This was the afternoon, Corianne waited for. She didn't care what, that asshole -- and she really was an asshole --  Suri said. Converting unites and measurements was important. Albina, the Suite Advisor, had driven the point home Sunday night at a tutoring session when she discussed baking a cake. In social studies, also an afternoon class, Corianne and Tikvah were both working on elevation on topographic maps which Corianne was aware could be measured in either feet or meters. One needed to convert metric to English and vice versa, and Fahrenheit to Celsius and also vice versa, and that was just the beginning. The next lesson in the geography unit (Corianne had flipped ahead in her coursepack.) was map scale converting inches to feet, yards, or miles or for that matter meters and kilometers. In short, unit conversion was everywhere.

Density was another matter. It was weight (mass) over volume, and it was why a cup of sugar weighted an ounce less than a cup of water. Corianne wondered if there was any way to tell what materials were more dense than others without having to just look it up. She guessed she really wanted to know why. She mused on this while heading into science class.

The teacher, Ms. Busch, began what was her third class of the day segwaying from unit conversion into density. Corianne thought again about last night's tutoring session. The teacher did an interesting job clarifying the difference between mass and weight. Mass was tied to force exerted on a scale, and weight was just what a scale read. Then she had the students try some problems in groups and individually.

Finally, she asked if there were any questions. Corianne raised her hand. "Is there any way to figure out what items are more or less dense than others without putting them on a scale?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Ms. Busch.

"Well my Suite Advisor had to look up how many ounces are in a cup of sugar, but suppose I had molasses. Is there some way I could figure out if molasses is more or less dense than water."

"There are ways to predict that. They are a bit advanced for this class, but basically density has to do with what elements are in a substance. For example, lead is more dense than water, and also how far apart the molecules in that substance are. For example, ice cubes which are the same formula as water, can float on water.

"Now I have a question for you Corianne. You have a chunk of bitter baking chocolate. How do you figure out how many ounces or grams are in a cup. "

Corianne blinked. "This is not fair!" she thought. Then she pushed the thought aside. She was glad Suri was on Team One, but Tikvah was here. You could measure the piece of chocolate and then weight it. You'd have ounces per cubic inch and then figure out how many cubic inches is in two ounces or how many cubic inches are in a cup. cc's and grams would be easier."

"And is there another way to get to the density of chocolate that doesn't involve converting cups into cubic inches. Say you are cooking and don't have a ruler in the kitchen."

Corianne blinked and thought of one of her housemates measuring brown sugar. "You could grind up the piece of chocolate and weigh it, and then put it in the measuring cup but really press it down so there are no air spaces between the grains of powdered chocolate. That would be like measuring cocoa. You could get the net weight and have the volume. It might work."

"More or less... There will still be some air spaces you won't get rid of, but that is true for any powder." Just then the bell rang. Corianne realized her palms were sweaty. Next came social studies, which these days was geography. Corianne got the concepts of scaling and converting units for altitude. Last was Team Project. This was word problems for the kids in enrichment math and coloring sheets or those in the weakest math. They had a whole mural to do, which Corianne envied. For those in the middle there was review of fractions and decimals.

Corianne and Tikvah found a spot at one of the seminar tables in her homeroom with the English teacher and began to work word problems that reminded her of science and geography questions. Corianne's mother said that when all the school courses worked together, this was coherence. "It looks like you are going to get a really fantastic education," Corianne's mother said. Those words made Corianne feel confident and warm. She wondered how well she was catching on to her problems. She hadn't found unit conversion easy, and word problems while way more interesting than work sheets were also fairly tricky.

Nairobi was seven hours ahead of New York in the summer time. That made it just before dawn, but Zia's mother was always glad to take her daughter's calls, though she quickly switched from English to Kikuyu.

"I need to know what's going on," she said.

"Nothing special. I'm practicing reading and writing Kikuyu. My teacher was surprised that I am a mixture of Luo an Kikuyu."

"Mixed marriages happen among enlightened people, especially Christians. Your grandparents on both sides believe our country has to rise above tribalism and ethnic division."

"Yes, mama," Zia answered.

"And how are your classmates."

Zia wondered what to tell her mother about Marion. She was a diligent student, which was a good thing. She was not overly crazy for boys. She had no apparent vices beyond liking the taste of a certain, bright red, aparatif. She could draw. She could swim. Her parents... well it really was not good to judge someone by their ancestry.

