Just the other day, at the Kempinski Hotel, I happened to wander in on the Miss Tanzania competition, no security, no badges — so I thought I’d pass myself off as a photographer from Man Magazine, interview some of the girls and take intimate pictures of the event.
The drinks were free and the food delectable, however, I should learn to chomp before I attempt to scoff anything sizeable down my throat; on that occasion I really did bite off more than I could chew and almost projectile vomited onto the four Miss Tanzania hopefuls standing in front of me.
The strangest of things rush through your mind during moments like those. For instance, why do they insist on giving paper napkins that seem to melt into the gaps between your fingers when put in contact with anything moist — like saliva — or when choking on food, why do people take two steps back as if 20 pounds of TNT were strapped to my torso, instead of rushing to my aid to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre.
I survived with most of my dignity intact, but, official photographer or not, the girls didn’t want anything to do with me after that.