I didn’t get hit on once while I was back in Canada for a visit. Not once. And I realized that I had missed it. No, I didn’t miss my necessary constant bitchy demeanor I put on or the creepy come-ons that are so overtly sexual one doesn’t know whether to slap him or run. No, what I missed was the constant reminder that I am desirable – even if it is just because I am white, with an assumed wallet full of money just waiting to get married to provide a permanent visa to anyone who asks…
And as the petrol attendant (self-service doesn’t exist thankfully) told me I was beautiful, I just smiled and said thank you. Because sometimes, I can pretend it wasn’t a line, but rather just words of appreciation.
You see? I am desirable and beautiful (don’t even start how I need a random petrol attendant to affirm that).
I have been putting off the task off the tedious task of getting the registration renewed for my car. Not a big deal really but I realized I was on the lookout for police and taking different routes to avoid road blocks. Yes, it was time just to deal with the registration.
The real kicker was I had lost all documentation. And that just sounded like it was going to be painful to sort out. I soon found that all it took was a trip to the transport office to receive my affidavit that basically stated: I am a ditz. Which then I took to the police station so they could verify it (little did they know I could have my family and friends verify that as well). Then I made my way back to transport to wait in the queue once more. It only took my entire afternoon – which is impressive I thought.
And so living in Africa is once more as it should be, but easier somehow… or maybe that’s just this week.