"My roommate studies hard," Zia chose her words with care, "and I went to church on Sunday. I've been twice in a row."

"That is good. How is church?"

"We have a trumpet and a piano player."

"Do they play mostly modern hymns?"

"They play a mix, Mama."

"And the service."

"It goes well enough." Zia thought of Laurence. "It is a liberal church, Mama."

"How liberal."

"They accept ell-gee-bee-tee-queue."

"Oh.... It's like that. Have you thought of going to church off campus? They'll give you a pass for that."

"Why should I do that and the answer is 'no.'"

"It would be an odd thing in our country.  Even if I believe what people do in private is private, a lot of people don't and if word gets around you associate with... there are still some very conservative people."

"How can people in government know what kind of church is on a boarding school in the United States."

"Yes, but when you are older. You will come home. It's more conservative here."

"Yes, mama."

"You understand? You will have to keep your mouth shut and forget the kind of church you saw in the United States. That's going to make things harder for you."

"Yes mama."

"I think you need to look for an African church. It doesn't have to be Anglican, but something closer to home. This is the problem with not being in a convent."

"Yes mama."

"Those laws are off the books in Kenya aren't they?" Zia asked.

"What laws."

"About persecuting ell-gee-bee-ti-queue people."

"If they are on the books, we don't enforce them, but out in the bush people are more conservative. You don't think you are."

"No, I think I like boys." "If they are cute like Laurence. He has a beautiful voice and the French manicure even looks good on him."

"OK, don't like them too much. At least you haven't asked to date."

"I don't think I could date with all the curfews they have around here."

"On the weekend, but at least you are not thinking of it, and no one has offered you anything intoxicating have they?"

"No one in my Suite does that kind of stuff," Zia answered. Maybe older kids did, but the only time she saw them was at big station parties, in the dining hall, or in the pool. You needed an out of the way place to sell or smoke pot or to exchange liquor bought with a fake ID.

"Good, you let me know if every you are tempted and find an African church."

"Yes mama. I love you."

"I love you too."

Zia surfaced back into English. She fingered the words of inspiration spelled out on the beaded necklace that held her D-Card. She hung the D-Card on a small hook on her head board. Marion was out printing off letters to her parents. She'd give them to Miella to post. The first full week at school was beginning. "I don't want to go to church with strangers," Zia irritably thought. "I like the people I go to church with now. It's where I belong." Still she told herself it could not hurt to do some research. She wondered if Laurence would miss her.

Albina closed the small group study room door, in the Cerni-Al-Sigh penthouse and stared down eight sullen faces. School started tomorrow. These were there last hours, no not hours, moments of freedom. Too bad. Albina's job was to see among other things that homework got done, and more than half the kids were having problems with unit conversion. Now she was going to teach it the right way.

She pulled up a white board. "You have to know how to convert units to survive on this planet. Can anybody tell me why?" Yes, that sounded like a rhetorical question but it wasn't. The class was silent.

"OK, ladies, how many of you have helped your mothers or fathers cook?"

Four hands shot up."How many of you have helped bake a cake." The hands stayed up.  "OK, let's say the recipe calls for a cup of sugar and you have to go buy some sugar. Now you go to the store to buy some sugar and do they sell it by the cup?"

"They sell it by the box or bag," answered Suri.

"And how big is the bag."

"They come in different sizes."

"Can you give me one of those sizes."

"Five pounds," Jupita replied with confidence.

"How many cups are in five pounds?"

Silence...OK. "How many ounces are in a cup?" This was a trick question.

"Eight," Jupita fell right into the trap.

"Could somebody look it up for me. Sugar may be heavier or lighter than water."

There was a flurry of dug-out phones and then "7.11 ounces," announced Corianne.

"Let's round it to seven ounces."

"Now how many ounces are there in a five pound bag of sugar. How many ounces are there in five pounds."

There was silence. "This is where we need unit conversion," Albina came in for the kill. "How many ounces are there in one pound?"

"Sixteen," Jupita vindicated herself.

"So how many ounces are there in five pounds?" Albina asked. "And if you can't answer off the top of your head, how do you calculate it."

"It's five times sixteen," answered Rupinder.

"Would you like to calculate it for me?"

