lumière des étoiles

I'd rather be in Peru anyway. So there.
2005-04-21 3:49 p.m.

Devo hates me.

They must. They find out when I'm going to be away, and then arrange to play NYC during my absence. Really. No, really. This is about the fourth time.

Sigh. I recall complaining about this last summer; the very night they played Central Park's Summer Stage (with, might I add, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs -sniff-) I was at a gay bar in Jo'burg called OH! (which Steve kept mistakenly calling Ho) with my friend Gavin. I was mopey and complaining about missing the show (as well as several others that would be happening later on that month), until Gavin said "And how many bands do you think come round here, Professor?" He had a point - that I should can the mopey act, since I was so god damned spoiled with entertainment living in the greater NY area. Gavin, and later our friend Alfred, recalled having gone to see ZZ Top a few years ago when they played Johannesburg, since no one else had come around for some time. "Beats seeing Lady Smith again," Gavin said.

You might ask what we were doing at a gay bar, but I just might not feel like telling you. Oh, all right.

After another scrumptious dinner of chicken loaf sandwiches, semi-soft cheese, and bananas, Steve and I were sitting in the common room of the Ritz with a group of three soccer hooligans, watching Dog Day Afternoon. I wanted to watch that Australian croc guy, but I was outnumbered. Sick of playing cards, reading, and drinking at the teeny tiny bar that was now overrun with German college students, we decided to watch TV for the night. The hostel was in Rosebank, which was a decent enough part of the city, but it still wasn't a great idea to go romping about the town after dark.

That's why we were kind of surprised that Gavin burst through the door and announced that "we" were all going out - he'd drive us to a Rasta club in Melrose. No one moved but me; Steve sat glued to the movie, and the hooligans smirked at Gavin. "Come on, come on, get up," he said, sort of clapping his hands. Damian, the oldest of the three, perked up and said he'd like to go. Gavin turned to him and said "well you'll need to put clean clothes on first." Damian looked confused. "We're overlanding," he said, "these are my clean clothes". After sorting Damian out and trying to get him "cleaned up" - we did our best - we piled into Gavin's teeny car and away we went.

Steve and I were careful to take enough Rand with us to the club, but Agnes, whom we met the day before, being really sweet but not that bright, didn't have any rand with her. This is what she announced when we arrived at the club. Not before we left the Ritz, where she could have changed money, not on the way to the club, where Gavin could have stopped at a safe bank, but when we arrived. "Do you have dollars or Euros, at least?" Steve asked.

"No, ummm," she said, digging through her bag, "thees." She held up Kwatcha, completely worthless unless you're in Zambia. Of course, Agnes got turned away at the door with her Kwatcha - and laughed at as well (which I thought a tad rude; how is a Swede supposed to know the Kwatcha holds no value in South Africa?). Being that we'd all only met within the last month, no one felt any particular loyalty to anyone else, so everyone but Steve and I were ready to leave Agnes outside on the street. I spent a few minutes persuading an indecisive Gavin to stay with us and not to leave Agnes by herself.

She decided to go looking for an ATM, and told us she'd meet us back at the club. "I'll go with you," I said.

"Uhhh..." said Steve. Poor Steve. I'd never seen so many expressions cross his face in such a short time. He looked surprised, then confused, then mad, then scared. Agnes was so obliviously gung-ho about finding an ATM that she was ready to walk off without me, so we really didn't have time to discuss it.

"It's safe, right Gavin?" I said, trying to make Steve feel better. Gavin rolled his eyes and then made off for the door of the club without answering. I think he was really sick of people asking him about safety - but he was the only South African most of us were bonding with.

"Stay with him," I said to Steve, "make sure he doesn't leave. I don't want to get stranded without a car here." Taxi drivers get a bit scared driving around at night, too - they're pretty scarce after midnight, and it was going on 11:15. After quite a fight and much reluctance, Steve turned and walked toward the door. "Oh," I said, turning back before walking off with Agnes, "take this." I handed him my money. "Just in case we get held up." That wasn't smart, because Steve put up a fight again about letting us go. I pointed to the ATM I'd spotted across the street. "Look, there's a cop," I said.

"No no, thees says mall security," Agnes said. I could have kicked her.

