After
lunch I feel not much better and so tired. Josh wants to watch the
Arsenal game which manages to just trump my desire to nap. Apparently
we can watch it at a pub. 'Pub' transpires to mean glorified wendy
hut. Wendy hut yes, but glorified in the highest. There is a cinema construction composed of three walls, a wide
screen attached to the far side, 4 ranks of benches ranged in front.
The dimensions are not more than 10 by 6ft. I've never used the
phrase, 'a bit village' before, as soon as I find myself in a
situation where it the phrase can most perfectly be applied, Kenya,
it becomes tautology.
It's
now afternoon so the rain sets in, as the benches are full our backs
are getting wet. We get invited to watch the rest of the game in the
living room of the big dog in charge of this set up. It seems white
people, or mzungu's, Are treated like royalty here! We meet a group
of men already watching from elaborately upholstered, (imported, I
discover, a point of great pride) sofas. I admire a splendid trophy display and we discover
that our host is a champion at Kenyan volley ball. He looks slightly
surprising for some one professing to be such an athlete, a little
gone to seed, slightly sun-dried looking, with a pot belly which
belied any special speed or agility.
One
man is mechanically working his way through a capacious brown paper
bag of uh, roots? They appear to be slightly more organic looking
Mikado chocolate sticks, hallowed with a fuzzy fringe of dusty
rootlets. Turns out its a natural sort of drug which acts as a
stimulant, as innocent as coffee? Or as noxious and potent as opium?
I have no idea. I kind of want to try one. The Arsenal game skips
across the glazed face of my attention, but my peripheries are going
crazy with seeing and being surprised.
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