"There now. Do you like that better?" she asked."No," I said pouting with my head down."I'm telling you boys, I'm getting fed up with this hair. I don...'t care ifhave long hair but it must be clean, neat, and out of your face."It was some time later that I came home from school and my brother wassitting in a chair in the kitchen with no shirt and a towel wrappedaround his shoulders. Mom was working on his hair. His head was half fullof brush rollers. She was talking to him as she rolled his hair. ” “Why not Tracey? Why not one of the boys? Bob or Frank or Terry?” “It’s Qafira I want.” “Qafira. Qafira. What a dumb name for a woman!” Qafira had a similar opinion about the names of all the people she’d met ever since she first arrived in Further Quitchland to teach Modern Languages. In fact, almost everything about this country was taking a lot of getting used to. Not least of which being just how very fat everyone was. At first she regarded it with a mixture of disgust and humour. All. He warned me that almost no white people ever went there and that I should expect the unexpected. I thought about what he had said and after a few days of thinking, I finally decided to give it a try. We got to Memphis about 4pm on a Saturday summer evening, got our hotel, had a few drinks at the hotel bar and then we headed to the glory holes.I took her in to the first adult book store, got a bunch of quarters, and back to the booths we went.I am skipping over a detailed account of the fun we. I am afraid it wouldn't take long before someone concluded that we were unnatural. This plus how much we now resemble each other adds to the curiosity. Undoubtedly some will associate our change in appearance with receiving a genetic virus treatment. Once the assertion was made, we would be potential targets for eco-terrorists, religious fanatics and general harassment. If we were at Nancy and Bob's, they would be at risk as well. Then again, perhaps no-one would notice." Looking at it from a.