The Cost of a Good Mechanic

"Are you my friend?" I looked into his serious brown eyes and burst out laughing. We were in the middle of our English lesson and I had constructed a role playing session that I thought was going rather well. Isaac had wanted to talk about cars and after studying the vocabulary for interior and exterior parts of a car, we were now acting out a customer/ mechanic scenario.

I wasn't actually sure at first if he got the idea that we were imagining. After several stops and starts, I felt like the situation was pretty clear. I was the customer, whose car had broken down a few kilometers away from Isaac's garage. He successfully called for a tow truck and began to ask me diagnostic questions. Eventually I asked him how much all of the repairs would cost.

And that's when he asked if we were friends. Because how could he determine a fair price without really knowing the depth of our imaginary relationship.  Ah yes, the inevitable role of culture in play.

Secret Confessions of an African Taxi rider

While I can't argue that taking a taxi can be unpredictable and frustrating- in any city- I must admit to finding a certain therapeutic value in it. After weeks of feeling cut off and estranged from the world, a ride in a taxi is just the medicine I need to bring me back to earth.

As I wait for the right moment to dash through the crowds and try to claim a place in a cab, I listen to the destinations being sung out. "Limete...Limbe.....Zondo...Pompage......Gombe....Boulevard....Whoolerie...." I am seduced. I feel like choosing any one of those places, the one most beautifully sung, and heading off for an unplanned adventure.

It happens every time. For a brief moment, I seriously consider just wandering off to a place with a melodic name and a search for a whole new me. A buffet of choices before me.....

Shop Rite Shop Wrong

"It looks just like America," Nabih gasped as we pulled into the parking lot, effectively leaving Kinshasa behind and entering the first world realm of supermarkets and malls. The parking lot had delineated spaces (enough for everyone) and tree coverings for beauty and shade. People pushing shopping carts out to their cars completed the picture of your average American (or South African) grocery mart.

Inside we found the shelves lined with goods- food and non food items alike- the choices staggering. Shoes and sandals hung on metal hooks across from baby foods and formula. Vitamins, health food items and plastic tupperware filled another aisle. I felt myself overcome with that now foreign desire to browse and wonder what I "needed" at home.

Bakery- complete with plastic hair covers

I have been to the new ShopRite twice and both times I have been forcing myself to feel that this is progress and it's good. I tried to be amused as I rounded a corner with Mohamed only to hear a quick intake of breath. "Wow!" It was the soda and juice aisle, and it was quite explosive- bottles filled with sugar coated, colored liquid seemed to stretch on endlessly. I shook my head in horror. An involuntary, "No way," escaped from my lips though I'd meant to think it only to myself. We are not buying anything in this aisle.

The ultimate in colored sugar drinks

I was also caught up in delusion as the fruit and vegetable aisles were equally bright and alluring.  The prices there remain prohibitive (though I splurged on a $5 bag of plum tomatoes. and so yummmy have they been.) I did purchase some of the canned variety- envisioning a pie one Sunday evening.

Yes, I bought those two missing cans of strawberries-had to forgo the real ones

During check out, Nabih and I accidentally broke a bottle of spices (and weren't asked to pay for it!) When there was a problem with the price of my flour, the cashier flicked a switch and her register light started blinking. Yup, just like old times. A dressed up "Vache Qui Rire" was hanging around the store to entertain the kiddos and Nabih was even awarded a promotional baseball cap from Africa's Choice (powdered milk.) But something about the whole experience left me unsettled and I've yet to figure out why.  Is this how middle classes are made? This is progress and development so it must be good?

La Vache Qui Rire

I don't know enough about the chain to really make a statement in that respect. I see a sign for a Hungry Lion next door. Mohamed tells me it is a fast food restaurant opening. I want to be happy about all this development. Kintambo itself has been deluded with small new grocery stores and life has become ever more convenient (if not more affordable. It still is Kinshasa, after all.) But I worry about the huge divide. Shopping at these stores is still not the mark of the average Conoglaise...and there remain far too many children sleeping on the streets- which seems the very basic of social services.

I am trying to remain open to the possibility that businesses like these can lead to a widespread evolution in quality of life for all. It must start somewhere, rite? But for now, I still prefer my eggs to come with feathers.

Local eggs- delivered with feathers and chicken poop...they're that fresh!