Picnic on the Beach...and Stomach Ailments

So Sunday was sorta like Secretaries Day, for the Sanitation Department workers…sorta. Jani and Orlando (who is sorta like the mayor of Cha de Igreja, appointed by the president of the kamera, and in charge of the people who sweep the streets, dump the trash in the ribeira, control the water valves, etc.) took all of his sanitation workers and their families (the street sweepers and trash dumpers) to the beach for an worker appreciation day. He and the kamera paid for a car to take about 25 people to the beach for a day of fun in the sun, and I was invited along to document the event. (My camera is my invitation to everything in this town.) Anyway, it was a picnic in style. We got down to the big beach past Cruzinha and set up shop in the shade of a cave where Orlando commenced to grilling chicken with a metal pan on a gas stove and Jani commenced to cooking rice and beans. They also brought along a bunch of paunche and grogue and even a case of cold beers…in a refrigerator. Igloo coolers are yet-to-be-discovered in Cape Verde, so they make do, with small refrigerators. Yup, they brought the whole refrigerator…carried the heavy bastard, loaded with ice cold beers, 300 yards straight down the nearly vertical rocky path that leads from the road to the beach. (It was worth it.)


While the bosses cooked, the rest of the gang played soccer on the beach, jumped into the waves (the current and riptide are still too dangerous to allow for swimming), took naps in the shade, built sandcastles, played cards and chatted…basically all the same things we do at the beach in the states. I brought the now insanely popular Frisbee and we had a go at that as well. We were there all day long and just before we packed up to leave in the evening, Orlando and Jani pulled out a humongous, delicious carrot cake with lemon cream icing (which was also stashed in the refrigerator) and we all devoured it.


Later that night I invited Beni and Gisella and Romeo and Leo and Tynara over for a very American meal of hamburgers, onion rings and coca colas. (Last week in Povocon I discovered for the first time since being in Cape Verde, a delicious frozen and frost-covered box of something called “Hamburg Patie,” which is imported from Denmark and very closely approximates an American fast food hamburger. Closer inspection of the packaging of “Hamburg Patie” reveals them to be comprised of “91% mechanically separated chicken parts.” Ominously, there is no mention of the other 9%. All I know is, they’re goddam delicious, and if I ever see them in the store again, I’m going to buy out the entire stock. I had also, through some connections in Coculi, acquired some surprisingly healthy-looking green leaf lettuce and sliced, processed cheese spread…like a poor imitation of Kraft cheese slices, except less tasty, if that’s possible. Anyway, I had all the makings for the Cape Verdian equivalent of a Happy Meal, so that’s what I made.

Well, I can tell you that the meal was, from the viewpoint of my Cape Verdian friends, a resounding success, particularly the onion rings. It was the first time eating onion rings for all of them and after they’d devoured 3 onions worth, they immediately demanded more, which made me insanely happy. They enjoyed the burgers cokes as well, but pretty much onion rings were the Big Hit. After dinner we sat around and played Sting and discussed the finer points of Frisbee throwing and the frying of onion rings.

The only downside to the entire evening was yesterday afternoon, most of which I spent in the bathroom, due I believe, to the green leaf lettuce. Peace Corps recommends that volunteers soak all produce in water and bleach for 15 minutes before consuming. I felt like that would be a little overkill, so I just washed it under the sink for a bit. Apparently that wasn’t enough, for me and my weak constitution at least.

Peace Corps training reminds us that we will all, during the course of our service, become the victims of “stomach maladies…possibly severe.” It’s not if, but when. Entire days of training were spent on diarrhea, its causes and cures. Well, yesterday was my day. I was grossly, terribly, obscenely, horribly, profanely, violently ill yesterday. (I believe the technical term is “Coming Out Both Ends.”) In the End, I would need a hose. Other than a faintly-remembered yet glorious afternoon at Mardis Gras, it was I believe, the first time in my life to pass an entire day with my pants down. Now, this would be bad enough at home in the States…behind closed doors in the cool, climate-controlled environs of my home, with nice clean, cold bathroom tiles to lay down on between eruptions. Maybe even a shaggy bathroom mat to rest my head upon. Well, I can tell you that such an experience is Much Worse over here.

Yesterday it was murderously hot outside. Further, my bathroom is, I might remind you, a tiny cave of a closet, 3 feet by 3 feet with a slanted ceiling that requires you to stoop when standing. The toilet and the bathtub are one in the same. The floor is rough concrete. Its size does not permit the supine position. It is also, and here is the salient point, a mere 6 feet from the streets of Cha de Igreja. Well, the shrieking and splashing and spraying and backfiring going on in there yesterday was certainly audible and, I can assure you, Very Worrisome to my neighbors. There was real and genuine concern; a crowd gathered. Shouts of “Oi Caley…bo ta tu dret? Ki k bo ten?” (Hey Caley, what the fuck is going on in there?) They may have feared a murder was talking place.

Well as we all know, the last thing anyone wants at such a moment is an audience. I tried to ignore them; wished they’d go away. But they didn’t. Instead they knocked and called to me and knocked some more. My friend Vaduka eventually scaled the small wall that separates my quintal from the street, nearly slipped in the filth, and discovered me attempting to crawl into the kitchen to hide. God knows what his initial assumption was at that moment. If they ever get Therapy over here, he might need it. Counseling may be the only option for the nightmares he’s likely to have after seeing my crumpled, sweating, dripping, filth-covered form. Poor Bastard…I wasn’t polite. I yelled at him to please get the fuck out and let me die in peace and he obliged.

Hours later the worst had passed. I used buckets of water and bleach to rinse myself and mop the bathroom floor and clean the walls off. I believe Vaduka sensed that I was either recovering or dead, and he knocked again. I limped to the door and upon opening it found he and his mom with a Tupperware full of chicken broth and crackers and a banana. I invited them in, thanked them profusely, and apologized to Vaduka. I passed on the banana, but sipped the broth and nibbled on the crackers, and felt measurably better immediately. We talked for a bit, I explained the lettuce and we had a laugh. Having confirmed my survival, they excused themselves and promised to return today with more soup and crackers.

Anyway, that’s how I spent yesterday. My poor sister called me yesterday when I was in the midst of all of this but I didnºt have the heart to tell her. Now she knows. I’m feeling better today…I’m hungry even. I won’t scare you with pictures of yesterday, but here are a few from the picnic on the beach.