👷🛠Eine deutsche {bersetyung ist in Arbeit...💪
This day feels bad. JM wanted to punish a student from P6. He hit him very hard once with a stick and I said stop. I went between him and the student but JM tried to push me away. I said no and that I first want to know what happened. JM pushed me away and said wait and reached out. I said no again. He told me to ask the student. The student said he was about to take his exercise book. JM hit again and I stepped in again. I told him that taking his exercise book is not a reason for this. He said: “Yes, it is because he went through the window.” He tried to hit again but I'm an obstacle, he tried to push me away again but when I came closer instead of moving back he got angry. The other teachers also said “STOP” but he stayed stubborn. The student left (wether with or without permission I don't know) and JM 5min later very angry too. I sat down a bit shaken and angry.
JM turns out to be a huge (*please fill in your favorite swearword*). When I was in class he came suddenly in pulled a student towards him with his shirt and asked him a question. No one can answer when he/she is threatened with pain!
When I sit down in the staff room after my lesson, I think: I just want to go home and sleep and when I wake up this day didn't happen.
When I walk to my next period I am still angry at JM how is it possible that he violates human rights at the same time as he teaches their inviolability. The left over lesson makes me smile again. Noise makers from P5 are punished by P4 and afterwards P4 is stronger as a class and P5 knows it's lesson.
The next day: GM is tucking in his shirt in front of my, he takes very long so I ask him sarcastically wether he would need help. His eyes brighten and he says, “Yes, can you help me?” I answer, “No, go and ask MM for help.” He asks, “Why not you?” I answer that I won't put my hand into his pants. He starts laughing and begins a conversation with MM in Swahili. Then the break is over – but not the weird situation.
When the children have their religion class, I teach JM how to use the computer. MM sits on my chair and strikes gently my turquoise rain jacket. “I like that color. Please, I like that color.” I don't know what exactly he wants me to respond, so I just say, “Me too.” MM says, “Please, Loreen.” I ask, “Please what?”
“Can I beg this?”
“MM, that doesn't make any sense. You want to beg my jacket?”
“Yes, I like that color.”
“Yeah, me too. That's why I bought it.”
“Please, can I wear it.” Without waiting for an answer he slips in one sleeve.
“No, MM!”
What the hell is happening here? This is crazy.
GM makes some sexist comment and starts talking about marriage. In his opinion a woman should stay home and wash, cook for her husband and shouldn't be allowed to have any other male friend. “How can you say that?”
“When a woman marries a man she agrees to live under his conditions which means to abandon all those habits like going to the club.”
“No woman is supposed to abandon her social life just because she's married now.”
“A wife is supposed to go home and raise the family.”
“No! This is not what marriage is about. It's about respecting the other person for how she&he is and who he&she is. Marriage is not an agreement that the man says go that way and the woman follows.”
“What will happen if you don't agree with one another?”
“Then they have to find a compromise!”
“And who is going to find these compromises?”
“There are two adults in a marriage.”
“What?”
“In a marriage are two adults. And adults should be mature enough to sit down and talk about it.”
“Oh…elders.”
“No, adults.”
“Elders.”
*sigh* “Or elders. They should be wise enough.”
“Yeah I agree with you.”
Finally, but our conversation continues. GM is convinced that a girl who got pregnant has to marry the man. I try to tell him that this wouldn’t be necessary but the parents have to take responsibility for their actions. GM asks wether this wouldn’t be awkward since in that case they would need to spend a lot of time together and other people would think this is a marriage. I tell him that it’s not important what other people think. After this comment he asks me wether it would be right to just be yourself.
“Yeah.”
“Loreen, it seems you’re somehow tough.”
“I hope so.”
“Whoever will marry you has to be very strong like Mr. GM.”
*laughing* “Mr. GM cant stand me.” I sit upright as I say it with an air of confidence and strict disbelieve in his statement.
“Of course, he is a very strong man.”
“No.”
“He is a man of few words.”
“No.”
“But full of function.”
“No.”
“Why do you say no?”
“Because I disagree!”
“Why do you disagree?”
“Because as far as I am concerned Mr. GM has strong sides but also very, very weak ones.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m very strong. It’s only that I've never got that chance to show how strong I am. I am very strong man, very gently. And if you allow me to repeat the words: I am African just by bad luck.”
“What do you expect me to say now?”
“Just a word of addition.”
“Just a word of addition? … You may be as strong as you want to be but that is not a reason for me to marry you.”
“I didn't say you marry me but you were disagreeing with me that I'm not a strong man.”
“The person who says from himself ‘I am a very strong and very intelligent one.’ is aware about his weaknesses. He is aware about the values he misses.”
“According to your point of view but according to me: There is no person who can bear me. Because I have never been married or in a strong relationship. That's why I have to stay by myself but I am a very strong man. I just don't have somebody to talk on my behalf. So I have to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Because I am very strong. I know myself. I know I do like this and this and this. So before I can sign the marriage I have to stay with that woman for at least two years, learning each other and to find out wether there are anomalies and I have to accept it.”
“No… I mean I like your idea of staying two years together until your marriage but if you find something that disturbs you you don't have to accept it. You can try to talk about it first.”
“But what if we talk about it but the person keeps on repeating the same mistake?”
“Then you should ask yourself wether this is a mistake or your perception.”
“Loreen, you’re giving me a hard time.”
“I like that.”
“You like that?”
“Oh yes.”
I have to admit that I enjoyed this conversation somehow but on the other hand it seems sad to me that he thinks a man has to be strong and a woman has to follow.
(I did not make this up. I started to record this conversation so that I didn't even change the words.)
I collect the homework from P6 and sit down in the staff room again, where JM tells GM if he would know his story he would have committed suicide. After a short conversation in Swahili, during which time I correct the homework from my P6 students, he says: “You know I am older than you…” I could puke whenever I hear that. “You can't just go to a woman and say ‘I want to fuck you.’” WOW I have no idea what they talked about but this seems strange to me. Then JM turns to me and says: “What would you say if I'd tell you ‘Loreen, I want to fuck you.’?” I am surprised but I can hear in his tone this is neither a serious question nor does he expect me to answer now. However, my stunned face apparently was what he wanted to show GM because now they changed to Swahili again.
After school I go to an wifi café and put my first English blog entries online. I take screen shots and then J and I go to the bus stand. We are going to Arusha in order to watch Pets in the cinema. When we found us seats in the bus, street sellers try to sell me stuff through the window right next to me. I am a bit overstrained with two people behind the window and three people who try to sell through the open door. We buy something to drink because the ride will take approximately two hours. While we wait for the bus to get full (so that we can take off) the motor is heating up the seats. I complain about this as an environment pollution. J has to agree that this is bad. But after these weeks I have already realized that every bus is leaving the motor on no matter how long it has to wait. I take my iPad out of my bag and show J my screen shots of my blog so that he can read it properly and not on a small smartphone display. We take off and I watch the landscape when J is reading. He was there during some funny occasions but his laughter shows me that even my story telling makes fun. I am proud of myself. I continue watching the landscape and enjoying it. At one bus stop we hear a siren. We turn around to look where it comes from. It is a guy standing between the two lanes and imitates it perfectly. Drunk! We laugh and with us the whole bus.
J has finished reading and helps me now to extend my vocabulary in Swahili.
We are driving on a street which is pretty new. One lane is finished but the other one is still in progress. I see a truck driving backwards in order to spread the water it contains. I have to laugh. Why backwards instead of forwards? Wouldn’t that be easier to steer?
A few minutes later I see a guy with his brand new sofa standing in the middle of the construction work. I wonder wether he is aware about the dust cloud.
Arusha first impression: more crowded and the streets are narrower than in Moshi. J wants to show me the typical dress code but he can't find it. We ask a Bajaji driver for the price to the cinema. He says 5,000TSH but I say 2,000TSH J tries to bargain 3,000 but nothing works. His friend is laughing and when the driver gives up his colleague offers us 4,000TSH. Stupid, didn't you listen?!
We finally find a DalaDala and when we arrive to the cinema, we assert that our movie is not played anymore. We pick “Inferno” instead and are not disappointed. A nice movie. We want to get dinner but the place is too expensive in our opinion. We take a taxi back. The guy is surprised when I tell him the price we are willing to pay in Swahili. I like this face of surprise!
We drive to the bust stand and wait. A drunk guy comes and talks to J. When he's finished I get a translation. The guy told us he could drive us with his car to Moshi and when we are tired we should drink coffee. When the bus arrives we enter together with a lot of market women and their luggage. A woman puts her bag in the storage above our heads. I say it doesn't fit but like usual these people press. The brand sign of the bag though brakes.
After 1,5h waiting for the take off I am very tired and fall asleep. When I wake up its 1:13 and to know this I looked at my phone. Bad idea: the street-stranger! “U real nice and friendly tht i never seen before I miss seeing you”
As to underline my astonishment a bag drops out of the storage into the corridor.
When we arrive in Moshi, we are super hungry and look for a place which is open at this time at night. We eat fried bananas and shish kebab in a club and watch a woman who tries to fight her entrance through the security men. I watch the wife of the security man actually taking off her jewelry so that she can step in.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 12, 2016
Week 7 part 1: "Watch his butt."
