Last Week

There is little to say when so much takes place. I can describe where I am. I am somewhere between perfect and imperfect, sitting by the Mediterranean on my computer drinking mint tea. It is Friday, our Saturday, and I forgot my phone at home. Someone might be trying to reach me for our lunch date. I will get to them when I eject from said balcony over the sea.

Things here are crazy. Always. I made lovely Nigerian friends on the Sherut a few nights ago and then lost my cool when the bus driver and some random small woman started yelling at me in regards to my destination. “Are you American? I don’t like your country. I don’t like Americans.” People are very good at insiting anger here, at provoking edges and thorns. It is a nation that is constantly navigating boundaries, inside and out.

I got a ride from a stranger who gave me chocolate milk and had me listen to his recording CD. A religious boy offered to helpo carry my groceries. I made friends with a cab driver after asking, sincerely, if he was ok. He stopped the meter and drove me for free. I found my little friend from New Mexico.

Habib sang songs for me and other staff members and demonstrated breakdancing skills while I sang “I believe I can fly.” My Congolese student was sad so I played a Nico song for him, he learned the words, and sang away his misery. I learned a few language skills, smoothed over relations with a thirsty crazy lady, and regained my appetite for the first time in over a month. I ate out with my favorite Israeli twins and started cooking for myself.

Everything is fine, weird, edgy, injected with the craziness of this place, but fine. I have a beautiful friend in London who is happy, and I have another en route to North Carolina to begin to seal the matrimonial deal. I saw Twilight Eclipse and ate popcorn and Jelly-Bellys with my cousin.

I can still hear the sea. Focus is not my forte right now. There is a glimpse.

Shabbat Shalom.