Rupinder came down to the board and got the answer correct. "So we have eighty ounces of sugar."

"We have more than enough to bake the cake!" Corianne answered.

"But how many cups of sugar did we buy. We are curious because we don't use ounces in most recipes. How many ounces in a cup of sugar?"

"Seven," Jupita replied.

"How do we figure out how many cups are in that sixty ounce bag of sugar?" asked Albina.

"It won't work!" cried Nelia

"Why not?"

"You can't divide seven into sixty."

"You can if you leave a remainder or don't mind using a fraction. Someone want to do it on the board." Tikvah volunteered and the answer was eight cups with four ounces or half a cup approximately left over. The girls had just done a unit conversion as a class.

They did several more of them and then Albina could hear other Suite Advisors rounding up their charges. The evening was over. As it said in the world famous, Landon-Burchard-Durren dining hall "Have a Happy Week!"

"Tikvah, are you up to eating?" asked, the mora, Albina as they climbed the stairs to the dining hall. Tikvah found it a strange question, but when she thought about it, she was not hungry. Her face hurt a little. She was not sick to her stomach. It was just not the time to think about food.

"Who wants to put the tables together?" Albina called out to the girls. Shayla and Jetta volunteered. They selected two tables for four near windows with a really good view of the quad. Tikvah realized it was time to go get food. No one was going to serve her dinner. She had a choice, that was only half a choice, in a fancy place that served ice cream.

In Tikvah's mind's eye, she saw a tree. The branches forked and there was no turning back. "If I had run today..." Tikvah began. "I'd be in New Square now..." "And then," the memory of Albina's voice intruded. She was right, Tikvah concluded. That is why I am here, like the guests at the big party in the Book of Esther, drinking from the Bais ha Migdash' gold vessels and setting the whole horrible, story of Haman in motion, except in this dining hall the plates were melmine. There were cookies with hecshers on the packages and ice cream novelties in the freezer and pizza....


LBD Dinner 9/6/20

Main Line
Beef Tornadoes with Mustard Sauce
Chicken Breasts Florentine
Tilapia Francese
Cabbage Lasanga
Rosemary Potatoes Duchesse
Green Beans


Cold Bar
Marinated Tomato Medeley
Creamy Summer Squash Salad
Canned Apricots
Fresh Fruit
Assorted Baked Desserts

Specialty Station 1
Burger Bar

Specialty Station 2
Extended plant Protein for Salads

Have a Happy Week!


"Well that was a blow," thought Tikvah. The pizza had vanished on Friday night too. Living on cereal was possible. It was hardly a sacrifice when one thought about it. "I wonder what Francese is," Corianne's words ended Tikvah's musings.

"Go ask," it was Corianne's own advice back at her.

"OK, but lets get something to drink first."

Tilapia Francese was made with wine which Corianne didn't like, and the chicken Florentine was made with spinach which was not the Jewish way of making chicken, besides all the chicken at Kotiah-Yovanovitch was treif.

Corianne headed to the extended plant protein bar to make a vegetarian salad. Tikvah wondered if cold beans and raw vegetables would do it for her dinner. She thought about peanut butter and jelly. She walked over to the bread bar and then the condiment bar to assemble her sandwich. As with pizza, she needed to find a water fountain to wash for bread. Since there was no washing sink and she did not have a benscher, she was excused from the more complicated forms of grace, or so she reasoned.

Corianne had some sort of cold brown spaghetti with chickpeas, cherry tomatoes, green olives, alfalfa sprouts and something they called ranch dressing that tasted an awful lot like mayonnaise. "You're eating hair," Suri said to Corianne as they settled into place.

"You're eating dead cow!" Corianne replied.

"Ladies," Albina intervened. She was trying to set up a night when they could all do laundry and wash their bed linen. She cared about the suite staying clean. Tikvah took  a bite of her peanut butter and strawberry preserves sandwich on raisin cinnamon bread. There was a lump in her throat when she tried to swallow. She really did not care about laundry.

"We have metal shop tomorrow," Corianne reminded Tikvah.

Tikvah remembered she would probably graduate from doing mechanical drawings to actually making something this week. She'd have three classes to do it. Soon Corianne would graduate too. The only question was what to make, and that was a lot more interesting than discussing laundry.

