The delegate at the podium has been speaking for a lifetime. My brain has now trained itself to tune her out, and her voice is little more than a low, buzzing sound. I zone out, doodling on the back of my placard.
Ha! My placard says Saudi Arabia, but I could turn it inside out and get Saudi Arabia again, except in Arabic. I contemplate how lame I am to myself, and then zone out, staring at the clock, fidgeting in my seat.
The delegate is still at the podium, now in an intense back-and-forth with someone who asked a question, I presume. They really seem to be at each other’s throats. Man, enthusiasm is one thing, but is it really worth it to argue so vehemently over something so insignificant? I listen to one of the questions the delegate is asking, and it really seems as if he is taking a jab in the dark. Meanwhile, I have zoned out again, and get stabbed sharply in the side with a finger belonging to the delegate of Venezuela sitting next to me.
“Kenya not?” I tell him, a little too loud, and everyone stares at me. Or are they staring at me because they expect me to speak? Oh, seems like that was what the stab was all about. Everyone’s eyes are on me, including the chair, the press, and the delegate at the podium. Oops.
“Im sorry chair, I must have zoned out a while”, and while the whole committee erupts into laughter, the chair rolls his eyes. “Next time, delegate, pay Samoa attention”, he says. “The delegate of Ecuador just made a statement about oil prices, and you are required to give a statement, delegate.”
I groan internally, because I have no idea what was happening. “I would like to submit his**(this is intentional)** answer in written form”
“Personal pronouns, delegate. Alright, you have five minutes,” the chair says rather huffily. What’s got his gavel in a twist?
The delegate of Ecuador looks in my direction with a strange expression, as she goes back to her seat. Was it pity, or disdain? I could not really figure it out. Oh, well, gotta scratch something up. I summon a page, and write a note.
**To: Ecuador**
**From: Saudi Arabia**
**Hey, I didn’t hear the question lol. Can you help me out? :)**
I fold the little chit up, and thrust it into the page’s hands. “Ecuador?” He asks me. Damn it. The pages have been paying more attention than me.
The page weaves in and out of dangling tablecloths and gets to the delegate of Ecuador. I look at her as she opens the chit, thinks for a moment, and gives me a thumbs up and a smile. Huh, that was easier than I thought it would be. I thought she would be like the chair, all grumpy and focused on dominating the committee.
Three minutes later, the page taps me on the shoulder, and I see that he has brought me a chit. Sure enough, it has an answer from the point of view of Saudi Arabia. Ha! She knows more about my country than I do. She has even written that the chit is from the delegate of Saudi and it is to the dais. Bless her. I tell the page to take it to the dais, and then I relax.
**To: Ecuador**
**From: Saudi**
**Thanks a lot hahaha : )**
**To: Saudi**
**From : Ecuador**
**No worries! BTW, I gotta say that you are ecuadorable XD**
I sit up in my seat, and look over to Ecuador. She’s looking at me, smiling, looking out for my reaction, I think. Maybe not. Well then, lads: the delegate of Saudi Arabia seems to have got himself a date for the delegate dance. I summon the page, and give him 50 rupees. No, a hundred. The delegate is going to do this right.
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