresses of a couple banks; and now he’s on the way! So it is a thoroughly inspiring and encouraging example. Hooray, Peter!

What a healthy antidote to the cynicism that builds up like so much tro-tro exhaust on my insides…

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In other pleasant news, things are finally looking up for Kim. She was days away from packing her bags and returning to the first world when she came knocking on the gate of the VA house last weekend hoping to find a room on the cheap. Kirsten, the plucky twentysomething Canadian landlady, tried to make whip up some room-sharing, cost-cutting solution, and while she was in the process Kim continued to scour the city for other options. In her search she serendipitously met Nadine, a German girl with a similarly worthless volunteer-placement organization, who was in the same boat with respect to housing. They teamed up and are now sharing a room in the New Town neighborhood, relatively close to both the long cement building (where Kim dances) and the epileptics’ orphanage (where she volunteers).

I saw her and Nadine out at a party Saturday night and Kim looked fabulous. As usual she refuses to feel sorry for herself and is committed to owning her experience in any way she can. For now, that means taking back the street: “Whenever I walk on the road I keep my head high so that if any of the robbers sees me he should know that I am not afraid.” It sounds too easy, maybe even naive, but somehow it is entirely believable coming from her. Her credibility lives somewhere between the inherent seriousness of Germanic accent and her smile, which is like that of someone who just got a gold star. She knows she has done well. And the rewards for her resilience and buoyancy are a heightened awareness to—and thorough enjoyment of—the fact that things are coming more easily now.

And that, too, is an encouraging example: sometimes you get a break when you need it. Of course, the truest truism I know still applies, as it has throughout Kim's saga. When it rains, it pours.

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So however late Oti is (even if he doesn’t show up or call in the morning or afternoon, like today), however slow and painful is the grinding rotation of the rusty gears that are OI's internal management, however foul the exhaust fumes, etc., etc., there is sunshine; there is hope.

By the way, Kim thanks you all for the good vibes. See? They helped!