I can’t say that I’m particularly inspired to write at this moment considering I only "slept" three
and ½ hours this morning. Any remote semblance of linguistic eloquence comes under much duress after last night’s United Nations Christmas party—it’s confusing and convoluted, so try your best to follow.The lovely and talented Andria from Mexico City invited me to a Chilean fiesta de Nochebuena (Xmas eve to gringos). I arrived at her house at 8:30pm and was greeted at the door by Andria and Yoshi (from Japan). I walked in and then sat down for a chat with Honey and Faad, both refugees from war-torn Somalia, but who’d lived in Kenya and Tanzania before settling in New Zealand. Andria’s two Chilean flatmates showed up soon thereafter.
By 10 pm we left for the party in Mt. Cook with a pit stop at Pak n’ Save supermarket for a few things. The store was closed when we arrived, but the Chileans knew a Bolivian guy that worked there, so they were still able to get the requisite party supplies. We traveled in caravan to the party, carefully traversing a serpent torsadé of narrow roads until we arrived high atop the city.
SALSA: LA MÚSICA MAS ALEGRE DEL MUNDO
The minute I walked in, I felt right at home, what with some Dominican bachata playing on the stereo. I think we had nearly every continent besides Antarctica represented. Our little United Nations convention was comprised of one Mexican, one Japanese girl, one Bolivian, five Chileans, two Bulgarians, three Somalis, two Americans, and even a lone New Zealander—ironic as that was being in New Zealand.
I brought my iPod and Andria brought along her computer speakers, just in case. I soon unleashed a fury of salsa music on the crowd which succeeded in getting everyone up on their feet and dancing within a few minutes. The carpeting made spins a little difficult as did the food table nearby, but we managed to work out the glitches and turn it into a full-blown dance floor.
MAKE WINE, NOT WAR!
At one point, I actually paused for a moment to observe the joy in everyone’s facial expressions. I marveled at how eight different nations from every corner of the world can get along in such perfect harmony, yet the “real” United Nations (more like the Untied Nations) never seems to be able to agree on anything. The incongruence between the two can be explained by one thing: alcohol. While I think alcohol is probably one of the most destructive substances known to man for a plethora of reasons, I now trumpet its noteworthy benefit in addressing international discord. I posit the notion that alcohol should be served at the United Nations in both New York and Geneva. Make every day Christmas. Ten cups of holiday cheer for everyone—mandatory. Get ‘em all liquored up and watch Iran, Israel, North Korea, and the United States hug it out. I can hear them now, “aw shucks Ahmad, you’re not so bad after all! Yeah, Xiang Ching, I like you a lot better after a few drinks! So what was it we were bickering about anyway?” And in a final gesture of camaraderie and team-building, the Mexican representative wearing a traditional charro (tall hat), whistle in mouth, gets up with a bottle of Jose Cuervo tequila and goes around serving up poppers* to unsuspecting members. I have a new slogan for the UN: Make wine, not war!
GONNA PARTY LIKE IT'S 2999
Four a.m. arrived without notice. Time had zipped by and I soon found the weight of my eyelids increasing by the minute. But that was just me. Everyone else was still going full-steam. Am I really getting that old that I can’t keep up with the best of them anymore? I had to wait for a ride home since my car was still at Andria’s house in Newtown.
We eventually made it back to her house at 5:00 just as the sun was pushing through the clouds to the east. They kindly set me up on the fold-out futon in the living room. This was perfect until about 5:30 when one of her jolly Chilean flatmates arrived home by taxi, cigarette in hand, partying like it was 2999. I wasn’t particularly fussed by this except for the fact I was now trying to get some sleep. My thoughtful and considerate coworker Jacques Rousseau had previously invited me to come to his house at 11 a.m. for Christmas brunch with his family. Doing the math, that didn’t leave much time to get any meaningful REM sleep. A minute or two later, the stereo roared to life. I liked the song, actually, but that wasn’t quite the opportune moment for it. I couldn’t get mad though since he was nice enough to offer me a Tui beer, which I gracefully declined, thanks anyway.
For some reason, in spite of my exhausted state, I was no longer sleepy. Sleepy happened a long time ago, somewhere around 10pm, right about when we arrived at the party. My circadian rhythm had done a complete cycle on my blood biochemistry and was now telling me, “well, sorry mate, ya had your chance to sleep and you missed it.” The music was still blasting from upstairs so I decided it would be better to just pack up my things and hit the road back home to Pukerua Bay.
DON’T BE ALARMED
I arrived home shortly after 6:00, went to bed at 6:30, and woke up at 10—well, sort of. There’s something odd with the human body. It has a built-in self-preservation defense mechanism to counteract irritating alarm clocks. Maybe it’s just me, I don’t know. But when my body’s not ready to wake up, it has some magical way of incorporating the most neurotoxic alarm sound into the most harmonious, melodic soundtrack for whatever dream happens to be occupying my head at that moment. Only on this occasion, my defense mechanism failed miserably and I woke up on time.
SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO THE ROUSSEAU FAMILY
I made it to Jacques’ beautiful Tawa home just south of Porirua at around 11. I immediately felt
compelled to tell him the aforementioned story and that I was running on nothing more than a few petrol vapors. I thought it was only fitting because I didn’t want him to think that my incessant yawning was a sign of boredom. The family was positively delightful and the food absolutely wonderful. Being so far away from my own family, I am grateful to everyone that extended an open invitation for inclusion in holiday gatherings. A special thank you goes out to the Rousseau family for welcoming me to both their home and New Zealand during this special time of year. My hat’s off to you all! It meant the world to me!!*a popper is when they tilt your head back and pour the tequila directly down your throat
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