👷🛠Eine deutsche Übersetzung ist in Arbeit...💪
Time for our first dancing lesson – inside. When we arrive we see that I am not the only white person. I thought if we join a dancing class I would be the only person having white skin. But now it's the opposite: J is the only black person apart from our teacher. To my surprise I also have to realize that those people are also from Germany. I try to keep the conversation in English to not exclude J from our conversation but they don't seem willing to speak more English than necessary. They are three girls and one guy who made his volunteer work here a few years ago and now wants to show off with his Swahili knowledge. I am not that good yet but I understand words like “eat and go”. He tells the teacher that they will go and eat something after the dancing lesson. He waits for one girl to ask what's going on and gives her a translation of what happened with an air of proud and control. I ask another girl what she's doing and she says she's also a volunteer working in a school between Arusha and Moshi. I ask what she's doing there. She twitches with her shoulders and I ask her again in German and she answers that she doesn't know what she's doing there. I have the feeling that my jaw drops but it doesn't. You don't know what you’re doing? I make suggestions – in German because I have the feeling her English is not that good. Then she says: “I am the girl for everything.” Ok, thanks for the clarification.
Our dancing lesson starts. Our teacher keeps saying its easy but it's not. He is the professional so it's easy for him. But still he sweats the most – it seems like he has his own rainfall over him. When he shows us a part of the choreography where you have to move your hips we all struggle. He tells us to watch him carefully and afterwards we can try. J and the German guy don't seem happy with this part of the choreography. The girls seem to have forgotten that they are not the only Germans in the room and one girl says: “This is a good excuse to watch his butt.”
After the dancing lesson J and me go to a nearby place for lunch and then we go home and take a shower. Afterwards I take my bag and head to “Zumbaland”. I have a meeting with BM. He asked me wether I'd like to swim and I had to say: Yes, I do. The swimming pool is really nice and for 5,000TSH not too expensive. I put my bag down and having my bikini already under my normal clothes I don't mind stripping my streets clothes off in front of everybody else. Then I jump into the water. I swim towards the end where BM is sitting on the edge. He asks why I didn't go into a cabinet to change. “Because I already had my swim clothes on.” He shakes his head with a grin and makes an “ey”-sound. I have to laugh. I let myself float on the back and then I realize that the other guys (there are only guys) are watching me. They start asking me wether I could teach them how to swim. I try to show them but I have the feeling they just ask me to watch me and in the hope I would “rescue” them if something goes wrong. Boys!
When we are finished and changed back into street clothes I see the other guys taking Selfies. Too many of them! I don't know about the pictures but according to the poses they take they look ridiculous. BM and I take a seat at the bar and talk about the horns hanging above us. I get confused when he tries to tell me that a cow has bigger horns than a buffalo. He also tells me that he believes in witchcraft and tries to convince me that there is something like witchcraft. I take my phone, and pretending I just check the time, I text J. I tell him what's happening and he could call me and pretend he'd needed my help in order to rescue me. When J shows up 15min later BM kind of flees. I tell J exactly what happened and J can't hold himself and we have to stop walking so that he can laugh properly. Then we go to the town center and buy some stuff for the orphanage.
After this long day and the crazy week that lays behind us we want to treat ourselves with our favorite place. We want to try something new. After 30min a waiter comes with the cutlery. We are getting excited and pretty hungry. After 20min we ask where our food is and the answer is: It's coming. We wait another ten minutes before the waiter comes with our food. We order new drinks (after this time waiting the drinks you ordered when you came in are bound to be finished). I take one bite and freeze. It's cold. We call the waiter back and ask why this is cold. (By the way: we ordered chips with chicken pieces and bread. But this seems like a sandwich.) She looks annoyed and says she's going to heat it up for us. “Why did we wait that long for cold food?” J asks. I answer: “Because you have to wait this time until is cold.” He's angry but has to grin. “We are not going to pay for the drinks!” “Definitely not!” She comes back and says we should be careful because the plate is hot now. She doesn't apologize or seem concerned that we wait this long. “We are not going to pay for the drinks.” She nearly nods and seems like someone who already had enough for this day. When we are finished and ask for the bill, I complain that we are not paying for the drinks we had when we were waiting. She looks at J and he translates. (Usually she understands my English.) He tells me that she says that she is sorry but there have been too many orders and you’re not able to know wether the food is cold or not. I look at her and she rubs absentmindedly her neckline and looks anywhere but at us. I ask her wether she is sorry because she doesn't look like it and she didn't say sorry at any point. She seems even more annoyed by this “investigation”. I say I won't pay for the drink I had while I was waiting because I was waiting for my food and not for it to cool down. The guy on the next table, who had watched a movie on his phone over the last hour, takes his headphones out of his ears. She seems annoyed and rolls her eyes. J gets angry and says she should go and ask the manager to come. Suddenly she says we don't have to pay for one drink. But J insists and she leaves quickly. I direct Js attention towards the guy who took his headphones out of his ears and we both chuckle. Then I get a feeling of guilt for the woman. It might be true that there are too many orders and that you can't know whether the food is cold now or not. I am angry at her but my feeling of guilt is rising. I tell J and he says I was right from the start. She could have said “sorry” or “You have to wait a bit longer than usual.” I am not completely convinced but when I check my watch and wonder where she and the manager have gone I see that we are waiting for her and the manager now for 30min. I complain and J calls another waiter to get the manager. Instead of leaving and calling the manager she tells him to have mercy with her colleague. When she finally goes to call the manager J complains that our waiter probably asked her to smoothen us. When the manager comes we tell her what happened. Her features harden and without further questions or comments she turns around and says in a deadly voice: “I am going to take care of this.” The guy on the next table, who was apparently listening the whole time, puts his thumbs up in the air. When we pay (without paying for the drinks) and are about to leave the guy next to our table grins broadly and winks to us. The guy stays topic all the way up to the White House. He really made our day.
After school I start my way to the meeting place. I have another meeting with the street-stranger. When I am about to leave the bus I have to be careful: chicken. One of the women who go to the market has stored her chicken under a seat next to the entrance. First I thought it must be dead but it's alive. I have to grin. You would never see something like this in a German public transport bus/train.
We arranged to meet in front of a café. When I wait for him I realize how many men are staring at me. One guy is balancing countless roles and two unrolled maps of the world and the other one of Tanzania. “Buying map?” he asks. I have to chuckle and shake my head. I am still surprised by this unnatural way of selling. But instead of continue to walk the guy stops I front of me. He unrolls another role and shows me a poster of the human body used in biology lessons in school. I say “No, thank you.” And the guy leaves. I write the street-stranger that I am already there and waiting for him when another man approaches me. He asks me where I come from and points at a shop on the other side of the street which belongs to him and inviting me to visit him there. When I tell him can't come now because I am already having an appointment he invites me to dance with him. I am confused how he got that idea and thank him for the offer and tell him that I don’t have time. Then he asks me for my name and when I am not willing to give it to him he says that it would not be bad. Did he meet the guy from my DalaDala ride? He asks whom I am waiting for and suggests it's my boyfriend. When I chuckle and deny this he advices me to try a black guy. I have to chuckle even harder and he tells me the great advantage of a black boyfriend: chocolate. WOW Do all Tanzanians think skin color is able to be mixed? I say I will certainly try to get a boyfriend from Tanzania and he kisses my hand and goes.
Before another creepy guy can come I send the street-stranger that I'm going into the café now. When I found myself a place, I take out my work and order myself a soda. After one-and-a-half-hour I send J a message telling him where I am and that the guy didn't show up and suggesting to have dinner in this café. J is quite furious about that guy and likes the idea of having dinner here. After another hour the street-stranger comes into the café and seems quite relaxed. He asks how I am and explains his lateness with work. I ask what he was been working and get complex explanation about the transport system. Then he asks wether we could shift from the chair and the table to a close by sofa. I am confused how he can be this confident and stupid without apologizing for three hours being late. We shift but luckily after just 20min weird non-sense talk J shows up and the street-stranger somehow flees.
After an exhausting dancing lesson we walk back to the White House and take a shower. When we are finished we take the sweets and drinks we bought for the orphanage and also the clothes and bags J organized for the children. We call a Bajaji to help us transport all our stuff and take off. We say hello and play UNO and a game whereby we play music and the children run around a group of chairs which is missing one chair. When the music stops they have to sit down and the one who doesn't get a place on a chair lost. One girl is extremely stubborn and insists that she was on the chair first. We have to persuade her to play a repetition. She loses again and is extremely bad tempered afterwards. The others try to cheer her up and continue to play. After two hours we go for dinner and before we can leave the children hug us as a goodbye.
When we walk to the White House a taxi comes by and the driver asks us wether we would like to go town for 2,000TSH. This is weird because we are heading exactly in the opposite direction of the towns center.
Time for our first dancing lesson – inside. When we arrive we see that I am not the only white person. I thought if we join a dancing class I would be the only person having white skin. But now it's the opposite: J is the only black person apart from our teacher. To my surprise I also have to realize that those people are also from Germany. I try to keep the conversation in English to not exclude J from our conversation but they don't seem willing to speak more English than necessary. They are three girls and one guy who made his volunteer work here a few years ago and now wants to show off with his Swahili knowledge. I am not that good yet but I understand words like “eat and go”. He tells the teacher that they will go and eat something after the dancing lesson. He waits for one girl to ask what's going on and gives her a translation of what happened with an air of proud and control. I ask another girl what she's doing and she says she's also a volunteer working in a school between Arusha and Moshi. I ask what she's doing there. She twitches with her shoulders and I ask her again in German and she answers that she doesn't know what she's doing there. I have the feeling that my jaw drops but it doesn't. You don't know what you’re doing? I make suggestions – in German because I have the feeling her English is not that good. Then she says: “I am the girl for everything.” Ok, thanks for the clarification.
