at the end of my workshop this week i got up on a stepladder to pull down the banner, because when you have a workshop, you need to have a giant banner, and to get a banner you print what you want and bring it to a guy on the street who paints the text onto a bedsheet, logos and everything - ours had "carbon" spelled wrong. but anyway. i'm up on this stepladder and all these guys come screaming, "faut payer la chèvre!!" [you have to pay the goat!] and they tell me to get down.
and so they explain - if the queen of england falls down right in front of you, and you don't stop it from happening, you are responsible! you must pay a fine!
or in congolese terms, you must pay for the goat slaughter at the funeral party.
"but i am not the queen of england, guys"
but you are a woman. this is a man's job.
a few minutes later, i was getting into the land cruiser and totally tripped and face planted into the seat.
the driver is all nooooo f-ing way! i'm not paying for no goat, mondele!