I have been describing myself as 30 for quite some time now. Ever since the year turned to 2009, I guess I have been, even though my birthday isn't until October. "But aren't you turning thirty later this year?" someone asked this weekend, when I said something about being 30, and I waved my hand airily. "Yes, but 29 is such a useless age. I just decided to skip it." No age crisis at turning 30 for me.
When we lived in Birmingham, England, in 1988, we ordered a cake for my mom's birthday. We asked for a cake for 6-to-8 people, but got one so large that speculation said the bakery heard it as sixty-eight. We went around our building handing out cake to the neighbors, and when they asked how old my mom was, she said, "Oh, 29 again."
...
A. and I were talking today, for some unknown reason, about the airport hotel at Robertsfield in Liberia. "They should reopen that," I said. "Sometimes you don't know how long you'll have to wait, especially with the Nigerian airlines. You never know when you might need lunch or something."
"Well, there is always Kendeja," she said. "Where you can pay $150 for a taxi back to the airport."
"If I save up for a while, I might be able to afford some spring rolls." I said.
(There are, in fact, several little restaurants near Robertsfield. You can buy soft drinks, or greens and rice, or biscuits in little packets from a box on a little boy's head. When I was leaving in 2006, feeling all barfy due to the barfing that I had just been barfing prior to leaving for the airport, I got a Sprite and only made it through a quarter of it. I handed it to the driver to give the bottle back, and he started drinking it. "That's not a good idea!" I told him. "I'm sick!" He laughed at me and said, "You think that sickness can bother me? I am Liberian.")
...
I went jogging today for the first time in, oh, two years. I think the last time I jogged was in Nairobi on my way to Southern Sudan in August of 2007. Thirty (almost) I may be, but I can still jog without crumpling over. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
When we lived in Birmingham, England, in 1988, we ordered a cake for my mom's birthday. We asked for a cake for 6-to-8 people, but got one so large that speculation said the bakery heard it as sixty-eight. We went around our building handing out cake to the neighbors, and when they asked how old my mom was, she said, "Oh, 29 again."
...
A. and I were talking today, for some unknown reason, about the airport hotel at Robertsfield in Liberia. "They should reopen that," I said. "Sometimes you don't know how long you'll have to wait, especially with the Nigerian airlines. You never know when you might need lunch or something."
"Well, there is always Kendeja," she said. "Where you can pay $150 for a taxi back to the airport."
"If I save up for a while, I might be able to afford some spring rolls." I said.
(There are, in fact, several little restaurants near Robertsfield. You can buy soft drinks, or greens and rice, or biscuits in little packets from a box on a little boy's head. When I was leaving in 2006, feeling all barfy due to the barfing that I had just been barfing prior to leaving for the airport, I got a Sprite and only made it through a quarter of it. I handed it to the driver to give the bottle back, and he started drinking it. "That's not a good idea!" I told him. "I'm sick!" He laughed at me and said, "You think that sickness can bother me? I am Liberian.")
...
I went jogging today for the first time in, oh, two years. I think the last time I jogged was in Nairobi on my way to Southern Sudan in August of 2007. Thirty (almost) I may be, but I can still jog without crumpling over. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
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