Maybe it’s me, not Africa

I seem to always have stories of crazy things happening rather frequently to me. (Though not enough time to write about them all.) And I also tend to assume that these things happen because I live in Dar and well, it’s Dar. (Not better, not worse, just a different latitude.) But this past weekend I realized that maybe it’s me, maybe it’s not Africa.

To make a long story short I was in Spain recently. And for those of you that know anything about world events, the final of Euro 2008 was at the same time- Spain against Germany being played in Vienna. I would have loved to be in Germany seeing as I’m a huge Germany fan (largely due to the fact that my future husband is captain of the German team- and coincidentally a Chelsea player), but I was in Spain with my cousin which I wouldn’t trade for the world.

To start the trip my bag was lost en route to Madrid. The printer at the ticket agent counter in Dar wasn’t working properly so the baggage tag didn’t actually have a complete barcode or number on it which made it rather hard to transfer the bag in London. But bags are sent to Kalamazoo all the time on accident so I didn’t think much of it. And the beauty of Madrid more than made up for the clothing issue. I have to say that the atmosphere in the Spanish capital was electric, with people wearing either red or their Spain jerseys on Saturday around town (I’m glad I wasn’t watching the match next to those people on Sunday) and Spanish flags flying everywhere- attached to car antennas, balconies, backpacks, etc.

Sunday arrives and all anyone is talking about is the players and injuries and experience and who will be starting for both teams. Despite the fact that I was offered money to wear a Germany jersey to watch the match, I chose not to. Yes, I did recently purchase a dirt bike and I’m planning on riding it in Dar, but I do in fact value my life- and wearing an opposition jersey in a football-crazy country that hasn’t won anything significant in 44 years is a pretty sure way to die a rapid death. So no Ballack jersey for me, just clean clothes from my finally-arrived suitcase.

I headed down to the bar a few hours before the match because there was no question that I was going to get a prime seat. I seated myself front and centre and proceeded to drink delicious Spanish wine while the bar filled up with locals. The match started and was enthralling. Granted, I would have been happier if Torres hadn’t scored, but he’s one of my favorite young players and he deserved his moment of glory.

Half-time started and I decided to change (Spain is cold compared to Dar!). I get in the elevator, push the button and then suddenly movement stops. I push a few buttons, nothing happens. I push a few more buttons and still, nothing happens. Broken elevator.

So there I am, stuck in a meter by meter and a half elevator and it’s the beginning of halftime of one of the biggest matches I’ve ever watched. The two teams that I was most hoping made it to the final were actually playing in the final. And I was in an elevator with halftime ticking down.

I ask you- how frequently does an elevator break in Europe? I can’t imagine it’s a very common occurrence. However, there I was- the beginning of the second half and I was still stuck in the elevator. Still there 10 minutes into the match. 20 minutes… still there.

So what does one do while stuck in an elevator listening to the crowds watching the match? She texts friends for updates on the match. It was, to say the least, torturous to be laying on the floor of the elevator and listening to near misses, yelling, excitement and the general roar of the crowd in the bar. (And some advice, choose carefully who you want to give you updates on scores… some people are downright evil!)

40 minutes into the second half… the elevator finally creaks to life and moves a few feet thanks to a technician who at the moment he got my call from the elevator started cursing the day I was born. The door open slightly and the elevator is between floors so I climb out and race back downstairs, only to see that the score is still 0-1 Spain. My heart breaks just a little watching Ballack collect yet another 2nd place medal this season.

But the next time the power goes out due to a blown transformer only my street (which has happened twice in the past 18 months) or the rain floods our yard and the pump doesn’t work, or the store is out of the only type of cheese that I like… I think I should consider the fact that it may actually me… not Dar that is causing these stories.

But just in case its not only me, remind me not to get into an elevator in Dar...