Friday, May 16, 2008

Hot Ankle Plague

So, one thing I noticed, is that men in Africa have hot ankles.

I don’t mean that you’d look at their ankles and feel a little quiver in your loins, and suddenly and inexplicably feel that you are madly in lust with their ankle-bones.

I mean they must physically have ankle joints that are overheating. But only their ankles. Or at least, more so than their knees or calves.

How have I made this astute observation?

By astutely observing, of course.

Faced with a cancelled flight out of Zambia, necessitating a trip to the airport “restaurant,” and then a further one hour delay while the now not-cancelled-but-instead-delayed flight arrived, I had a couple of gin and tonics (in Africa, “couple” equals “four”).

Because there were no seats left in the wildly overcrowded departure lounge, and having just spent $200 in the airport store on a bunch of children’s pillowcases with warthogs on them (don’t ask), I smartly decided to sit down on the last patch of remaining floor space, and not drink anymore gin and tonics, not spend any more money.

From that vantage point, I saw the first evidence of the ankle-overheating ailment plaguing men travelling in Zambia.

Everywhere I looked, another man appeared to be suffering.

Everywhere I looked, women stood idly by, as if they didn’t realize the agony their men were in.

Everywhere I looked, men had ill-advisedly come to some sort of solution on their own.

Yes, everywhere I looked, men had found a way to combat the hot ankle plague.

Capri pants.

Just then, a mild, unassuming, and sadly smitten young man strolled by me in Capri’s.

I shuddered, and tried to erase the picture from my memory.

Then suddenly, my visual cortex – now programmed to register other similarly-clad men – lit up like a Christmas tree. They were everywhere.

They were coming out of the woodwork.

There were men in Capri’s all over that airport, and god knows how many more outside.

This was serious. A veritable pandemic.

Obviously these poor men were having overheating issues with their ankles. But just their ankles. Their calves and knees appeared unaffected. How else to explain why they could not wear full trousers, yet tragically, had also not opted for shorts? Only a man in ankle-overheated desperation would turn to the absurdist of leg coverings – the Capri man-pant.

Of course, because I am an intrepid photojournalist, seeking always to bring you only the most relevant, most newsworthy stories, with visual evidence, I took a few snaps.

And so here I give you:

Crisis Zambia: Hot Ankle Plague 2007 (insert appropriate CNN-type music here)

This man - not content with the trouser-to-short option, planned ahead for the crisis, opting for a third zip-off option - Capri's.

Actually, these are some random Russian dudes and their classy girlfriends hogging the bar. No Capri's, but amusing, nonetheless.

Security - stop that man!

I told you....everywhere. Let's hope it's contained to the African continent, and doesn't go all SARS on our asses.

No comments: