Oh. My. Goodness.
Last night, I witnessed the most amazing television program in existence. My friend Fr. John invited me to join him after dinner to watch a Spanish soap opera with him, and who could have know what was in store!
This is the plot that I gleaned from about 10 minutes of watching: When Victoria was young, she got pregnant and gave birth to Maria. The father of the child entered the seminary and his mother tried to kill the baby by hitting her with a car. Now, Maria works for Victoria, but neither of them know they are related. The father (who is now a “Father”) found out about the whole situation when his mother told him about it, but she said it during confession, so he can’t tell anyone about it (except, apparently, the senior priest, with whom he discusses it at length within earshot of- wait for it- his mother!). In the mean time, Maria is grown up and is in love with Max, and the have a child together and they’re going to get married. BUT their friend Alonzo has been very good to them and has saved Maria’s life and he is going to die in one month or less! (The disease is unnamed, but the symptoms include squinting, and uncontrollable head-clutching.) Max selflessly insists that Maria marry Alonzo, since both Max and Maria want nothing more than for Alonzo to be happy, and it will only be for a month (we can all tell how that’s going to go). Maria, after a quick series of highly emotional flashbacks, realizes for the first time that Alonzo is in love with her, so she agrees to Max's plan. Also, Victoria has just returned to work at her fashion design company after “not being around much” for a couple of weeks, during which time she was diagnosed with badly advanced breast cancer, had a mastectomy, went through chemotherapy treatments, and is now completely cancer-free, back to her full health, and ready to dive back into her work.
None of this is a particular stretch for the soap genre, but couple it with the added camp of being a Spanish soap, and the fact that all of the dialogue is dubbed (badly) into English with exaggerated American accents, and you’ve got a real winner. (Oh! If only you could hear this voice work!) Plus, all of the background songs are still in full Spanish, creating this really bizarre multi-linguistic universe.
As I mentioned, I watched this at the behest of Fr. John, who tries not to miss a single episode (he’s the one who helped fill in some of the back story). He says he likes it because everyone is Catholic and there are some really good “themes”. (Um… ok, Father.) And he takes it super seriously! I started to feel bad about laughing so hard, and try as I might, I could not explain why it was so funny to me.
This morning at breakfast, I was talking to Father Michael (Secretary General) and Father Stephen (Vicar General) about the show, and they both launched into very serious communication about some of the finer plot points, praising the series’ fine story-telling. Fr. Michael said it was just like reading a novel, to which I responded, “What on earth kind of novels are you reading?!” I kindly explained to him that those novels are colloquially known as “Trashy Romance Novels” State-side (back me up on this one, Aunt Nelly). Fr. Stephen proceeded to tell me about a series of movies from Nigeria that are taking Africa by storm, especially among the young people. He assures me that they are “must-see” movies. I can only hope they are a fraction as good/bad as Triunfo del Amor.
Since I was very young, I have always enjoyed sleeping in enclosed spaces. Bottom bunks were like caves I could burrow into, and the closet at the Mountain House in the Poconos may still be my favorite bedroom of all time. The room I have here is lovely and spacious, but I get tremendous joy from sleeping under a mosquito net. Even with my eyes closed, I can sense it all around me, a barrier of comfort in a strange land. Couple all of this that I am a veritable magnet for mosquitos, and you’ve got yourself one happy Jo. Friends, I think there is no sound sweeter than the angry buzz of a mosquito trying in vain to get through a mosquito net.
Last night, I dreamt that my cat, Fagan, died. He had gotten some kind of wound on his neck, and by the time I got him to the KSPCA (Kenyan Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) on Langata Road here in Karen, he was already cold and stiff. There was nothing to be done for him. I very calmly excused myself, and blogged that I was “deep in sorrow”.
Of course, when I woke up, I knew instantly that it had only been a dream. Fagan is much bigger than the cat in the dream, and he is nowhere near the KSPCA. Why my subconscious felt the need to blog about it I’ll never know.
During breakfast this morning, Fr. John asked if I had any dreams during my sleep. My family will tell you that I always have extremely vivid dreams, and I am always eagerly relating them. So I launched into this story about my poor beloved Fagan’s untimely end. By the time I finished, Fr. John was staring at me with the now-familiar look of absolute confusion. “Jo, I do not want to be rude, but that just makes no sense to me. Why do you have a pet cat?”
Ah, yes. Pets, at least the way we Americans think of them, do not exist in East African culture. Yesterday, when Fr. John was showing me where the guard dogs live, I told him about my own dogs, two German Short-Haired Pointers called Pip and Magwitch. When I told him that they live in the house, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He told me that sometimes, the white people who live in the area will allow their dogs to ride in the car with them, the thought of which had him shaking his head in disbelief. When showing me the rabbit hutches, he grabbed one by the ear and held it out for me to inspect. I quickly cradled its hind legs with one hand, while gently petting his middle with the other. Fr. John had never seen someone handle a rabbit with such care! When he pointed out the KSPCA from the Matatu, he was quick to say that *this* was not started by Africans.
I can understand his incredulity at our adulation of animals. How can people concern themselves with the welfare of animals when the welfare of humans is at risk all around them? The animals here have their purposes: protection, pest-control, food, income.
But all the same, I am glad that my Fagan is safe and sound back home.
(… he is, right? This wasn’t a malaria-medicine-induced premonition, was it? WAS IT?!?)
Tuesday. We hopped a Matatu (check out the third paragraph here) to the Galleria Shopping Mall down the road and had us some decadence! First stop: pizza (one of Fr. John's favorite things!)
