Summer Postcards
Lessons on the Court
Admittedly, the quality of the game on the court outside the schoolhouse has room for improvement. Martin’s jump shot involves no jump, and the one-armed hurl he makes when throwing the ball at the net barely resembles a shot. There are some eccentricities in the rule book, too: Rule #1—“Teacher Alex doesn’t take a break,” and Rule #2 –“Teacher Alex doesn’t shoot.” But the kids’ love for the game is as genuine as you’ll find on any hard top in America.
Another Round to the Parents
The clinic had handed me over to immigration, where I was waiting to be served deportation papers. I had been waiting for five hours. My company were other illegal immigrants—a man from Malawi with a forged work permit; a woman from South Africa, her Nigerian husband, and five-year-old son; a man from Zimbabwe who seemed to have committed no crime other than leaving his teenage baby mama; and the CEO of a $90-million dollar company who had left his wife, kids, and yellow fever certificate in Zanzibar for vacation and was coming for a week of business meetings.
A City Contrived
In Brasília, everything is perfect—and right from the start, I hate it.
Further than the Shredder
In theory, the class seemed like a great way to engage in something outside of the confines of an office building. Besides, completing an early-morning workout with a scenic sunrise as a backdrop would appear an idyllic beginning to the day. But when the aroma of freshly baked bread from the local bakery that I know to be miles away permeates the air and disrupts my concentration during the fifth round of push-ups, the deceptively simple class quickly becomes more torturous than energizing.
Metro Dance Parties (Are Made of This)
At first, I didn’t notice anything unusual about the metro car. The passengers were what one might expect from the Saturday night crowd: some huddled in groups, chatty and likely returning from a party, others sitting by themselves, looking a little tired.
