jack and i share an office. he's verrry upset since i told him i don't believe there's a god, or maybe just don't believe in his god and so now it's his job to convince me otherwise. he starts by proving instances where god exists, like when a baby is born, or how i ended up here in kinshasa (total act of god, indeed) and i'm all...geee...i don't know. if there was a god, he would make patrick give me the $100 he owes me (loan shark is not in my position description! then again, i might have fallen for a true congolese scam, we'll see), i say this nice and loud because patrick's office is next door. anyway, then i'm all, what if i want to be buddhist? muslim? and jack wants to take me to his church to show me how buddhism isn't right, but it sounds like a boring church. i only go to churches where they sing and dance, like the one my mom goes to in harlem.
so on my last day at work jack is going to make me read verses from the bible, to save me. you know, i'm almost finished with my last book, but i'm not sure this is the plane ride material i'm looking for. he was about to give up, as usual ending the conversation with, well you are crazy for not conforming with what's right, so he says, are you going to get married at least? well yeah, probably. well then lord will save your soul. then he tells me the whole office has been praying for me to hurry up and get married because i'm old. yeah, i'm sure they are.
so that's it, today is my last day. tomorrow starts the 53 hour journey home with so much to look forward to. going to miss this place though, even my hotel with its increasing frequency of awkward prostitute moments (APM) in the hallway. seriously, why don't you guys ever talk money matters BEFORE the deed. like a taxi ride.
they have also promised me they are going to fix the front door. chemical ali says "i'm so embarassed that you must get on your knees to enter our hotel (got a new technique using my ankles). it will be fixed by the next time you return, promise!" whatevs. i said goodbye to harvey, my waiter at the pizza place who kept asking for french book recommendations. probably the only waiter in kin that hasn't asked for my phone number, no he actually just wanted book titles. i gave the guards my leftover pizza the other night and they love me more than ever. they spring out of their plastic chair naps and open the big car gate now when i leave (instead of my sliding through the door sized one). how grand. i tell the bartender i am impressed at how they have been cramming my mini fridge with more and more beer every day (how does it fit?) and never any bottled water. seriously, i have 7 different brands in there now. including a litre of '33' Export. ah, il ne manque que de la '16'...