Tikvah wondered what the bochur would have thought of the metal shop. Her father might find it interesting. He might ask his daughter if she considered making things out of metal women's work. She would reply that you could make jewelry and decorations. Down the hall both boys and girls worked fixing cars and motorcycles. There was nothing unJewish about learning to make stuff. That much Tikvah was sure about. Metal shop would not saw up or drill away Yiddishkeit.

"What do you think I should do for my first project in metal shop?" Tikvah asked Corianne.

"I don't know, probably some kind of decoration or a piece of jewelry."

"If my mom were nicer, I'd make her jewelry."

"Why not make jewelry for your dad."

"Jewish men don't wear jewelry."

"What about cuff links?"

"What are those.  Jewelry men use instead of buttons to hold their sleeves together. They also wear class rings and lapel pins and tie tacks and bars. I've seen it. Does your Dad wear a tie to shul."

"To shul and when he works, but jewelry is for women."

"Women don't wear ties."

"You have a point," Tikvah replied. "And every time someone asks Dad about his tie pin, he'll say his daughter made it. He'll have to tell the world he has a daughter he loves. Everyone will know that I can see my father," she thought. "Yes..." She took another bite of her peanut butter and strawberry preserve sandwich and felt profound relief.

"Want to do stations after dinner?" Albina asked the table. "I'll staff Concetration and Chinese Jump Rope for the first half."

Tikvah saw her suite mates smile. She could always read her book on light. The bochur would like that book for its pictures, but he probably did not read English well enough to understand it. He also would not understand the math. Tikvah only half understood it. She had had to ask Albina how to read powers and exponents. They had not yet had them even in enrichment math.

Tikvah thought some more about the bochur. He was learned where it counted, but she already knew more general studies than he did, and yes women needed general studies to support husbands, brothers, and sons who learned. Tikvah wondered if she wold support someone like the bochur someday and something inside her recoiled. He was not the least bit cute, and he really needed to do something about his acne. Tikvah guessed he probably smelled awful. Her own father smelled of deodorant. Tikvah wondered if she could ask a husband she supported to see a dermatologist, wear clean clothes, bathe, and deodorize. She would ask her father that in private when she saw him next time.

Zia was glad there was no line for brunch. She and her church-mates sauntered into the dining hall and then glanced at one another. "Do we get something to eat or look for a table first?" a boy with an extreme side part and thick glasses asked.

"Whatever you want," answered Laurence answered. Zia knew this was not much of an answer. "I think we should get a table," she said and they were the right size for a round table in a corner which felt private and nice. Then it was time to find food. For some reason, perhaps nostalgia, Zia wished there was just a simple menu or one item instead of two menus on their twin easels.



LBD Sunday Brunch I   9/6/20

Main Line (Breakfast)
Pancakes
Scrambled Eggs
Hard Boiled Eggs
Bacon
Cream of Rice

Cold Bar
Apple Sauce
Fresh Fruit
Assorted Pastries and
Fresh Baked Muffins

Specialty Station (Custom Breakfast)
Eggs to Order
Omelettes

Good Morning!


....AND....


LBD Sunday Brunch II 9/6/20

Main Line (Lunch/Dinner)
Cheesy Ham and Pea Pasta
Chicken Guacamole Torta
Veggie Smothered Sea Bass
Melted Italian Mozzarella Sandwich
Broccoli
Okra and Tomatoes
Lattice Fries

Cold Bar
Carrot  Money Salad
Curry Slaw with Mixed Vegetables
Assorted Cakes, Cookies, and Pies
Fresh Fruit

Specialty Station (Custom Lunch)
Build your Own Sub Bar

Good Afternoon!


"After the parents are gone, they have to make brunch barfalonious," commented Laurence

"You really think so?" Zia asked. The question was not rhetorical.

"Yeah...who dreams up this stuff? Cheesy Ham and Pea Pasta, Curry Slaw with Mixed Vegetables."

"Curry slaw does sound weird, but I'm not a fan of curry."

"And no burgers or pizza or even chicken nuggets. At least they served fried fish on Friday."

"So get a sub. You can put what you want on it."

"Look at the line. I'm not the only one who's disgusted."

"Disgusted is too strong a word!" thought Zia. If food names were unfamiliar, that was what you got for being in the United States. If there were too many choices, that was not the same as the food being bad. It really wasn't bad, and complaining would not make it better or easier.

