Humorous expat stories

I stare at my funky self in the mirror. What to do? Screaming is hard work, so I decide to be Zen about it.

Here I was, in the throes of labor and in comes the doctor, wearing . . . no, not scrubs, not a white coat, but . . . .

I’m frozen in terror. Our kamikaze driver is writing, eyes down, one hand on the steering wheel. The car is drifting into the left lane . . .

Are we speaking English in Kenya? I was annoyed with the response I received when I offered tea to two rain-drenched African girls. Sheesh!

Straight out if the movies: Four good-looking, rugged guys on camels with meters of cloth wrapped around their heads to protect against sand and sun — dusty, dirty and starving. …