Ordering food in an African caffe. A look at the future of international travel.

I’ll have the chicken and vegetables.”

“It’s finished.”

“What’s finished?”

“The chicken. No chicken. Chicken finished.”

“Okay. I’ll have some vegetables.”

“Only carrot. Everything else finished.”

“Okay then I’ll have the fruit. What kind of fruit do you have?”

“No fruit. Fruit is finished,” (There’s plenty on the street but since I just smashed my knee into the rocks on this morning’s hike, thanks to my left knee, I can’t walk to buy any.)

“How about papaya? You had papaya this morning at breakfast.”

“Papaya is finished.”

(There’s no water either due to construction.)

“Okay I’ll have eggs. You still have eggs? (There are chickens everywhere. There have to be eggs.)

“Okay eggs.” (We wait for eggs to be laid. Forty minutes later, three fried eggs, bread.)

“May I have some butter?”

“Butter is finished.”

Just then the lights went out. No lights, no internet, no more cooking.

You can’t make this stuff up.

Dinner is finished.

And I’m famished.