The Man in the Pink Suit

It is amazing how in the midst of this self-imposed torture (I have to keep reminding myself we paid a lot of money to do this) things keep happening that just make me laugh. I am sitting right in front of “The Man in the Pink Suit” (oh how I wish I had his photo!). I realize that to him the sight of our group – eleven clearly out of place white people going to some small town in Congo must seem as amusing as his clothes are to us. He is perfectly normal – it is we who are out of place. He smiles nicely and tries to talk to us – but he speaks no English or Spanish. His presence is reassuring – if such a colorful “VIP” is with us surely we will get where we are going. The thought crosses my mind to give him a business card in hopes he gives me his – just in case we need “rescuing”. I have told Carl and Houieda we may need rescuing – and Sharon has advised a close friend of hers of our predicament (using my Blackberry to send an SMS – hers is not working) of our predicament. Her friend is pretty likely to be able to put together a rescue so I relax a bit. Ironic how quickly we adapt to a new “normal” with men in pink suits and rescue plans ….. I want his picture but asking is probably dumb. And I do not give him my business card -- what if he is a terrorist or on some war criminal list? He seems harmless enough ..... but not smart to mess with security clearance items!