Spent my sick days trying to get over a sore throat and aching ears, drinking tea, ingesting several antibiotics and generic ibuprofen, re-reading Zadie Smith for the umpteenth time, chilling with the roommate's cat who probably was hanging out with me because I had the space heater next to me, not because I'm so awesome.
Also, if anyone finds out how to put that chemical that makes chicken soup so darn good when you're ailing, they'll be crazy rich and set for life. Stuff works wonders.
Through our conversations in the car where we practice their English, I learned that my kids love reggae music, Nollywood (Nigerian) cinema, Bob Marley, Biggie, and the word motherf-er (try explaining to a 9-year-old that you're not supposed to use that word to address law enforcement). For some reason, rides in the Sexy Saturn are also thrilling.
I dropped them off at their apartment and their parents ended up having me in for dinner, which was orange pop with African chicken and rice. One of the kids' friends brought over some VHS tapes full of music videos from the homeland. The kids have already introduced me to the Tanzanian gospel of Rose Muhando, but this time I had one of their older brothers translating lyrics by the likes of Big Fairouz and Lolilo. Chilled out with the family and felt honored to be a part of their life.
This is one of the kids' favorites.