abdijan airport

i had been sitting on the glassy waxed floor for over an hour, trying to figure out exactly what was going on with brittany spears. i was feeling sympathy for her. generally i don't take much interest, but my layover en route to cameroon was over 10 hours and i needed to occupy myself.

it was only the first hour.

the ground was chilling my thighs and the shop (duty free of course) had cranked up the AC to an unbearable level, unbearable after having grown accustomed to the skin-prickly heat that was just outside.

i reached for my backpack, stuck my hand down to the bottom, and tried to feel for my sarong. i pulled it out like a magic rabbit. this would keep me warm.

after i had finished bundling myself i noticed eyes on me. i looked around.

apparently it was okay for me to be sitting (although i didn't get the impression it was advisable) but wrapping myself up in a piece of cloth AND being on the floor was pushing it. my luck was shot.

the lady in the pressed blue slacks and snappy white blouse was making her way through the toblorone chocolate stand over to me. her heels were clinking and she was charged.

i wanted to scramble, to adjust, to make myself presentable. 'i should have worn my little black dress' i thought. 'people take me more seriously in my little black dress.'

i had read over 6 magazines and still had the middle and top shelf to go. this could keep me happy for at least another 3 hours, i didn't want to be ripped away from it.

i tried my hardest to close into a tight compact shell, and pull my neck in, like a turtle. i made no eye contact.

"Madame?" i heard from above.

i squeezed in tighter pretending not to hear, improving rolly polly.

she cleared her throat. "uh hu... MADAME!"

i turned slowly, unwrapping myself from my fabric shield, trying to look sweet. "yes?" i replied, smiling and batting my eyelashes.

"Madame, si vous plais... french french french french french french french. mm?"

i knew what she was saying, not through the words but because the situation was that obvious.

she didn't want stragglers sitting on her floor. but i was in a predicament, i was in the claws of a People magazine. anyone who has ever been in this type of scenario knows. it can be an airport clerk lady, your best friend, your daughter, your mother, or it can be your turn to check out groceries, but, when you've dove into the pages of a pointless magazine it can be quite hard to snap back. YOU DON'T WANT SOMEBODY TAKING IT AWAY FROM YOU.

it takes steps. and one of those steps was going to require me to finish looking at brittany's meltdown. i didn't care that the entire thing was in french, i could catch the gist through the procession of pictures.

i cocked my head to the side and squinted my eyes, trying to think of something to say, but not worrying too much certain our language barrier would afford me some extra time and excuses for the awkwardness.

"MADMAE!" she barked, then she walked away to retrieve an english speaker who had been watching from behind the perfume counter.

he had a very thick accent.

"meezeez, yoo must pay for zee mahgahzeen!" he informed, hand on hip. i wasn't used to the french speaking african accent, it was harsh.

i stood up.

"you must pay for ALL zee mahgahzeens!"

that was a lot.

"pay?" i said. "for ALL the magazines?"

"YEEZZ."

"but i haven't read any of them."

he had been periodically watching me from across the way, eager to address my embarrassing presence. the look he was now giving me was of incredibility. he thought i was lying because he had seen me enthralled, face deep for at least an hour.

but the fact of it was, i was telling the complete truth.

i hadn't actually READ the magazine.

his eyes forced me into confession.

"okay, okay. i haven't been reading them, but i have been looking at them. you see, they're all in french and i don't speak french, and i don't read it. i've been looking for an english magazine, you know, so that i CAN read it. i've only gotten to look at the pictures but..."

little did he know the pictures are the only point, although once in a blue moon there is an article worth reading.

"zen pay for zeez mahgahzine. zee one you are have here."

we all looked down at the evidence in my hand.

"how much?" i asked, sure i could bargain for it.

perfume man whipped out a calculator and concocted his price in CFA.

"i'm sorry" i said calmly, diplomatically "i don't know how much that is. do you know in dollars?"

"let me zee."

after a group effort and a few failed attempts, the conversion came out to 8 dollars.

"EIGHT dollars? for this?"

8 dollars. 80,000 cedis. 2 weeks food in the village.

"i'm sorry" i continued "i just can't pay 8 dollars for a people magazine. especially when there is a price right here for 3.50. but to tell you the truth, i can't even pay that. let's bargain."

the man was not pleased, so i figured i'd pay a little something. "okay fine fine, let's see what we can do here. you take cedis?"

they both burst out laughing. "zeedezz, from ghana? NO."

oh.

"well, i'm sorry for disturbing your shop but that is all i have. it'd probably be better if i just left, okay? i won't read anymore..." i was talking and packing up my homeless fort, crumpling up my sarong, throwing my backpack over my shoulder.

i reluctantly slid the magazine back into place.

the employees didn't move, instead they stood like well planted trees, but less friendly. they were on a noble mission, protecting their shop from people like me. riffraff. poor folks scavenging for entertainment during a half day layover. i could feel their pupils shooting laser red disapproval, i needed to get out of there.

"okay, thanks! or... i guess, sorry? sorry and thanks! au reviour!"

i skittered out and didn't turn back, convinced a fast pace would soon shed the dark sticky worthless feeling i had. my flesh was saturated with judgment.

it was not a good feeling, but it would soon disappear. it was temporary but not entirely foreign. i have spent a lot of time, on the road, getting kicked out of places or sneered down upon. sometimes, being a beatnik traveler, this happens. and sometimes it's fun. when you're with a friend.

i knew a radical transformation was about to occur once i boarded the plane, when i stepped off as the U.S. Ambassador's niece.