Our dancing lesson starts. Our teacher keeps saying its easy but it's not. He is the professional so it's easy for him. But still he sweats the most – it seems like he has his own rainfall over him. When he shows us a part of the choreography where you have to move your hips we all struggle. He tells us to watch him carefully and afterwards we can try. J and the German guy don't seem happy with this part of the choreography. The girls seem to have forgotten that they are not the only Germans in the room and one girl says: “This is a good excuse to watch his butt.”
After the dancing lesson J and me go to a nearby place for lunch and then we go home and take a shower. Afterwards I take my bag and head to “Zumbaland”. I have a meeting with BM. He asked me wether I'd like to swim and I had to say: Yes, I do. The swimming pool is really nice and for 5,000TSH not too expensive. I put my bag down and having my bikini already under my normal clothes I don't mind stripping my streets clothes off in front of everybody else. Then I jump into the water. I swim towards the end where BM is sitting on the edge. He asks why I didn't go into a cabinet to change. “Because I already had my swim clothes on.” He shakes his head with a grin and makes an “ey”-sound. I have to laugh. I let myself float on the back and then I realize that the other guys (there are only guys) are watching me. They start asking me wether I could teach them how to swim. I try to show them but I have the feeling they just ask me to watch me and in the hope I would “rescue” them if something goes wrong. Boys!
When we are finished and changed back into street clothes I see the other guys taking Selfies. Too many of them! I don't know about the pictures but according to the poses they take they look ridiculous. BM and I take a seat at the bar and talk about the horns hanging above us. I get confused when he tries to tell me that a cow has bigger horns than a buffalo. He also tells me that he believes in witchcraft and tries to convince me that there is something like witchcraft. I take my phone, and pretending I just check the time, I text J. I tell him what's happening and he could call me and pretend he'd needed my help in order to rescue me. When J shows up 15min later BM kind of flees. I tell J exactly what happened and J can't hold himself and we have to stop walking so that he can laugh properly. Then we go to the town center and buy some stuff for the orphanage.
After this long day and the crazy week that lays behind us we want to treat ourselves with our favorite place. We want to try something new. After 30min a waiter comes with the cutlery. We are getting excited and pretty hungry. After 20min we ask where our food is and the answer is: It's coming. We wait another ten minutes before the waiter comes with our food. We order new drinks (after this time waiting the drinks you ordered when you came in are bound to be finished). I take one bite and freeze. It's cold. We call the waiter back and ask why this is cold. (By the way: we ordered chips with chicken pieces and bread. But this seems like a sandwich.) She looks annoyed and says she's going to heat it up for us. “Why did we wait that long for cold food?” J asks. I answer: “Because you have to wait this time until is cold.” He's angry but has to grin. “We are not going to pay for the drinks!” “Definitely not!” She comes back and says we should be careful because the plate is hot now. She doesn't apologize or seem concerned that we wait this long. “We are not going to pay for the drinks.” She nearly nods and seems like someone who already had enough for this day. When we are finished and ask for the bill, I complain that we are not paying for the drinks we had when we were waiting. She looks at J and he translates. (Usually she understands my English.) He tells me that she says that she is sorry but there have been too many orders and you’re not able to know wether the food is cold or not. I look at her and she rubs absentmindedly her neckline and looks anywhere but at us. I ask her wether she is sorry because she doesn't look like it and she didn't say sorry at any point. She seems even more annoyed by this “investigation”. I say I won't pay for the drink I had while I was waiting because I was waiting for my food and not for it to cool down. The guy on the next table, who had watched a movie on his phone over the last hour, takes his headphones out of his ears. She seems annoyed and rolls her eyes. J gets angry and says she should go and ask the manager to come. Suddenly she says we don't have to pay for one drink. But J insists and she leaves quickly. I direct Js attention towards the guy who took his headphones out of his ears and we both chuckle. Then I get a feeling of guilt for the woman. It might be true that there are too many orders and that you can't know whether the food is cold now or not. I am angry at her but my feeling of guilt is rising. I tell J and he says I was right from the start. She could have said “sorry” or “You have to wait a bit longer than usual.” I am not completely convinced but when I check my watch and wonder where she and the manager have gone I see that we are waiting for her and the manager now for 30min. I complain and J calls another waiter to get the manager. Instead of leaving and calling the manager she tells him to have mercy with her colleague. When she finally goes to call the manager J complains that our waiter probably asked her to smoothen us. When the manager comes we tell her what happened. Her features harden and without further questions or comments she turns around and says in a deadly voice: “I am going to take care of this.” The guy on the next table, who was apparently listening the whole time, puts his thumbs up in the air. When we pay (without paying for the drinks) and are about to leave the guy next to our table grins broadly and winks to us. The guy stays topic all the way up to the White House. He really made our day.
After school I start my way to the meeting place. I have another meeting with the street-stranger. When I am about to leave the bus I have to be careful: chicken. One of the women who go to the market has stored her chicken under a seat next to the entrance. First I thought it must be dead but it's alive. I have to grin. You would never see something like this in a German public transport bus/train.
We arranged to meet in front of a café. When I wait for him I realize how many men are staring at me. One guy is balancing countless roles and two unrolled maps of the world and the other one of Tanzania. “Buying map?” he asks. I have to chuckle and shake my head. I am still surprised by this unnatural way of selling. But instead of continue to walk the guy stops I front of me. He unrolls another role and shows me a poster of the human body used in biology lessons in school. I say “No, thank you.” And the guy leaves. I write the street-stranger that I am already there and waiting for him when another man approaches me. He asks me where I come from and points at a shop on the other side of the street which belongs to him and inviting me to visit him there. When I tell him can't come now because I am already having an appointment he invites me to dance with him. I am confused how he got that idea and thank him for the offer and tell him that I don’t have time. Then he asks me for my name and when I am not willing to give it to him he says that it would not be bad. Did he meet the guy from my DalaDala ride? He asks whom I am waiting for and suggests it's my boyfriend. When I chuckle and deny this he advices me to try a black guy. I have to chuckle even harder and he tells me the great advantage of a black boyfriend: chocolate. WOW Do all Tanzanians think skin color is able to be mixed? I say I will certainly try to get a boyfriend from Tanzania and he kisses my hand and goes.
Before another creepy guy can come I send the street-stranger that I'm going into the café now. When I found myself a place, I take out my work and order myself a soda. After one-and-a-half-hour I send J a message telling him where I am and that the guy didn't show up and suggesting to have dinner in this café. J is quite furious about that guy and likes the idea of having dinner here. After another hour the street-stranger comes into the café and seems quite relaxed. He asks how I am and explains his lateness with work. I ask what he was been working and get complex explanation about the transport system. Then he asks wether we could shift from the chair and the table to a close by sofa. I am confused how he can be this confident and stupid without apologizing for three hours being late. We shift but luckily after just 20min weird non-sense talk J shows up and the street-stranger somehow flees.
After an exhausting dancing lesson we walk back to the White House and take a shower. When we are finished we take the sweets and drinks we bought for the orphanage and also the clothes and bags J organized for the children. We call a Bajaji to help us transport all our stuff and take off. We say hello and play UNO and a game whereby we play music and the children run around a group of chairs which is missing one chair. When the music stops they have to sit down and the one who doesn't get a place on a chair lost. One girl is extremely stubborn and insists that she was on the chair first. We have to persuade her to play a repetition. She loses again and is extremely bad tempered afterwards. The others try to cheer her up and continue to play. After two hours we go for dinner and before we can leave the children hug us as a goodbye.
When we walk to the White House a taxi comes by and the driver asks us wether we would like to go town for 2,000TSH. This is weird because we are heading exactly in the opposite direction of the towns center.
Oct 8, 2016
Week 6: Great surprise...
⬇️ Deutsche Übersetzung? Einfach herunter scrollen.⬇️
On my way to school the next morning, a guy in the bus comes pretty close and tells me he “wish[es] to know my name”. I tell him I'm not going to tell him since he is a foreigner. He answers that it would not be bad if I tell him and I should tell him then. But I am stubborn. Then he tells me that he wishes to get my number. “I don't wish to give it to you.” He repeats that it is not bad and that he wishes to get to know me. I say I don't and luckily he has to get off. Why was he so determined to get my name or my number? I don't get this.
The exams are mainly over except for the practical English exam. They have to read out a text. Every word they mispronounce I underline in red and then count the mistakes. I tell JM he has to mark that since my pronunciation is quite different and I don't know wether they have been told to pronounce it that way. He says he's busy (I wonder with what since he nearly gave me all his work). I start and of course they have lower grades than they are used to but I try to be fair. I somehow know now how they pronounce and what they are used to say instead of the right word so I try to take that into consideration as well. One guy from the 5th grade, however, is not able to pronounce any of the words in front of him. Instead of “a” he reads “age”, and instead of “dangers” he reads “adjective” when I ask again, because I think I misunderstood him, he shakes his head and then says: “comparative”. The bell rings and I say we will continue at the same point next time. I am confused and don't know what to do. I plan on giving JM the paper and the students name so that he can talk to him in Swahili in case he didn't understand me in English.