Zia got in the breakfast line that was also long, but she realized her usual porridge, tea, and fruit would not keep her until 4:30pm or later. It would be later because Marion had gone on that cemetery tour. "I hope that graveyard was interesting," thought Zia as she made her way to the bread and junk food bar. Because this part of the dining hall existed, the food could never suck.

On the bread bar counter was a multi-slice toaster that whirred round and round. A red button stopped it. A black button restarted it. To use the machine, you stopped it, opened one of the racks and inserted the bread. You then pressed the black button. It took several revolutions to toast bread or English muffins. When you thought your bread was brown enough. You stopped the machine when your bread came around, opened the rack and removed it. The rack opened with a lever on the side to keep hands cool and safe, and the bread fell out or you could flip the hot toast quickly to your plate.
Zia made three pieces of toast and got strawberry preserves for all of them. Then she picked up two oranges and set her tea to steep. Finally she got in the hot line for breakfast and got a bowl of cream of rice to which she added sugar but no milk. She had a good meal and one that would keep her. She was the last one back to the big, round table.

The female trumpet player who was eating salad with hard boiled eggs looked over Zia's food. Zia glanced at the red kidney beans on trumpet player's salad. "There we are even," Zia thought. She listened to a plump girl with high color in her florid cheeks explain about extracurriculars. Put bluntly, the school paper sucked. She had thought she wanted to be a journalist as a freshperson last year.A stint on the Dazzlement disabused her of that notion."This place is boring and the only way to make it interesting is not getting stuck covering dumb sports and dumber station parties, art exhibits, dreadful cultural trips, and informal dances."

"How about Activity Planning Committee," suggested a small girl in a mini jumper and boots that exposed unattractive, round knees.

"What do you think," pink cheeks answered.

"You get to plan those godawful station parties and informal dances." round knees sing-songed.

"And they say our parties are just like clubs in New York," pink cheeks rubbed it in.

"Have you ever been to a club in New York?" Zia asked.

"During the summer. I went to a club in Martha's Vinyard. I've also been to teen parties on boats," pink cheeks knew whereof she spoke.

Zia wondered if she would even like a New York club party. "Of course," pink cheeks continued "If you play an instrument it's easy. Join a band.There's one activity."

"What about sports?"asked a very young looking boy.

"Same deal, but how many people play sports after freshman year."

"I wrestled in middle school. They have that here," small boy responded.

"Then go for it. You're one of the lucky ones. Colleges look at those extracurriculars."

Zia wondered once again if she sung well enough for chorus. That would not just be fun. That would be profoundly satisfying.  She wasn't sure about her second activity. She had no dreams of being a journalist. There was a chapter of Junior Achievement. It was not an honor society but it sounded important. It's meeting was Tuesday at 4pm which meant Tuesday night down the study hole. Zia wondered what her parents, particularly, her mother would think.

Zia checked her app. Chorus informational session was on Monday with tryouts on Thursday. "I planned my whole week," Zia thought, and then she thought of Marion. "How much are roommates supposed to stick together?" she wondered.

"So what do you think you'll go out for?" pink cheeks asked Zia bringing her back to the gripe session. "Chorus and Junior Achievement."

"Junior Achievement is so gay, and I know that's not politically correct."

"I know what you mean," Laurence answered. "Are you interested in business?" he asked Zia.

"Business is important," she answered.

"Yes, but do you find starting a business interesting?"

"My family has a business in construction and real estate."

"Yes, but Junior Achievement is where students start a business and earn money."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Wow, I'm definitely joining then."

"Yes, but the kids in it..."

"What's wrong with them?"

"Well, they're conservative. It's the boys who can't make football and are not coordinated enough to play soccer or light enough to wrestle. They have buzz cuts and there are girls from small towns. I mean Nairobi is not a small town."

"It's OK," Zia replied. "I'll have to learn to get along with people from villages if I'm to serve my country and continue the family tradition. Junior Achievement will be fantastic training."

"At least it's not Junior ROTC," quipped the trumpet playing girl.

Brunch broke up a bit after two pm leaving Zia with half an afternoon. She had sense to run for cover. She emailed her parents from the Penthouse where she sat in a corner with her laptop and her print-on-demand Kikuyu coursepack, trying to get a flying leap on the future.