Break Dance Fighting Does Exist

More and more my "fake life" feeling in Guinea fades away, and realities of my current life style start to feel real. However, there are still times when the ridiculousness of what I'm surrounded by sets in, and I have a "omygosh I love that I'm in Guinea" moment. Take last night for example:

After several weeks of intense work, nonstop housevisits and 24/7 "just to say hi" phonecalls, I was exhausted. I mean, you know that tiredness that makes you break down and cry and get sick exhaustion? I had that. So I decided to escape for the weekend to Conakry. So last night as I was watching the sun set on the Atlantic and thinking "somewhere on the other side of this ocean are my family and friends" I decided to take in my surroundings. And this is what I saw:

1. A prostitute and her white client behind me
2. A man in whitey tighties running around like a lunatic on the beach. Lunges, pushups, squats, and literally running around in circles. Apparently he never stops. And for the 3 hours I was there, he didn't. This little dude was quite buff, yet quite insane.
3. To my right 3 lovely Lebanese young bucks. One of them thought it would be appropriate to sit directly facing me, spread out, and spend the evening staring into my eyes. It was intense. I avoided most of it. Although I will admit, he was gorgeous.
4. In front of me were a bunch of rastamen. One of them (the one with 2 feet of dreads hidden beneath a rasta "top hat") played with one of the world's most famous rastamen (aka reggae men) named Takana Zion. So these guys, with their guitars out and dreadlocks, were rockstars. Me and my girls were star-struck.
5. In front of me on the beach (to the right of the whitey-tighty energizer bunny) was, I kid you not, a ring of BREAK DANCE FIGHTING. These two guys drew a sumo-wrestling-sized-circle in the sand and began their faux-attacks, including backflips and many cartwheels. This went on for several hours. It was kind of like a scene from a bad action movie with two short black dudes, ripped muscles, and braided hair are smiling and doing those high-karate kicks you probably practice when you're by yourself at home in the kitchen when you want to see how flexible you really are. It stars with a circle-walk, hands in the middle, eye contact. Throw in a fake out kick, your opponent does a cartwheel. Stand back up. High kick, pretend fall to the ground where you b-boy rock, then do a back flip to standing position. Repeat. When Mr. Whitey Tighties wasn't doing pushups he would run laps around the perimeter of the circle clapping and singing African songs.

So although I've become better acclimated to Guinean life, moments when I'm surrounded by international superstars, hoes, men running around in underwear on the beach, and the occasional break dance fight do still catch me off guard and make me laugh. A lot.

I will also let you all in on another fun piece of information:
eventually the prostitute and her client left, it got too dark to break dance fight, Mr. Whitey Tighties tired out and put some clothes on, and the beautiful staring contest ended. So the excitement died down and it became like a "normal" bar on the beach. Except for the reggae stars. Being with 2 other white girls, there was a mutal understanding of what possibilities could lay ahead. A plan was conceived with that wonderful telepathy females possess, and within 10 minutes we got invited to sit at the reggae all-star table. Victory. Rounds of drinks on the rockstars, and reggae music was played on the guitar. It was incredible. I mean, I've been around a lot of guitars and guitarists, but never have I heard reggae played and have reggae men sing in my presence. It was awesome- 7 Bob Marleys, in the flesh.

Anyways that was last night. Work is driving me back to Mamou (about 4-6 hours away, depending how much the military wants to harass you) and I'm going to have an intense rest of the week ahead.

Also, during the writing of this, my World Education boss called to let me know his wife had a baby! Please, I eat rice and sauce at this man's house every day, I hang out with his wife, every day, and have done so for the past 7 months- and NO ONE tells me she's pregnant! (I figured it was either a baby or she was eating too many white carbs.) People are crazy here, but I love 'em.