Kugenda m'isoko, the boy said, to go to the market. In the market were a number of live inkoko (chickens), and no intama (sheep), but he taught me that word anyway.
There were plenty of banana stalls selling the ordinary kind, the miniature kind, and (my word) the massive kind. Never before have I seen such big bananas, but the boy wouldn't let me buy them. These are not good, he said. In fact he wouldn't let me buy from any of the first four stalls we visited. He would carefully examine each bunch of bananas, lifting, squeezing, poking, then he would shake his head. These are not good. Eventually we found a stall that was good enough.
On the way home I was practising my Kinyarwanda. Banana, banana, banana, I was saying: umuneke umuneke umuneke. I find it helps to repeat these things, and the boy - in the process of learning English - is a sympathetic ear. Umuneke, umuneke, umuneke. The boy laughed; at first I thought he was laughing at me. Those girls, I hadn't noticed them, we pass and they say they loved you. Banana, banana, banana.
* * *
I was not hungry this evening when the boy knocked on my door: You can come on the table. It is ready.
There was nobody in the living room, just four giant pans of food, a stack of plates, and an avocado the size of a small melon. I suddenly became aware of how full I still felt from my earlier banana binge. The avocado sat on a plate in front of my chair, as though it were daring me to eat it. The boy put on Rwanda TV, and sat watching the news whilst I examined the food. Is a special dance, the boy said, pointing at the figures jumping around on television. In the first pan was umuceri (rice), in the second imboga (green vegetables), the third contained meet of inka (cow), and in the fourth, ibirayi (potatoes). Irish potatoes, said the boy, watching me, watchng them. I took a healthy lump of each dish wondering how little I could eat without being rude. I heard a mosquito behind me and turned around to look for it. Just then I saw the plate on which the boy had placed my mountain of assorted bananas. The boy had put them in the empty, glass cabinet, as though they were prized ornaments. When would they be eaten? I turned around to face my dinner. This national anthem, said the boy. The avocado just watched.
Eventually, thankfully, Albert's cousin and his neighbour turned up, and then the cousin's cousin. They all ate so much, there could have been ten of me. You do not eat avoka? the boy asked. Okay, I said, unbuttoning my waistcoat. Well I'm glad I did. It was the freshest, and most delicious avocado I have tasted. And it was not nearly so daunting, shared between four of us. Banana? I offered, umuneke? Luckily they all said yes.
New words:
There was nobody in the living room, just four giant pans of food, a stack of plates, and an avocado the size of a small melon. I suddenly became aware of how full I still felt from my earlier banana binge. The avocado sat on a plate in front of my chair, as though it were daring me to eat it. The boy put on Rwanda TV, and sat watching the news whilst I examined the food. Is a special dance, the boy said, pointing at the figures jumping around on television. In the first pan was umuceri (rice), in the second imboga (green vegetables), the third contained meet of inka (cow), and in the fourth, ibirayi (potatoes). Irish potatoes, said the boy, watching me, watchng them. I took a healthy lump of each dish wondering how little I could eat without being rude. I heard a mosquito behind me and turned around to look for it. Just then I saw the plate on which the boy had placed my mountain of assorted bananas. The boy had put them in the empty, glass cabinet, as though they were prized ornaments. When would they be eaten? I turned around to face my dinner. This national anthem, said the boy. The avocado just watched.
Eventually, thankfully, Albert's cousin and his neighbour turned up, and then the cousin's cousin. They all ate so much, there could have been ten of me. You do not eat avoka? the boy asked. Okay, I said, unbuttoning my waistcoat. Well I'm glad I did. It was the freshest, and most delicious avocado I have tasted. And it was not nearly so daunting, shared between four of us. Banana? I offered, umuneke? Luckily they all said yes.
New words:
isoko = market
inkoko = chicken
intama = sheep
ibirayi = potato
yawe = your
yawe = your
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