bii songe na duala

when i had between seventeen and nineteen years of age i found it fashionable to boycott various things. i felt that there was a problem somewhere in the world, but i didn't understand the world well enough to describe only the problem; only manifestations of the problem. first came drinking from straws, which i decided at a whataburger restaurant in harlingen, then came coca-cola and other soft drinks, then came various restaurants, newspapers, neighborhoods, etc. eventually i became wise enough to understand that the problem was so vast and amorphous that i could never describe it, at least never could i understand it as fast as it changed. tonight i was reminded of the time i attempted to enter buddha bar in paris but was denied since i was nowhere near the coolness-richness threshold. i went to a bakery run by some frenchman to watch the game on a big tv. i spent more money than i cared to and never got the food i wanted, and the food i didn't want wasn't enough. at half-time gordon and i went outside and had the usual icelandic mackerel grilled on burglar mesh and only got cheated by 50 francs each, compared to this boulangerie in which each and every french citizen holds a stake, where it was conspired that i may spend some 3500 francs on things made with stale bread and three hours delayed. i decided i would boycott all restaurants that have printed and laminated menus, where the waitress comes without you yelling at her. that is to say all white man restaurants. bakeries too. well maybe i'd go to a bakery again, not in yaoundé, though. i don't even like bread. after the game we went to our favorite bar in omnisport where the waitress is familiar with our preferences and the place most likely changes into a casino and whorehouse at 1 am--i've never been there past that time but i believe that the unseen is always more exotic, more lascivious and more awakened.