We made our way across the street, Steve dubious but finally agreeing to trail Gavin into the club. We tried the ATM I spotted, but Agnes couldn't get it to work. We walked to another just down at the end of a row of shops, but it didn't work either. While Agnes was trying a third time to get her card to work, a man approached us, and I grabbed Agnes, but forced a smile his way. I know that sometimes making sustained eye contact can thwart a would-be attacker. It must appeal to a sense of guilt somehow, reminding a victimizer of a victim's humanity or something.

There was no need for this - at least I think; the man asked if we were having trouble, and when I said yes, he explained that it's common practice in Jo'burg for banks to empty their ATMs completely after 5 to cut down on losses due to theft. He offered to drive us to another ATM, but we said no thanks and took off running. You never know.

Back in front of the club, I offered to lend Agnes money. I didn't want to initially, because I didn't have much with me, and I knew very well that I might never see her again anyway. To my surprise she refused - she spotted the gay bar, OH!, just down the street from our Rasta club, and walked over to see if they could help her out. "You go to your husbeend," she said. I figured since the club was practically next door, she'd be ok by herself, and I went in.

By the time I spotted Steve, he looked like he was having a heart attack. I guess we did take longer than we expected. I was scolded, and for good reason; I guess I did something a bit foolish. But if Agnes never returned from her ATM search, I'd never forgive myself.

When Agnes eventually got back to our bar, I was amazed to see that she had Rand in her hands instead of Kwatcha. We were speechless - her situation was so utterly hopeless.

"Thees nice guys in thee gay club, they give me Rand! They from Zambia, they trade me!" Agnes couldn't stop raving about the music, the club, the owners - while were at the bar, listening to the band, outside on the patio, downstairs around the DJ: "gay club! gay club! gay club!"

"Oh fer crissakes!" Gavin exploded a few hours later, "shut yer hole! We'll go to the wanking gay club!"

And so we did. Only initially, we weren't allowed in. "Gays ONLY," said the bouncer - a refrigerator-sized African, dressed in a snazzy suit. We all burst out laughing, since Gavin is gay and - I suspect - so was Damian the soccer hooligan, who turned up again to come with us to OH!. Gavin persuaded the nice, large man to let us in, and he did - apparently they've had real problems with gay-bashers in Melrose in the last year, so despite the hassle it was nice to see so much security.

Had a fantastic time - who would have thought Cher would be so much fun to dance to in the middle of South Africa - but did do some mopey complaining about all the concerts I was missing. When Gavin told me bands never come through Jo'burg, I felt like quite an ass, much like I did today

(go segue, go!)

when I mispronounced Hanan Al-Shaykh's name to a group of Iranian students. Well we all have our humbling little moments, don't we?

At least they corrected me. So I didn't stop there - I opened Al-Shaykh's book, Women of Sand and Myrrh (which I love, love, LOVE), and asked them if I was saying the names Tamr, Nur, and Suha - characters from the stories - correctly or incorrectly. They felt pretty damn smarty-pants, which was good; at least someone's ego was getting a boost.

I'd really like to use that book next semester, and I think I will - how on earth I'll be able to tie it in to Jane Austen I don't know, but I will, you'll see.

I'm glad the pope/conclave hoo-hah is over, though I'm a tad disappointed there was no pope-lympics or pope-survivor to choose the next one. I understand and can respect the process of tradition, but at the same time am disappointed - though not surprised - that Ratzinger was chosen. If the Catholic church really wants to appeal to its disappearing followers and "reunite" its especially younger devotees, it must do something to address more contemporary issues and drop this stubborn refusal to incorporate a realistic understanding of the 21st century into its policies. I mean really: it's illogical and socially irresponsible to tell Africans that condom use is immoral when every fifth person in several countries is HIV positive. And why can't women be priests? Because they bleed? Well can you think of a reason? Talk about living in the thirteenth century. Like I always say to my mother, it's never my faith or belief that is shaky, it's my commitment to an institution that will work darn hard to ignore and/or cover-up something as devastating as child abuse, but openly denounce people who use birth control and gays because they're "immoral". That just doesn't jive for me.

But we can't do much about that, can we. I'm focusing instead on my Peru plans, which I'll write about next time, yee-haw. That, and my birthday plans - we're going with the original bocce ball idea; I'm looking for night courts as I write this. tee hee!

xox