Waiting for me in the living room this morning, was this. After eating the first plate of three, thick slices of eggy-bread, I asked the boy if the other plate was also for me. It was. I felt full but I didn't want to be rude, so I found room for the second plate. Just as I was finishing, the boy brought out a third plate of eggy-bread. In total I ate seven thick slices of eggy-bread. I might need to buy a bigger waistcoat.
Whilst I was stuffing my face, the old man came back (I think he gets the weekend off), and started pottering about the living room chatting away to me in Kinyarwanda. I have no idea what he is saying but I appreciate that he talks to me anyway. He pointed at the Rwanda tea I was drinking, and then to the English tea I brought and said things like nibyiza (it's nice) and biraryoshye (it's delicious; I had previously been spelling it bira joshi, incorrectly). I learnt a new word when he pointed to the Rwanda coffee and said ikawa. He poured some out for me to smell. For a few minutes I was scared he was going to make me a coffee. He didn't.
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