What's my Fiancé's name again?

It's always fun to get wedding proposals. My favorite proposition occurred at a little café at the fruit market in Lisbon. It was my first week in the capital and despite the fact that it was nearly 90 degrees outside, I was in desperate need of coffee. I had been traveling with a group of UC students and my professor had managed to show us half of the country in one month. In between hiking up ancient castles, drinking vinho verde and going to class, she had forgotten to schedule enough time for sleep. So there I was, perspiring in the unforgiving heat of Portugal in August and all I could think of was café.

My friend Gaby and I had searched the stands of the indoor market and after finding nothing but yellow melons and olives, we stumbled across a little bar tucked away in the corner of the warehouse that happened to sell exactly what I craved.

We entered the café and when I requested a galão (coffee with milk) the barista noted my accent and asked what part of Brazil I was from. We began to chat as she steamed up the café com leite and I told her that I was in fact from California. She expressed her desire to someday know my country and recounted her experience of realizing her dream of coming to Portugal after saving enough money to leave her native land, Cape Verde.

Just as I was about to ask her what Praia was like, a man walked into the room and yelled, "Beleza africana!" I looked at the waitress, assuming the man was referring to the West African woman. He meandered up to the counter and placed his hand on my head and repeated, "Beleza africana!" At this point the entire room was laughing, including me. You see, for lack of a more embellished explanation, I am white. So when this man proclaimed that I had "African beauty" I presumed it was some sort of joke.

I stared at the middle-aged man and requested an explanation. He fiddled with a strand of my red hair and said, "You're hair, you have African beauty." He was referring to my hair style, as I had parted the top half into eight twisted plaits that gathered into a bun above the remaining loose tresses. He then pointed to a blonde waitress and said, "See her hair? It's so boring. She doesn't have what you have." The Portuguese waitress rolled her eyes but did not take offense as we had all come to the conclusion that this man was a bit off his rocker.

The barista handed me the coffee and as I was about to say thank you to the man and get on with my plans to consume caffeine, he said, "Let's get married." As he spoke these words I looked at the waitress and barista who glanced at me and we all burst out laughing, again. Was this man serious? He then insisted that he have his picture taken with me. Gaby had her digital Olympus in hand and as she pressed the shutter release my fiancé planted a wet kiss on my right cheek.

The man continued to insist we be wed. He promised to take me to his native São Tomé. My initial reaction was to let him down kindly. Then I thought, wait a minute! If he's offering a free ticket to São Tomé then I just might have to accept. I mean, I never had a real daddy so I might as well get a sugar one...

It then dawned on me that it was two o'clock and my class was about to leave. The São Tomean scribbled his phone number on a napkin and commanded that I call him later on in the evening. I took the paper and waved tchau to the Cabo-Verdian barista who continued to smile as I restrained my urge to laugh. I did not even get to finish my coffee.

As Gaby and I made our way out of the Ribeira and to the bus stop, I thought, 'I should call him one of these days, to talk about our wedding plans..."