22 Feb: Happy Hour Part II

I did my bones lesson with the other Form III class today and they definitely enjoyed it. Other than that one class, most of the day was spent in the office preparing lessons, reading, and inventing games with the deflated soccer ball. Since Simon and Godfried have joined us in our office, we havent had the opportunity to continue with these games as much, which is a shame.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, we figured it was time we paid another visit to the local tavern/store/mudhut. Accompanied by Mr. Kilinga, we brought six 50 mL bottles of rum with us, courtesy of Brayn's family liquor store (airplane safe!). I sat in the corner seat, which I have now decided is in fact my seat akin to Norm's stool, and we ordered some Cokes to go with the run. While Mr. Kilinga was raving about the booze, the usual buzz that follows us around the village had begun to gather strength outside the store. The store owner, and biggest man Ive met here, came in and had a seat. It was quite apparently this was seen as a bold move. Upon learning who he was through Mr. Kilinga, we offered him one of the bottles of rum. He took a sip, practically leapt out of his seat, went out the door and shouted something involving the word "wazungu." He soon returned with his father (another rum gone) who is one of these older people in the village who are clearly excited about being around the foreigners, but hold back the excitement (this of course in stark contrast to the mobs of children who come running at the site of us). In any case, these older folk are definitely my favorite people to meet. Within a few minutes we were also joined by a teacher from the nearby primary school (wearing glasses akin to those worn by the witness in My Cousin Vinnie), a village elder, and the shopkeepers brother Charles, who spoke English fairly well. He explained he had learned to do so in the army, but he also clearly had some neurotic tendencies, quite possibly coming from the same source. Needless to say, he got the last rum. They were aking the usual questions about our home (weather, farming, what we think the biggest differences are, etc.), and somewhere along the way Charles started going on about how it sounds different when we speak English compared to theirs. He was saying how instead of "water" with a well-pronounced "t," we say "wada," sounding very much like an Upper East-Sider. My explanation of how it was the same with Kiswahili, where Ill say "hujambo" or "sijambo" overpronouncing each letter, theyll just lazily say "jam..." drew forth giggles and giddy, spastic hand clapping from the shopkeeper. This was my first joke that was genuinely well-received by Tanzanians since Ive been here, and it felt good. It somehow made me feel all the more assimilated, a little less like a visitor. Every seat was filled (all eight of the plastic lawn chairs), children were peeking through the window as usual, and by now even the adults are sneaking galnces in the doorway. An idea struck the storekeepers father and he hurriedly left the room, quickly returning with roasted maize (corn) for Brayn and me. This was probably a big deal. "We are all people" he said through Mr. Kilinga.

Poetry.

On our way out, Mr. Kilinga had to go to the bathroom, which he referred to as a "short call." Brayn and I agreed we need to take that terminology home with us.

When we returned to the school, the skies were clear enough to break out the astronomy textbook we found in the library, and we spent the next thirty minutes or so picking out constellations with some students, aided by our flux-powered flashlight (that can or cannot help us travel through time, we are still investigating this). Today was a good day.

Insets: Us with the storekeeper and a friend kneeling in front of us, us with Charles between us, us ruining a fantastic picture of a village elder and the storekeepers father, and us with our maize (corn).

If this is your first time here, please be sure to read the first entry on this site. Thank you.