Water, water, everywhere…
I am very, very hungover.
I walk into the deli. When the lady behind the counter turns to me, I smile, and say ‘May I have a bottle of water please?’.
Simple, no?
No.
She looks confused. ‘Pizza?’
I struggle with nausea at the thought of pizza, and thankfully I am triumphant.
‘Water. Please’.
‘Water?’ She looks at me, clearly baffled. I start to wonder if I am asking for something strange.
‘Yes, please’, I say.
‘You want a glass of water?’
‘No, I’d like a bottle of water. From your fridge.’
She smiles at me as if I am an escapee from an institution for the mentally unstable, and disappears into the kitchen. While she is gone, the other lady approaches.
‘What is it you want?’
‘Water please, a bottle of water.’
She immediately goes to the fridge and fetches me a bottle of water, for which she charges me N$5. This makes me very happy, not least because I can rest in the knowledge that it is not me that is deranged.
I open the water with shaking hands, and sip the cold, life-giving liquid. I feel it dribble deliciously directly into my brain.
When I open my eyes the other lady has emerged from the kitchen with a polystyrene cup of tap water, and is standing before me, seemingly at a loss. I raise my cold, cold bottle of water to her, and stagger out into the daylight.