At the next day I tell JM about that P5 student. He calls a student into the staff room who was just passing. He tells him to call that boy from P5. I don't get why he doesn't do that on his own. He could get up and walk the 1min to the class room himself. But I've seen this before, students are just used as servants and toys for teachers. I don't get how they can respect these people. When the student from P5 gets in, he looks scared. JM says in a very loud voice (which in my opinion makes the student feel worse) that he doesn't need to worry and everything is fine. The student takes his seat and JM hands him the paper. “Read out!” Nothing happens. The student has bend his head over the paper and after a minute of silence he starts crying. I wonder what happened. “Read out!” I look reproachfully at JM. The student is crying stop ordering him to do something and try to understand why he is crying. I ask him what's wrong but I don't get an answer. The head teacher enters the staff room and asks what's going on. While JM explains him why we are here the head teacher takes a seat himself. “Oh yeah he has a psychological problem.” What? He says something in Swahili to the student and I hope it's something comforting. A quick and harsh conversation in Swahili starts. I wonder how the student must feel. Two male teachers speaking that loud and at the same time to him trying to make him read out a text he has obviously problems with. I ask what's happening and the head teacher explains that the student always had problems. “Every time he was supposed to read something out loud or to spell something he started crying.” I am speechless. How is it possible he still has those problems when you know about this? I ask wether the teachers have tried to help him. The head teacher seems prepared for that question and says (a bit too convincing): “Yes, we did but he won't change.” When you say “helping him“ do you mean this way: Two teachers talking at the same time to one small student? I ask how they tried to help. “We told the other students to encourage him when he reads.” WOW that will help, especially when you tell the students in front of him. The head teacher leaves again and JM thanks him for his “help”. JM takes a piece of paper and writes eight words on it: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. He asks the student to read these words out. He tries his best and nearly manages it. I take over now. When he says a different word I write that one down and show him the differences in spelling so that he can understand why it's differently pronounced. I point at the syllables and pronounce them for him and them ask him to repeat. He stopped crying now and seems calm again. When we’re through I ask wether he would like to keep the paper to practice. He seems very thankful and folds that paper carefully and stores it into his pocket. I'm glad to see him smiling again. JM says that I'm wasting my time with that student he just has a psychological problem. I disagree. I think the student has a reading and spelling disorder and gets sad when he sees words and his head is mixing the letters. I could also imagine that he gets frustrated by this. But I have come to realize that here the teachers distinguish between “good student”, “lazy student” and “psychological problem”.
After my school day, I drive to the town center and sit down in a park. I am going to meet the stranger from the street from last week. He is actually quite weird. He asks me a lot of questions and seems to listen but when I ask him the same he tries to answer as short as possible and asks me another question. When I insist that he answers me what he does, he tells me that he is a tourist guid. I have somehow the feeling that sooner or later he is going to ask me for money. After two hours he says that he really likes me and likes spending time with me. Great surprise: The young, male, black tourist guide likes the young, female, white girl.
When J and I wait for our food we see a birthday party on the next table. The candle is even bigger than the cake and they seem unaware about the fact that it is not a candle but a sparkler. We laugh. During dinner he tells me about the orphanage. He used to go there for a while but he stopped for university. Now he invites me to go there with him. I love that idea. He tells me that children who come of age have to leave. They receive a certain amount of money and no one cares where they end up during the night. I start to wish to spend half of my day in school and the other half in that orphanage. He will call the responsible woman for the orphanage to ask when we could visit and we make plans to organize some drinks and sweets for the children.
On our way back to the White House we hear a slap sound and sure, straight ahead a man lies flat on his back. I can still see a cloud of dust around his feet. He is drunk and fell due to the uneven ground. He blocks the street. Luckily, there is no BodaBoda around. When we pass he sits straight and asks: “Who is there?” We get a burst of laughter and continue walking. When we are about to turn around the corner we can hear him complaining as people pull him upwards. It takes him quite a while to stand straight and no sooner than his supporters had helped him up, he falls down again. But this time parallel to the street. We can't get a grip on ourselves and start laughing even harder.
Auf meinem Weg zur Schule am nächsten Morgen kommt mir ein Kerl im Bus ziemlich nahe and sagt, dass er gerne meinen Namen wüsste. I sage ihm, dass ich ihm meinen Namen nicht nennen werde, da er ein Fremder ist. Er antwortet, dass es nicht schlimm wäre, wenn ich ihm meinen Namen nenne und daher sollte ich ihm einfach meinen Namen nennen. Aber ich bleibe stur. Dann sagt er, dass er gerne meine Nummer hätte. „Ich will sie dir nicht geben.“ Er wiederholt, dass es nicht schlimm wäre und dass er mich einfach nur kennenlernen möchte. Ich sage, dass ich ihn aber nicht kennenlernen möchte und dann muss er glücklicherweise auch aussteigen. Warum war er so stur, um an meine Nummer zu kommen? Oder meinen Namen? Ich verstehe das nicht.
Die monatlichen Tests sind fast komplett vorbei, außer die praktischen Englisch Tests. Die Schüler müssen einen Text vorlesen. Jedes Wort, das sie falsch aussprechen, soll ich mit rot unterstreichen und dann die Fehler zählen. Ich sage JM, dass er die Tests abnehmen muss, da meine Betonung definitiv anders ist und ich nicht weiß, ob den Schülern vielleicht gesagt wurde, es so auszusprechen. Er sagt bloß, dass er beschäftigt ist (ich frage mich womit, da er mir fast all seine Arbeit gegeben hat). Ich fange an und natürlich haben die Schüler schlechtere Noten, als sie es gewohnt sind. Aber ich versuche, fair zu sein. Ich weiß mittlerweile, wie die Leute hier die Wörter aussprechen und woran sie gewöhnt sind, daher versuche ich das in meine Berechnung mit einzukalkulieren. Ein Schüler aus der 5. Klasse ist nicht in der Lage ein einziges Wort richtig auszusprechen. Anstatt „a“ sagt er „age“ und anstatt „dangers“ sagt er „adjective“. Als ich ihn darum bitte das zu wiederholen, weil ich glaube, ihn falsch verstanden zu haben, schüttelt er den Kopf und sagt: „comperative“. Die Schulglocke läutet und ich sage, dass wir hier nächstes mal weitermachen. Ich bin verwirrt und weiß nicht, was ich tun soll. Ich plane JM den Test zu geben und den Namen von dem Schüler, damit er mit ihm in Swahili reden kann, falls er mich in Englisch nicht verstanden hat.
Am nächsten Tag berichte ich JM von dem Schüler aus der 5. Klasse. Er ruft einen Schüler zu sich, der gerade das Lehrerzimmer passiert hat. Er sagt ihm, dass er den Schüler aus der 5. Klasse zu ihm bringen soll. Ich verstehe nicht, wieso er das nicht selbst macht. Er könnte aufstehen und die eine Minute zum Klassenraum der 5. gehen. Aber ich habe sowas schon häufiger gesehen, Schüler werden wie Bedienstete und Spielzeuge für Lehrer behandelt. Ich verstehe nicht, wie jemand solche Lehrer respektieren kann. Als der Fünftklässler ins Lehrerzimmer kommt, sieht er ziemlich ängstlich aus. JM sagt mit einer sehr lauten Stimme (welche meiner Meinung nach es nur noch schlimmer macht), dass er sich keine Sorgen machen muss, da alles in Ordnung ist. Der Schüler nimmt Platz und JM reicht ihm den Zettel. „Lies vor!“ Nichts passiert. Der Schüler hat seinen Kopf über das Stück Papier gebeugt und nach einer Minute der Stille, fängt er an zu weinen. Ich wundere mich was passiert ist. „Lies vor!“ Ich gucke JM vorwurfsvoll an. Der Schüler weint, hör auf ihm zu befehlen etwas zu tun und versuch zu verstehen, warum er weint. Ich frage den Schüler was los ist, aber ich bekomme keine Antwort. Der Schulleichter kommt hinein und fragt was los ist. Während JM ihm erklärt, warum wir hier sind, nimmt auch er Platz. „Oh ja, er hat ein psychologisches Problem.“ Was? Er sagt etwas in Swahili zum Schüler und ich hoffe, dass es etwas Bestätigendes ist. Eine schnelle und harsche Konversation in Swahili beginnt. Ich frage mich, wie sich der Schüler gerade fühlen muss. Zwei Lehrer sprechen so laut und zur selben Zeit auf ihn ein. Sie versuchen ihn dazu zubringen einen Text vorzulesen, mit dem er offensichtlich Schwierigkeiten hat. Ich frage was los ist und der Schuldirektor erklärt, dass der Schüler schon immer solche Probleme hatte. „Jedes Mal wenn wir ihn gebeten haben, etwas vorzulesen oder zu buchstabieren, hat er angefangen zu weinen.“ Ich bin sprachlos. Wie ist es möglich, dass er diese Probleme noch immer hat, obwohl ihr ganz genau darüber Bescheid wisst? Ich frage, ob die Lehrer versucht haben, ihm zu helfen. Der Schuldirektor scheint auf diese Frage vorbereitet zu sein und antwortet (etwas zu überzeugend): „Ja, das haben wir, aber er hat sich nicht verändert.“ Wenn du „helfen“ sagst, meinst du dann so: Zwei Lehrer reden zur selben Zeit auf einen kleinen Schüler ein? Ich frage, wie sie versucht haben ihm zu helfen. „Wir haben den anderen Schülern gesagt, sie sollen ihn bestärken, wenn er vorliest.“ WOW das hilft bestimmt, besonders wenn er mitbekommen, dass ihr das den Schülern sagt. Der Schuldirektor geht wieder und JM dankt ihm für seine „Hilfe“. JM nimmt ein Blatt Papier und schreibt acht Wörter darauf: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. Er bittet den Schüler diese vorzulesen. Er gibt sein Bestes und schafft es beinahe. Ich übernehme jetzt. Wenn er ein anderes Wort vorliest als es da steht, schreibe ich es auf und zeige ihm die Unterschiede beim Buchstabieren, damit er versteht, warum es unterschiedlich betont wird. Ich zeige auf einzelne Silben und spreche sie für ihn aus, dann frage ich ihn, ob er es so wiederholen kann. Er hat jetzt aufgehört zu weinen und sieht beruhigt aus. Wenn wir fertig sind, frage ich ihn ob er den Zettel behalten möchte, um zu üben. Er wirkt dankbar und steckt den Zettel behutsam in seine Hosentasche. Ich bin froh, ihn wieder lächeln zu sehen. JM sagt, dass ich meine Zeit mit dem Schüler verschwende und er einfach nur ein psychologischen Problem habe. Ich denke anders. Ich glaube, der Schüler hat eine Lese-Rechtschreib-Schwäche, und er wird traurig, wenn er Wörter sieht und sein Kopf die Buchstaben für ihn durchmischt. Ich kann mir auch vorstellen, dass das sehr frustrierend für ihn ist. Aber ich habe bereits bemerkt, dass die Lehrer hier zwischen „guten Schülern“, „faulen Schülern“ und „psychologischen Problemen“ unterscheiden.
