Despite Mr Le Ferve's tempting invitation to attend church in a sweltering hot tin oven, we set off merrily to Number Two beach early Sunday morning. Haja drove while Christina and I sat in the single front seat; and Ide, Steve, Jackie, and Sue sat in the back. I was super excited to see a sign in the parking lot advertising massages:
We arrived around 9am and the beach was deserted besides a large, bald-headed English man and his two business partners. A tiny mangy dog with no fur on his body, ears, or tail stared at us pitifully. The Englishman was very nice and said that he had given the dog some food, and that he was going to bring him some medicine the next time he returned. We were sitting close enough for me to shamelessly eavesdrop into his phone conversations and I heard him saying "bring it into the Sierra Leone port, and then ship it to Iran" - so I guess even arms dealers have a soft side.
We jumped into the water almost immediately, and like last time it was wonderful and warm, but with quite a lot of waves. Unfortunately one smashed me right in the face and my super-expensive custom-made prescription sunglasses vanished into the depths of the ocean. Everyone came out to help search - our group and all the arms dealers - but of course it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. This was somewhat of a bad start to the day, but was not as miserable as poor Sue's. As she was getting out of the water a wave slammed into her from behind, her ankle got stuck in the sand, she was flung forward, her ankle snapped, and within minutes it had turned a fetching shade of yellow and purple.
Next up, while Sue was toughing it out stoically like a good Englishwoman, Christina's fingernail somehow slashed Jackie in the surf and tore a chunk out of his arm. The waves then battered Haja , who somersaulted upside down and knocked her head on the sand. Unlike Sue, she made sure we were all aware of how injured (not) she was. I was feeling nauseous thanks to the deep-fried grease omelet with a side of sand that we'd been served for breakfast, so all in all half of us were down for the count.
Skip forward a few hours: Ide is bright red from sunburn and Haja has a splitting headache, but they are in heated negotiations with a man about the price of a goat. That is, Haja is negotiating and Ide is standing there driving the price up by virtue of being white. When the negotiations started they informed Ide that the goat would be 200,000L, but that they would have to go and catch it. This was fine by Ide, who was adamant that this be his parting gift to the children of Fawe, his school. It must have been a wily goat, because the sellers took hours to snare it, and when they returned the price had increased to 500,000L. However, this was not just any goat, but a lusciously plump, multicolored specimen with a sexy husky-throated baaah, who, according to her owners, was pregnant - hence the price increase. Haja gets the price down to 300,000 but Ide won't pay a cent over 230,000 so the haggling stalls.
Meanwhile, Sue hobbles off to watch the football (she is a diehard Newcastle supporter) and I spend most of the day in the ocean figuring that it's better puking out there than in front of everyone. But lo and behold, someone down the beach finds my sunglasses! The day is getting better for me, the nausea clears up, and Ide returns partially mollified by the purchase of two scrawny, greyish-white chickens that we think are alive.
Chickens stuffed in back of car:
The footballs ends with a draw, Sue staggers back, and is in so much pain we decide to go to the emergency room. Haja, not known for her selflessness, tells us that the emergency room doesn't have an x-ray machine (bollocks) and that it would be better to go in tomorrow.
Finally, at 4pm everyone has it together enough for us to leave, and Haja has begrudgingly succumbed to peer pressure to take Sue to the hospital. We drive back. Sue's now in the front, and I'm in the crawl space at the back with the two comatose chickens. I periodically prod them to ensure they're still living. We get to the emergency room, drop Sue and Christina off, and head home. However, things move considerably more rapidly than in the US or NZ so by the time we're home Steve's received a text saying that Sue has a fractured ankle and that they're putting a plaster cast on (all this turns out to cost exactly $0). Haja musters up a thin veneer of concern (also known as Cover Your Ass) and decides that she and only she will drive back and pick up Sue.
The doctor informs Sue that she can't walk on her ankle for six weeks, which is most unfortunate because she was scheduled to fill in the marriage paperwork at the registry office tomorrow. She can't even make it up the stairs, so Ide picks her up with abnormal strength and carries her up. They prescribed 400mgs of ibuprofen to take away the pain, which is just silly because that wouldn't stop a bad headache, and you can get Vicaden off the shelf from the pharmacy anyway (although Sue's not up for that idea).
At this point Sue is so incapacitated that leaving the house tomorrow without good cause would look extremely suspicious. Thus, there's no hiding the upcoming nuptials and Sue has to spill the beans to Haja that she's marrying Mr Babia on Wednesday. Haja goes berserk and starts shrieking like a harpy about how Sue should have told her, and how they are like sisters, and that it wouldn't be possible to have the wedding without her because she is the in-country director and is the only person that should be allowed to sign the papers, and yada, yada, yada all said in increasingly shrill migraine-inducing tones. Essentially the wedding becomes all about Haja. I can't stand to hear any more of this and my eardrums are spent, so I leave the room, but not before hearing Haja tell Sue that she needs to get her hair done and have a complete makeover. A big fuss is the last thing Sue wants and she doesn't need a makeover anyway.
We're exhausted, so after a quick beer and some 10 second diarrhea it's lights out (joke - as they're never on) and we're off to bed.
Mr Babia and Sue (with broken leg):
