This past Saturday, as I often do, I sent one of the company drivers to the open market to get food for the dogs. Since the open market is one of the many places in Kigali that does not provide paper bags for groceries, I always send my big red plastic bag with the driver. He brought the food to the house without incident and returned to the job site. Shortly after I received the food Ken called to tell me the same driver was returning to the house to pick up a soccer uniform Ken wore last weekend to the company game (but that’s another story).
I was about to sit down and attempt to tame my eternally unruly hair. Rather than have to interrupt such unparalleled joy when the driver arrived, I gave the soccer uniform to Celestine, the guard with instructions to give it to Yusefu the driver when he arrived. I assembled all of my hair accoutrements turned on the TV and got started. Admittedly, I thought for just a second that handing the uniform off to the guard was not going to work but I ignored it. Okay, so now I’m ten minutes into my hair when I hear a knock at the door – it’s Celestine. At this point, my hair is looking like a cross between Frederick Douglass and Chaka Khan but I poke my head out the door anyway to see what he wants. He looks quite flustered and the conversation goes something like this:
Me: Yes?
Celestine: Um, the driver…
Me: Yes? Is he here?
Celestine: Um, he needs to talk to you
I put my shoes on and head up the driveway to find out what Yusfu needs.
Yusufu: I need the empty grocery bag.
Me: What?
Yusufu: Mr. Ken told me to pick up the red grocery bag.
Me: No, what you need is the soccer uniform. Celestine, did you give him the uniform?
Celestine: Huh?
Me: You know, the white plastic bag with the green suit in it? Did you give it to him?
(Celestine scratches his head; clearly in a quandary.)
Me: Yusufu, did he give you the soccer uniform?
Some dialogue transpires between the two men in Kinyarwanda and they both laugh.
Me: Okay, where’s the soccer uniform in the white plastic bag Celestine?
Celestine goes into the guard shack and emerges looking victorious carrying the soccer uniform in the white plastic bag. I give the bag to Yusufu and tell him, this is what you need.
Yusufu: No, I need the empty grocery bag. That’s what you husband told me to get.
By now I feel like I’m in the middle of the Rwandese version of the old “Who’s on First” routine. I understand that Yusufu never understood his original instructions to come to the house and get the soccer uniform. He’s now looking distressed and probably thinking Ken is going to be upset with him for not following instructions. Again he says to me that he needs the grocery bag and I tell him no, you do not. He pulls out his cell phone and says I will call your husband. I tell him, no put your phone away. But, he says your husband wants the grocery bag. Now I’m getting hot in the sun and this is beginning to irritate me and I say to him with a serious face, “Tell my husband I said he can’t have the grocery bag” and I turn and walk back down the driveway.
Of course I called Ken at work and we had a great laugh about the whole thing. Later that evening I asked him what happened when Yusufu got back to the office. He said Yusufu stopped by his office and asked him if he needed the grocery bag. Ken just smiled and said no.
In a shorter story, we had two Kenyan guys (Samuel and George) over for dinner one night. I served tacos, beans and rice, which turned out to be a real treat for them. Anyway, we all sat down to eat and I placed a bowl of grated cheese on the table. Samuel looks at the cheese and what Ken and I both hear him say is “Does this come from cow?” Ken and I give one another a quizzical glance, I smile and say sure it comes from a cow, its cheese. Samuel and George pass the same look to one another and we all begin assembling our tacos. Samuel takes a forkful of cheese into his mouth and says, “Oh it is cheese.” I’m thinking, of course it’s cheese. Samuel explains that his original question was, “Is this carrots,” because he had never seen grated cheese.