Nach meinem Schultag fahre ich ins Stadtzentrum und setze mich in den Park. Ich werde den Fremden von letzter Woche treffen, den ich auf der Straße getroffen habe. Er ist ziemlich schräg. Er stellt mir viele Fragen und scheint zu zuhören, aber wenn ich ihm dieselben Fragen stelle, antwortet er mir so knapp wie möglich. Als ich darauf bestehe, dass er mir sagt, was er beruflich macht, antwortet er mir, dass er ein Touristenführer ist. Ich habe irgendwie das Gefühl, dass er mich früher oder später um Geld bitten wird. Nach zwei Stunden sagt er mir, dass er mich wirklich mag und es genießt Zeit mit mir zu verbringen. Große Überraschung: Der junge, schwarze Touristenführer mag das junge, weiße Mädchen.
Als J und ich auf unser Essen warten, beobachten wir eine Geburtstagsparty am Nachbartisch. Die Kerze ist größer als der Kuchen und die Leute drum herum scheinen nicht zu wissen, dass es sich nicht um eine Kerze, sondern um eine Wunderkerze handelt. Wir amüsieren uns. Während des Essens berichtet er mir vom Waisenhaus. Das hat er für gewöhnlich besucht, musste aber für die Uni aufhören. Jetzt hat er mich eingeladen ihn dorthin zu begleiten. Ich liebe die Idee. Er erzählt mir, dass Kinder, die volljährig werden, das Waisenhaus verlassen müsse. Dafür bekommen sie einen bestimmten Geldbetrag und dann kümmert sich keiner darum, wo sie die Nacht über schlafen. Ich fange an mir zu wünschen, dass ich die eine Hälfte meines Tages in der Schule verbringe und die andere in dem Waisenhaus. J wird die verantwortliche Frau anrufen und fragen, wann es passt, dass wir vorbei kommen. Auch machen wir Pläne, Süßigkeiten zu kaufen.
Auf unserem Weg nach Hause hören wir ein Klappgeräusch und tatsächlich, gerade aus vor uns liegt ein Kerl flach auf seinem Rücken. Ich kann noch immer eine Staubwolke an seinen Füßen sehen. Er ist betrunken und aufgrund des unebenen Bodens hingefallen. Er blockiert die Straße. Zum Glück ist kein BodaBoda da. Als wir an ihm vorbeigehen, setzt er sich kerzengerade auf und lallt: „Wer ist da?“ Wir bekommen einen Lachanfall und gehen weiter. Als wir abbiegen wollen, hören wir ihn sich beschweren, als andere ihn hochziehen. Er braucht einige Zeit um gerade zu stehen und kaum steht er, fällt er auch schon wieder hin. Aber dieses Mal liegt er parallel zur Straße. Wir können es kaum fassen und lachen stärker als zu vor.
On my way to school the next morning, a guy in the bus comes pretty close and tells me he “wish[es] to know my name”. I tell him I'm not going to tell him since he is a foreigner. He answers that it would not be bad if I tell him and I should tell him then. But I am stubborn. Then he tells me that he wishes to get my number. “I don't wish to give it to you.” He repeats that it is not bad and that he wishes to get to know me. I say I don't and luckily he has to get off. Why was he so determined to get my name or my number? I don't get this.
The exams are mainly over except for the practical English exam. They have to read out a text. Every word they mispronounce I underline in red and then count the mistakes. I tell JM he has to mark that since my pronunciation is quite different and I don't know wether they have been told to pronounce it that way. He says he's busy (I wonder with what since he nearly gave me all his work). I start and of course they have lower grades than they are used to but I try to be fair. I somehow know now how they pronounce and what they are used to say instead of the right word so I try to take that into consideration as well. One guy from the 5th grade, however, is not able to pronounce any of the words in front of him. Instead of “a” he reads “age”, and instead of “dangers” he reads “adjective” when I ask again, because I think I misunderstood him, he shakes his head and then says: “comparative”. The bell rings and I say we will continue at the same point next time. I am confused and don't know what to do. I plan on giving JM the paper and the students name so that he can talk to him in Swahili in case he didn't understand me in English.
At the next day I tell JM about that P5 student. He calls a student into the staff room who was just passing. He tells him to call that boy from P5. I don't get why he doesn't do that on his own. He could get up and walk the 1min to the class room himself. But I've seen this before, students are just used as servants and toys for teachers. I don't get how they can respect these people. When the student from P5 gets in, he looks scared. JM says in a very loud voice (which in my opinion makes the student feel worse) that he doesn't need to worry and everything is fine. The student takes his seat and JM hands him the paper. “Read out!” Nothing happens. The student has bend his head over the paper and after a minute of silence he starts crying. I wonder what happened. “Read out!” I look reproachfully at JM. The student is crying stop ordering him to do something and try to understand why he is crying. I ask him what's wrong but I don't get an answer. The head teacher enters the staff room and asks what's going on. While JM explains him why we are here the head teacher takes a seat himself. “Oh yeah he has a psychological problem.” What? He says something in Swahili to the student and I hope it's something comforting. A quick and harsh conversation in Swahili starts. I wonder how the student must feel. Two male teachers speaking that loud and at the same time to him trying to make him read out a text he has obviously problems with. I ask what's happening and the head teacher explains that the student always had problems. “Every time he was supposed to read something out loud or to spell something he started crying.” I am speechless. How is it possible he still has those problems when you know about this? I ask wether the teachers have tried to help him. The head teacher seems prepared for that question and says (a bit too convincing): “Yes, we did but he won't change.” When you say “helping him“ do you mean this way: Two teachers talking at the same time to one small student? I ask how they tried to help. “We told the other students to encourage him when he reads.” WOW that will help, especially when you tell the students in front of him. The head teacher leaves again and JM thanks him for his “help”. JM takes a piece of paper and writes eight words on it: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. He asks the student to read these words out. He tries his best and nearly manages it. I take over now. When he says a different word I write that one down and show him the differences in spelling so that he can understand why it's differently pronounced. I point at the syllables and pronounce them for him and them ask him to repeat. He stopped crying now and seems calm again. When we’re through I ask wether he would like to keep the paper to practice. He seems very thankful and folds that paper carefully and stores it into his pocket. I'm glad to see him smiling again. JM says that I'm wasting my time with that student he just has a psychological problem. I disagree. I think the student has a reading and spelling disorder and gets sad when he sees words and his head is mixing the letters. I could also imagine that he gets frustrated by this. But I have come to realize that here the teachers distinguish between “good student”, “lazy student” and “psychological problem”.
After my school day, I drive to the town center and sit down in a park. I am going to meet the stranger from the street from last week. He is actually quite weird. He asks me a lot of questions and seems to listen but when I ask him the same he tries to answer as short as possible and asks me another question. When I insist that he answers me what he does, he tells me that he is a tourist guid. I have somehow the feeling that sooner or later he is going to ask me for money. After two hours he says that he really likes me and likes spending time with me. Great surprise: The young, male, black tourist guide likes the young, female, white girl.
When J and I wait for our food we see a birthday party on the next table. The candle is even bigger than the cake and they seem unaware about the fact that it is not a candle but a sparkler. We laugh. During dinner he tells me about the orphanage. He used to go there for a while but he stopped for university. Now he invites me to go there with him. I love that idea. He tells me that children who come of age have to leave. They receive a certain amount of money and no one cares where they end up during the night. I start to wish to spend half of my day in school and the other half in that orphanage. He will call the responsible woman for the orphanage to ask when we could visit and we make plans to organize some drinks and sweets for the children.
On our way back to the White House we hear a slap sound and sure, straight ahead a man lies flat on his back. I can still see a cloud of dust around his feet. He is drunk and fell due to the uneven ground. He blocks the street. Luckily, there is no BodaBoda around. When we pass he sits straight and asks: “Who is there?” We get a burst of laughter and continue walking. When we are about to turn around the corner we can hear him complaining as people pull him upwards. It takes him quite a while to stand straight and no sooner than his supporters had helped him up, he falls down again. But this time parallel to the street. We can't get a grip on ourselves and start laughing even harder.
