America or Bust

Don't let the smile fool you:  this is a dirty, rotten child.

"You have to change those diapers every day.  When those directions on the side of the Pampers box say, 'Holds 6-12 pounds' they're not kidding!"  --Jeff Foxworthy

If at all possible, don't travel overseas with young children.  I have done it, and I'm still recovering.  

Oliver and I departed for America at midnight, which meant that he'd passed out well before we'd even reached the security checkpoint, so I got to lug his 40-pound corpse and all of our carry-ons.  As I removed his shoes to place in the scanner, one of the Zambian staff shook her head and scolded me, "You should have brought a chitenge for that child."  In other words, I should have brought a large piece of fabric so I could have strapped my child to my back instead of carrying him in my arms.   

 No, I should have left this child at home, because little did I know that it was only going to get worse. 

The day before our flight, Oliver went to the doctor, because he had pharyingitis and a sinus infection.  The doctor loaded him up with antibiotics and steroids, so we wouldn't have any breathing issues on the flight.  Unfortunately those drugs wreaked havoc on his intestines. 

I won't be too graphic, but let's just say that within an hour after takeoff, there was an explosion in Oliver's seat.  Such was the damage that I notified the flight attendant. "Um, you may want to burn this blanket...this pillow...and uh, this whole seat."  
  
I threw away his other outfit, and put on his CANADA t-shirt.  We were a walking disaster, and America sure didn’t need us for ambassadors.

After two 10-hour flights and a 5-hour layover in Amsterdam, we arrived in our homeland.  A couple days later, still struggling with jet lag, I gave a speech for my father's Rotary club. 

"Just make it short and FUNNY," was the official request. 

"No problemo.  There are plenty of funny things about Zambia," I told myself.  What I should have done was decline... AND left Oliver at home. 
 
The venue was dinner at a golf club.  

While enjoying our meal, Oliver creamed his shorts.  As I escorted him to the ladies' room I scolded myself for not bringing a diaper bag.  For crying out loud, I’ve had at least one child in diapers for nine years! When will I learn? (My money is on NEVER at this point.)
 
Fortunately the ladies room had a courtesy basket filled with feminine supplies.  With MacGyver-like efficiency I affixed three Maxi pads into Oliver’s shorts and headed back to dinner like it was no big deal. 
 
I mean, what was the chance that he’d have another blow-out before my speech was finished?
 

Wait for it…

Yeah, there was a 100% chance, and this time it was a full disaster. 
 
I thought about fashioning a toilet paper toga for Oliver, but Grandma rescued me us.  She rushed him home, and I stepped on stage for my stand-up comedy debut. 

 “I live in Zambia,” I said.  "It’s the size of Texas.  There are 13.5 million people and 40,000 hippos."   I gave a few facts before I attempted my first joke.  

 "And, this may be hard to believe, but there are a whole bunch of black people there," I said and waited for laughter.

Crickets.  That is, until someone asked, "Well, what did you expect?"

I was sure that my audience had a sense of humor, so I tried again. 

"Actually there are a few people who are white.  They have a skin condition called albinism which is a medical disorder where they lack pigment in their skin," I explained.
 

Which person has albinism?

I was poking fun at my own melatonin deficiencies, but my audience only felt pity for the other woman.  People actually said, "Aww." 

But why stop at two failed jokes when you could have yet another opportunity to be misunderstood?  I pressed on ahead. 

"Speaking of people with no color, Zambia has a white Vice-President.  This is pretty incredible considering Zambia was a nation that was colonized by the British."   

"Yeah," my dad told me later, "I suspect that your audience thought you were saying that Zambia is great, BECAUSE there is a white person in government."  (Which, for the record, was NOT my point.) 

At this point in my speech I knew that I wouldn't cut it as a comedian, so I put up a photo of that same child who had made my life so difficult during the past few days.
 

I call them "Thing 1" and "Thing 2"

This is Oliver with his best friend in the world, Daniel.

"Why am I in Zambia?" I asked my audience.  "Here is why: Daniel's mom died in childbirth.  The woman who adopted him has herself lost two children to preventable diseases. This is a kid who has so much potential.  I want to see Zambia become a country where Oliver's best friend has access to excellent education and awesome medical care.  Thank you very much, and good night." 

That's how I ended it, and boy, was I happy to see Eric, Isaac and Alexandra when they flew in a few days later.  I was sure that my speech and sickness was behind me. 

Little did I know that the stomach flu and strep throat were coming down the pike.