Alibi

To keep Ugandan men from pestering me about a green card or visa, I routinely began lying about where I was from. Usually I claimed nationality from which ever country had been in the news that morning-- Yemen, Ivory Coast, Zimbabwe, or Lybia. When coupled with a convincing story of my occupation-- crocodile farmer, mercenary, nun, it usually worked. In the US, where people really want to know where I have been and what I have been doing, however, I pause, slightly ashamed. I really want a good alibi. On one hand, I have had an interesting, rigorous experience and I have been pursuing my education along the way. On the other hand, I do not have much to show for it, neither have I had a very practical, stable existence. I am dreading introductions to old great- aunts and to my parents' friends before they begin. The problem, however, is that my old alibis don't work here. Lybian mercenary-- not for great aunt Delores. The best alibi I can think of is that I've been teaching kindergarten in northern Michigan or stealing kids for the state in Detroit. Hmmm... somehow, it's just not interesting enough; which is, probably, the reason why I have my real story in the first place.