Auf meinem Weg zur Schule am nächsten Morgen kommt mir ein Kerl im Bus ziemlich nahe and sagt, dass er gerne meinen Namen wüsste. I sage ihm, dass ich ihm meinen Namen nicht nennen werde, da er ein Fremder ist. Er antwortet, dass es nicht schlimm wäre, wenn ich ihm meinen Namen nenne und daher sollte ich ihm einfach meinen Namen nennen. Aber ich bleibe stur. Dann sagt er, dass er gerne meine Nummer hätte. „Ich will sie dir nicht geben.“ Er wiederholt, dass es nicht schlimm wäre und dass er mich einfach nur kennenlernen möchte. Ich sage, dass ich ihn aber nicht kennenlernen möchte und dann muss er glücklicherweise auch aussteigen. Warum war er so stur, um an meine Nummer zu kommen? Oder meinen Namen? Ich verstehe das nicht.
Die monatlichen Tests sind fast komplett vorbei, außer die praktischen Englisch Tests. Die Schüler müssen einen Text vorlesen. Jedes Wort, das sie falsch aussprechen, soll ich mit rot unterstreichen und dann die Fehler zählen. Ich sage JM, dass er die Tests abnehmen muss, da meine Betonung definitiv anders ist und ich nicht weiß, ob den Schülern vielleicht gesagt wurde, es so auszusprechen. Er sagt bloß, dass er beschäftigt ist (ich frage mich womit, da er mir fast all seine Arbeit gegeben hat). Ich fange an und natürlich haben die Schüler schlechtere Noten, als sie es gewohnt sind. Aber ich versuche, fair zu sein. Ich weiß mittlerweile, wie die Leute hier die Wörter aussprechen und woran sie gewöhnt sind, daher versuche ich das in meine Berechnung mit einzukalkulieren. Ein Schüler aus der 5. Klasse ist nicht in der Lage ein einziges Wort richtig auszusprechen. Anstatt „a“ sagt er „age“ und anstatt „dangers“ sagt er „adjective“. Als ich ihn darum bitte das zu wiederholen, weil ich glaube, ihn falsch verstanden zu haben, schüttelt er den Kopf und sagt: „comperative“. Die Schulglocke läutet und ich sage, dass wir hier nächstes mal weitermachen. Ich bin verwirrt und weiß nicht, was ich tun soll. Ich plane JM den Test zu geben und den Namen von dem Schüler, damit er mit ihm in Swahili reden kann, falls er mich in Englisch nicht verstanden hat.
Am nächsten Tag berichte ich JM von dem Schüler aus der 5. Klasse. Er ruft einen Schüler zu sich, der gerade das Lehrerzimmer passiert hat. Er sagt ihm, dass er den Schüler aus der 5. Klasse zu ihm bringen soll. Ich verstehe nicht, wieso er das nicht selbst macht. Er könnte aufstehen und die eine Minute zum Klassenraum der 5. gehen. Aber ich habe sowas schon häufiger gesehen, Schüler werden wie Bedienstete und Spielzeuge für Lehrer behandelt. Ich verstehe nicht, wie jemand solche Lehrer respektieren kann. Als der Fünftklässler ins Lehrerzimmer kommt, sieht er ziemlich ängstlich aus. JM sagt mit einer sehr lauten Stimme (welche meiner Meinung nach es nur noch schlimmer macht), dass er sich keine Sorgen machen muss, da alles in Ordnung ist. Der Schüler nimmt Platz und JM reicht ihm den Zettel. „Lies vor!“ Nichts passiert. Der Schüler hat seinen Kopf über das Stück Papier gebeugt und nach einer Minute der Stille, fängt er an zu weinen. Ich wundere mich was passiert ist. „Lies vor!“ Ich gucke JM vorwurfsvoll an. Der Schüler weint, hör auf ihm zu befehlen etwas zu tun und versuch zu verstehen, warum er weint. Ich frage den Schüler was los ist, aber ich bekomme keine Antwort. Der Schulleichter kommt hinein und fragt was los ist. Während JM ihm erklärt, warum wir hier sind, nimmt auch er Platz. „Oh ja, er hat ein psychologisches Problem.“ Was? Er sagt etwas in Swahili zum Schüler und ich hoffe, dass es etwas Bestätigendes ist. Eine schnelle und harsche Konversation in Swahili beginnt. Ich frage mich, wie sich der Schüler gerade fühlen muss. Zwei Lehrer sprechen so laut und zur selben Zeit auf ihn ein. Sie versuchen ihn dazu zubringen einen Text vorzulesen, mit dem er offensichtlich Schwierigkeiten hat. Ich frage was los ist und der Schuldirektor erklärt, dass der Schüler schon immer solche Probleme hatte. „Jedes Mal wenn wir ihn gebeten haben, etwas vorzulesen oder zu buchstabieren, hat er angefangen zu weinen.“ Ich bin sprachlos. Wie ist es möglich, dass er diese Probleme noch immer hat, obwohl ihr ganz genau darüber Bescheid wisst? Ich frage, ob die Lehrer versucht haben, ihm zu helfen. Der Schuldirektor scheint auf diese Frage vorbereitet zu sein und antwortet (etwas zu überzeugend): „Ja, das haben wir, aber er hat sich nicht verändert.“ Wenn du „helfen“ sagst, meinst du dann so: Zwei Lehrer reden zur selben Zeit auf einen kleinen Schüler ein? Ich frage, wie sie versucht haben ihm zu helfen. „Wir haben den anderen Schülern gesagt, sie sollen ihn bestärken, wenn er vorliest.“ WOW das hilft bestimmt, besonders wenn er mitbekommen, dass ihr das den Schülern sagt. Der Schuldirektor geht wieder und JM dankt ihm für seine „Hilfe“. JM nimmt ein Blatt Papier und schreibt acht Wörter darauf: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. Er bittet den Schüler diese vorzulesen. Er gibt sein Bestes und schafft es beinahe. Ich übernehme jetzt. Wenn er ein anderes Wort vorliest als es da steht, schreibe ich es auf und zeige ihm die Unterschiede beim Buchstabieren, damit er versteht, warum es unterschiedlich betont wird. Ich zeige auf einzelne Silben und spreche sie für ihn aus, dann frage ich ihn, ob er es so wiederholen kann. Er hat jetzt aufgehört zu weinen und sieht beruhigt aus. Wenn wir fertig sind, frage ich ihn ob er den Zettel behalten möchte, um zu üben. Er wirkt dankbar und steckt den Zettel behutsam in seine Hosentasche. Ich bin froh, ihn wieder lächeln zu sehen. JM sagt, dass ich meine Zeit mit dem Schüler verschwende und er einfach nur ein psychologischen Problem habe. Ich denke anders. Ich glaube, der Schüler hat eine Lese-Rechtschreib-Schwäche, und er wird traurig, wenn er Wörter sieht und sein Kopf die Buchstaben für ihn durchmischt. Ich kann mir auch vorstellen, dass das sehr frustrierend für ihn ist. Aber ich habe bereits bemerkt, dass die Lehrer hier zwischen „guten Schülern“, „faulen Schülern“ und „psychologischen Problemen“ unterscheiden.
Nach meinem Schultag fahre ich ins Stadtzentrum und setze mich in den Park. Ich werde den Fremden von letzter Woche treffen, den ich auf der Straße getroffen habe. Er ist ziemlich schräg. Er stellt mir viele Fragen und scheint zu zuhören, aber wenn ich ihm dieselben Fragen stelle, antwortet er mir so knapp wie möglich. Als ich darauf bestehe, dass er mir sagt, was er beruflich macht, antwortet er mir, dass er ein Touristenführer ist. Ich habe irgendwie das Gefühl, dass er mich früher oder später um Geld bitten wird. Nach zwei Stunden sagt er mir, dass er mich wirklich mag und es genießt Zeit mit mir zu verbringen. Große Überraschung: Der junge, schwarze Touristenführer mag das junge, weiße Mädchen.
Als J und ich auf unser Essen warten, beobachten wir eine Geburtstagsparty am Nachbartisch. Die Kerze ist größer als der Kuchen und die Leute drum herum scheinen nicht zu wissen, dass es sich nicht um eine Kerze, sondern um eine Wunderkerze handelt. Wir amüsieren uns. Während des Essens berichtet er mir vom Waisenhaus. Das hat er für gewöhnlich besucht, musste aber für die Uni aufhören. Jetzt hat er mich eingeladen ihn dorthin zu begleiten. Ich liebe die Idee. Er erzählt mir, dass Kinder, die volljährig werden, das Waisenhaus verlassen müsse. Dafür bekommen sie einen bestimmten Geldbetrag und dann kümmert sich keiner darum, wo sie die Nacht über schlafen. Ich fange an mir zu wünschen, dass ich die eine Hälfte meines Tages in der Schule verbringe und die andere in dem Waisenhaus. J wird die verantwortliche Frau anrufen und fragen, wann es passt, dass wir vorbei kommen. Auch machen wir Pläne, Süßigkeiten zu kaufen.
Auf unserem Weg nach Hause hören wir ein Klappgeräusch und tatsächlich, gerade aus vor uns liegt ein Kerl flach auf seinem Rücken. Ich kann noch immer eine Staubwolke an seinen Füßen sehen. Er ist betrunken und aufgrund des unebenen Bodens hingefallen. Er blockiert die Straße. Zum Glück ist kein BodaBoda da. Als wir an ihm vorbeigehen, setzt er sich kerzengerade auf und lallt: „Wer ist da?“ Wir bekommen einen Lachanfall und gehen weiter. Als wir abbiegen wollen, hören wir ihn sich beschweren, als andere ihn hochziehen. Er braucht einige Zeit um gerade zu stehen und kaum steht er, fällt er auch schon wieder hin. Aber dieses Mal liegt er parallel zur Straße. Wir können es kaum fassen und lachen stärker als zu vor.
