Birthday

Last Friday, I celebrated my birthday in South Africa (I realize as I write this that I may never say this again). And, of course, it was a great day. The morning started off with breakfast on the house from the Diakonia Center; the workers overheard us mention my birthday during a conversation a few days earlier and surprisingly, remembered. Toward the end of the work day, Melissa and Ande surprised me with a cake and forced me to put on a ridiculous looking birthday hat, which they insisted I wear throughout the night.

Later that evening, a group of us went to eat at Taco Zulu, where I ate a monstrous chicken chimichanga and drank a monstrous kiwi “alcoholic” drink (which tasted amazing but seriously lacking in alcohol). Everything on the menu was seriously MONSTROUS — and really, really good. The eight of us then packed into a cab and headed to watch a professional rugby game. It was fun to watch but I just don’t understand why anyone would choose a sport that involves so much physical pain. This from someone who, after the game, ended up buying a rugby ball—which we planned on using the following day as part of our beach extravaganza of soccer, volleyball, frisbee, rugby, and, of course, surfing.



We had plans to go to the Congolese night club later that night, but Tando called and told us she ended up “going to the police station to produce tickets,” whatever that means. This has become a running joke in our office. Often, I would randomly bring it up in conversations with Tando and everyone would start laughing hysterically. The night concluded with us hanging out at Melissa and Ande’s flat on the 13th floor located right across from the beach. I didn't get to go crazy at the Congolese club (perhaps this is a good thing), but overall, it was a great day.