Dizzying

Today, I am a bit ashamed to admit, I had such a bad hangover that I actually went home from work at 11am. When I woke up this morning and felt that taste in my mouth, you know, the one Brazilians refer to as "cabo de guarda-chuva" (umbrella handle), I knew I was in for it. My head pounded with the ring of my cell phone on its 15th alarm clock snooze sequence, and I struggled to make it to the shower.

The worst part is, last night was quite tame. No raging party, no excess drinking, no deliberate decision to make myself suffer the next day. All I did was have 2 glasses of wine at dinner with my friend T., plus a few sips of the caipirinhas we were sent by some unidentified admirers. The problem was that I had salad for dinner and, thanks to a prolonged meeting at Hugh Marlboro's house with all the farm managers, hadn't managed to eat anything during the day either. To top it off, I was seriously dehydrated from the heat and the lack of beverages served at the meeting. Not a good combination. Note to self duly, um, noted.

I got to work this morning and couldn't even manage to look at the computer screen because it made me dizzy. The cup of tea with milk I tried to drink just made my stomach flip-flop. The worst part was when my screensaver came on - you know, that one with the randomly bouncing and changing geometric shapes - and I seriously thought I'd have to run down the hall to to the water-less toilet. The prospect made me shudder and, given that I had literally no work to do for the day and Hugh Marlboro was out on the plantation, I decided to go home before my situation became urgent.

The boys in the warehouse were the only ones to whom I confessed that I was hungover and not just sick for any of the dozen reasons a mulungo could fall ill: bad water, bad ice, bad seafood, too much heat, malaria, cholera, too much air conditioning, etc. Nope, I just had a good old babalasa (or is it babalaza?), as they say here in Moz.

The driver took me home (yes, I did feel slightly guilty about using company resources to go home in the middle of the day for such a pitiful reason) and I somehow managed to get through a series of text messages while in the car - ironically enough planning a beer-drinking-afternoon for next Saturday with Ahmed and the boys - without vomiting.

On the way, we passed one of the random street markets on Avenida 24 de Julho. There is a section where they sell women's shoes, all neatly organized in pairs on the sidewalk, a section for handbags, one for men's white button-down shirts, hanging from a clothesline strung between a lightpost and a tree, another clothes line packed full of brightly colored bras, all waving in the wind like prayer flags. All merchandise either second-hand or cheap new Chinese imports, of course.

A child's backpack caught my eye in the school bags section: on the light pink background was a silkscreened image of a Barbie-type doll face wearing hijab. The man selling the backpack was leaning on a car with big letters on the back windscreen that said "BRED PITT". I smiled and wondered if it was a typo. Schoolgirls in ill-fitting uniforms walked in a group holding hands, each one with a different hairstyle and shoes to set her apart from her peers. One girl was wearing clear vinyl high heels, much more fitting for an L.A. strip club than for Maputo's obstacle-ridden sidewalks. A man on the corner held up puppies for sale, waiting for a soft-hearted motorist to rescue the poor things for a pretty penny. Horns honked, the sun beat in through the window, the distinct smell of garbage and mangoes lingered in the air. The light changed, and we were off, dodging Hiace taxis and potholes, honking madly at pedestrians casually sauntering in front of the car. I realized this very particular chaos is becoming a cherished part of my daily commute...

Now, after a good nap, nearly 2 liters of Coca-Cola and some delivery pizza, I am feeling back to normal. Just in time for an extended holiday weekend!