Oct 2, 2016
"And when do you plan to spend the night again with me?"
❗️Eine deutsche Übersetzung gibt es leider nicht. Ich denke, das würde den Gesprächsverlauf verfälschen und das ist das Letzte, was hier tun möchte. Ich hoffe, ihr hab Verständnis dafür. ❗️
Last night I slept at Ms house. He invited me there so that we could have a chat and he could show me where he lives. This part of the city is called Majengo and it is lower than my home and so it's even warmer here. Before I left my room J warned me because M is a guy and only has one bed. I just said nothing is going to happen we are all adults here. He was still a bit concerned when I left. Boys!
When I wake up M starts talking about feelings and controlling them and I'm getting a headache. Why are all the men around me jumping to couple fantasies? After a very oily breakfast (oily means: He fried two eggs for each of us in a good amount of cooking oil. We had white bread with a thick layer of butter and a hot chocolate. In order to get the hot chocolate he mixed boiling water with milk powder to get milk and Nesquik powder to get the chocolate flavor. “To make this perfect” he added three spoons of sugar.) I go home. Not sooner that I entered my room I receive a message from M. He wants me to inform him when I arrived safely at home. I write back that I just entered my room and I thank him for his hospitality.
M: You really don't have to thank me because
from me, it's something that you deserve.
Me: Alright then we're even.
M: Loreen, i still have to need you by my side.
Me: M, I wish I could say the same because I really want to experience such an attraction to someone else. But I can not say the same since that would
not be true. I have to say that you are not my favorite company but definitely a nice one.
M: Oooh, that's perfectly "ok" but i still have
to let you think about it. Because i don't want
you to only be friend but more than a friend.
Me: I think something like that will develop and I won't plan to either stay your friend or become more than a friend. Just as we agreed to: it is happening naturally.
M: Even if you're not convinced to have the
feelings like i do, i'll would ask you to always
be my company and share the moments
together.
Me: I like talking to you but I sometimes feel like we don't have something to talk about.
So I'd prefer to meet only for talking.
M: I don't think so, but the truth is: we could
have a lot of things to talk about if you gave
me a chance to share my feelings with you.
And you would really enjoy the moment we
spend together
But i'm sometimes feeling guilty to force your
feelings, what i like is to see that happening
naturally; and for this, we need more time to
be close.
However, you shouldn't take it too complicated
because i'll always understand what you want
until then. Let's just proceed like we always do
and later on, if you'll feel anything else; inform
me.
Me: This definitely sounds like planing.
In case I will have feelings for you (what I doubt to be completely honest) I will consult you.
I don't think it's complicated just pressed.
M: Alright but i know my own problem, once
i fall to somebody i never cease thinking about
her. Don't exclude me from you, that's the only
way to help me. You're free to visit me as
many times as you like.
But remember: don't include me among those
guys who always disturb you because i'm really
different from them. I've not yet proporsed you
to be my girlfriend but what am trying is to let
you know you're a valuable and special woman
that deserves my attention. Keep in touch.
Me: 1. You say I should not exclude you from my life because that is – according to you – the only way how I could help you.
2. You say I should not include you among those guys who disturb me.
Both statements indicate that you already fear that this is going to happen since it's the truth.
End of the story!
M: What do you mean,.? Have you concluded
it to be like that already.? Anyway, i don't know
what to say more because i think you're
negatively considering me
If you could read my heart, you would
understand what i mean
And when do you plan to spend the night again
with me?
(J tells me this is enough and asks wether I would let him call M. I do.)
Memory protocol from J:
M: Hi Loreen.
J: Not Loreen speak, J speak.
M: I heard a lot about you.
J: Did you see the message?
M: Yes, I saw the message. But who are you to
ask that? Are you her company?
J: Did you understand the messages?
M: Why are you care about the messages?
J: It's not about the messages. It's about
you to understand them.
You have to take it slow and understand
everything like the way she says in the
message.
M: I know a lot of white people. And a lot of white
People have been in my room: Lars, Anna, Loreen
and many more.
You have to understand I am someone with
authority. Watch out.
J: What you say might be true or the
other way around.
M: You study about medicine right? Even me and
my friend we plan to study about medicine.
J: Yes, you can study about medicine. But
that wouldn't have anything to do with
me.
M: My brother and me have a company for
tourists. So, we pick white people from the airport
so we know them a lot.
Don't think that I am just like BM or G. I used to be
a teacher there but I'm not a teacher anymore.
J: Yes, Loreen told me about that. And
that is what surprised me because she
told me that you are the person who she
can ask for advice for the school and
about what happens there since you
have been a teacher there.
When I saw your messages it was quite a
surprise.
M: What are you surprised about? I know how to
live with white people. Me and my brother we
have a tourist company.
J: Please read the messages. Read them
Carefully. And try to understand them.
M: Me and my brother have a …
(J cuts of the call. But after a minute M calls back again.)
M: Loreen?
J: Yeah.
(M ends the call.)
We enjoy our dinner and the usual competition of the conductors when we drive home.
When I get up I realize today is the day of my first dancing lesson. I am so looking forward to this. I put on my sports clothes and while I'm brushing my teeth M calls me. I ignore it. I go over to J and knock at his door. We start walking all the way down the hill up to Moshi Club. J asks me why I am in my sports cloth and I ask back why he is not in his. He also wonders why I am carrying a bottle of water with me but I say I have experience in dancing and he will see that I need this. When we walk down I look at my watch. Oh goodness, am I becoming unpunctual? We are not in time. But J says: “Don't worry, this is nothing.” In this particular moment my phone rings.
M: Good morning Loreen, is this what you
planned to do.? I really couldn't think you may be
like that. You've completely disappointed me by
doing what you did yesterday. If someone is wrong
then you should at least tell them instead of
embarassing them. Am really sorry for what
happened because i never knew that i could be
wrong. But i do promise you that it'll never happen
again. So erase every negative notice you took
from me because i'm sure it's just a misunderstanding.
I've forgiven you and i won't wrongly judge you
however, according to your conscience you should be
honest. Have nice day. (Peace.!)
And i if you won't mind, just send me a number of your
neighbour. There's a way he considered me (i think it's
due to explanations you gave him) and just forgot he's
running the same competion but different paths. So I
really want to clear this mess (peacefully) by confidently
talking to him like a man and not in a cowarldy way like
he did yesterday.
*cowadly* (typing error)
J and I start discussing this again and laughing hard. He has forgiven me! For what? This is just another try to manipulate me into feeling guilty. When we arrive at the Club we sit down and rest. A few minutes later the teacher joins us. He is pretty young and introduces himself, KM, and the dance style: African and Hip-Hop. That sounds perfect. He would like to show us but he doesn't have the key for the room. He shows us his choreography on the tennis pitch anyway. His moves look somehow unclean but that is also what makes his dance very nice to look at. When he is finished I see his sweat pearls but he doesn't look exhausted. Now it's my turn. I really want to do this. J is our DJ (since he “forgot” his sports clothes) and audience. He has a great time watching me struggle. This style of dancing is completely new and difficult. I'm getting red and when KM asks to repeat the choreography for the forth time I need a break to drink something. It is the best exhaustion I can get.
When we finish I need to rest, all I can manage is a high-five with KM and J. KM tells J that I look like I really want to dance and I seem good but J doesn't look like it at all. I laugh hard and feel the parts of my body ache where I am going to have a muscle ache tomorrow. We arrange our dancing lessons for every Saturday and Sunday at 12 o’clock. Then we say goodbye. When I'm back in my room, I wash my clothes, clean my room and take a shower. I walk over to J and he invites me in. I sit down and show him what I have prepared as an answer for M.
Me:
You: What do you mean?
Answer: As soon as you had asked me not to exclude you it is
obvious that exactly this will help you. And also you asked me
not to include you into the other guys but that shows that you
already know you're exactly likewise.
You: Have you concluded it to be like that already.?
Answer: Yes
You: Anyway, i don't know what to say more because i think you're negatively considering me.
Answer: I don't need to consider anything I just read your messages and they are pretty clear.
You: If you could read my heart, you would understand what i mean.
Answer: I don't want to read your heart at the moment I'm fine with your messages.
You: And when do you plan to spend the night again with me?
Answer: I am not planing to do that at all! How can you ask me that when you just wrote you think I'm negatively considering you?
You: Good morning Loreen, is this what you planned to do.?
Answer: Yes, it is. I did not want to talk to you and take time to prepare an appropriate answer.
You: I really couldn't think you may be like that.
Answer: Join the club.
You: You've completely disappointed me by doing what you did yesterday.
Answer: I did not do anything at all. I tried to tell you open and honestly what I think. But you did not listen nor read a single word.
You: If someone is wrong then you should at least tell them instead of embarassing them.
Answer: I told you. How did I embarrass you?
You: Am really sorry for what happened because i never knew that i could be wrong.
Answer: We talked about right and wrong yesterday! This is about being polite or disrespectful/rude and wanting too much.
You: But i do promise you that it'll never happen again.
Answer: I know it won't because I will personally see to it so it won't be repeated.
You: So erase every negative notice you took from me because i'm sure it's just a misunderstanding.
Answer: This mess is more than just a simple misunderstanding. I won't erase it since this is another experience from which I can learn.
You: I've forgiven you
Answer: For what did you forgive me?
You: and i won't wrongly judge you
Answer: How could you? I did not do anything.
You: however, according to your conscience you should be honest.
Answer: I am, always!
You: Have nice day. (Peace.!)
And i if you won't mind, just send me a number of your neighbour.
Answer: I think he would mind.
You: There's a way he considered me (i think it's due to explanations you gave him)
Answer: I did not give him any explanations. I told him what happened and showed him your messages and he figured out his own
conclusion.
You: and just forgot he's running the same competion but different paths.
Answer: What competition are you talking about? Trying to get me as a girlfriend? I am not an award! And remember: you denied that when I asked you directly!
You: So I really want to clear this mess (peacefully) by confidently talking to him like a man and not in a cowardly way like he did yesterday.
Answer: He was not at all cowardly! He was the one calling you in order to help me to make you understand.
You: *cowadly* (typing error)
Response: You spelled it correctly the first time.
He says that's good. I press on “send” and then we take a DalaDala to town. It's my first time on the front seat. I want to enjoy this as much as possible and so I try to see everything and remember it. This DalaDala doesn't have a back mirror but a shoe instead. It might come in handy. I can't see a lot of the street because there are countless certificates on the glass. I wonder how this car got those because the window is also broken. I enjoy this soooo much. When we step out of the car we see a carriage in which a guy is standing and trying to hold his balance. He looks like he is surfing.
During the dinner M writes back:
M: Alright, thanks. Have a nice evening my friend.
Last night I slept at Ms house. He invited me there so that we could have a chat and he could show me where he lives. This part of the city is called Majengo and it is lower than my home and so it's even warmer here. Before I left my room J warned me because M is a guy and only has one bed. I just said nothing is going to happen we are all adults here. He was still a bit concerned when I left. Boys!
When I wake up M starts talking about feelings and controlling them and I'm getting a headache. Why are all the men around me jumping to couple fantasies? After a very oily breakfast (oily means: He fried two eggs for each of us in a good amount of cooking oil. We had white bread with a thick layer of butter and a hot chocolate. In order to get the hot chocolate he mixed boiling water with milk powder to get milk and Nesquik powder to get the chocolate flavor. “To make this perfect” he added three spoons of sugar.) I go home. Not sooner that I entered my room I receive a message from M. He wants me to inform him when I arrived safely at home. I write back that I just entered my room and I thank him for his hospitality.
M: You really don't have to thank me because
from me, it's something that you deserve.
Me: Alright then we're even.
M: Loreen, i still have to need you by my side.
Me: M, I wish I could say the same because I really want to experience such an attraction to someone else. But I can not say the same since that would
not be true. I have to say that you are not my favorite company but definitely a nice one.
M: Oooh, that's perfectly "ok" but i still have
to let you think about it. Because i don't want
you to only be friend but more than a friend.
Me: I think something like that will develop and I won't plan to either stay your friend or become more than a friend. Just as we agreed to: it is happening naturally.
M: Even if you're not convinced to have the
feelings like i do, i'll would ask you to always
be my company and share the moments
together.
Me: I like talking to you but I sometimes feel like we don't have something to talk about.
So I'd prefer to meet only for talking.
M: I don't think so, but the truth is: we could
have a lot of things to talk about if you gave
me a chance to share my feelings with you.
And you would really enjoy the moment we
spend together
But i'm sometimes feeling guilty to force your
feelings, what i like is to see that happening
naturally; and for this, we need more time to
be close.
However, you shouldn't take it too complicated
because i'll always understand what you want
until then. Let's just proceed like we always do
and later on, if you'll feel anything else; inform
me.
Me: This definitely sounds like planing.
In case I will have feelings for you (what I doubt to be completely honest) I will consult you.
I don't think it's complicated just pressed.
M: Alright but i know my own problem, once
i fall to somebody i never cease thinking about
her. Don't exclude me from you, that's the only
way to help me. You're free to visit me as
many times as you like.
But remember: don't include me among those
guys who always disturb you because i'm really
different from them. I've not yet proporsed you
to be my girlfriend but what am trying is to let
you know you're a valuable and special woman
that deserves my attention. Keep in touch.
Me: 1. You say I should not exclude you from my life because that is – according to you – the only way how I could help you.
2. You say I should not include you among those guys who disturb me.
Both statements indicate that you already fear that this is going to happen since it's the truth.
End of the story!
M: What do you mean,.? Have you concluded
it to be like that already.? Anyway, i don't know
what to say more because i think you're
negatively considering me
If you could read my heart, you would
understand what i mean
And when do you plan to spend the night again
with me?
(J tells me this is enough and asks wether I would let him call M. I do.)
Memory protocol from J:
M: Hi Loreen.
J: Not Loreen speak, J speak.
M: I heard a lot about you.
J: Did you see the message?
M: Yes, I saw the message. But who are you to
ask that? Are you her company?
J: Did you understand the messages?
M: Why are you care about the messages?
J: It's not about the messages. It's about
you to understand them.
You have to take it slow and understand
everything like the way she says in the
message.
M: I know a lot of white people. And a lot of white
People have been in my room: Lars, Anna, Loreen
and many more.
You have to understand I am someone with
authority. Watch out.
J: What you say might be true or the
other way around.
M: You study about medicine right? Even me and
my friend we plan to study about medicine.
J: Yes, you can study about medicine. But
that wouldn't have anything to do with
me.
M: My brother and me have a company for
tourists. So, we pick white people from the airport
so we know them a lot.
Don't think that I am just like BM or G. I used to be
a teacher there but I'm not a teacher anymore.
J: Yes, Loreen told me about that. And
that is what surprised me because she
told me that you are the person who she
can ask for advice for the school and
about what happens there since you
have been a teacher there.
When I saw your messages it was quite a
surprise.
M: What are you surprised about? I know how to
live with white people. Me and my brother we
have a tourist company.
J: Please read the messages. Read them
Carefully. And try to understand them.
M: Me and my brother have a …
(J cuts of the call. But after a minute M calls back again.)
M: Loreen?
J: Yeah.
(M ends the call.)
We enjoy our dinner and the usual competition of the conductors when we drive home.
When I get up I realize today is the day of my first dancing lesson. I am so looking forward to this. I put on my sports clothes and while I'm brushing my teeth M calls me. I ignore it. I go over to J and knock at his door. We start walking all the way down the hill up to Moshi Club. J asks me why I am in my sports cloth and I ask back why he is not in his. He also wonders why I am carrying a bottle of water with me but I say I have experience in dancing and he will see that I need this. When we walk down I look at my watch. Oh goodness, am I becoming unpunctual? We are not in time. But J says: “Don't worry, this is nothing.” In this particular moment my phone rings.
M: Good morning Loreen, is this what you
planned to do.? I really couldn't think you may be
like that. You've completely disappointed me by
doing what you did yesterday. If someone is wrong
then you should at least tell them instead of
embarassing them. Am really sorry for what
happened because i never knew that i could be
wrong. But i do promise you that it'll never happen
again. So erase every negative notice you took
from me because i'm sure it's just a misunderstanding.
I've forgiven you and i won't wrongly judge you
however, according to your conscience you should be
honest. Have nice day. (Peace.!)
And i if you won't mind, just send me a number of your
neighbour. There's a way he considered me (i think it's
due to explanations you gave him) and just forgot he's
running the same competion but different paths. So I
really want to clear this mess (peacefully) by confidently
talking to him like a man and not in a cowarldy way like
he did yesterday.
*cowadly* (typing error)
J and I start discussing this again and laughing hard. He has forgiven me! For what? This is just another try to manipulate me into feeling guilty. When we arrive at the Club we sit down and rest. A few minutes later the teacher joins us. He is pretty young and introduces himself, KM, and the dance style: African and Hip-Hop. That sounds perfect. He would like to show us but he doesn't have the key for the room. He shows us his choreography on the tennis pitch anyway. His moves look somehow unclean but that is also what makes his dance very nice to look at. When he is finished I see his sweat pearls but he doesn't look exhausted. Now it's my turn. I really want to do this. J is our DJ (since he “forgot” his sports clothes) and audience. He has a great time watching me struggle. This style of dancing is completely new and difficult. I'm getting red and when KM asks to repeat the choreography for the forth time I need a break to drink something. It is the best exhaustion I can get.
When we finish I need to rest, all I can manage is a high-five with KM and J. KM tells J that I look like I really want to dance and I seem good but J doesn't look like it at all. I laugh hard and feel the parts of my body ache where I am going to have a muscle ache tomorrow. We arrange our dancing lessons for every Saturday and Sunday at 12 o’clock. Then we say goodbye. When I'm back in my room, I wash my clothes, clean my room and take a shower. I walk over to J and he invites me in. I sit down and show him what I have prepared as an answer for M.
Me:
You: What do you mean?
Answer: As soon as you had asked me not to exclude you it is
obvious that exactly this will help you. And also you asked me
not to include you into the other guys but that shows that you
already know you're exactly likewise.
You: Have you concluded it to be like that already.?
Answer: Yes
You: Anyway, i don't know what to say more because i think you're negatively considering me.
Answer: I don't need to consider anything I just read your messages and they are pretty clear.
You: If you could read my heart, you would understand what i mean.
Answer: I don't want to read your heart at the moment I'm fine with your messages.
You: And when do you plan to spend the night again with me?
Answer: I am not planing to do that at all! How can you ask me that when you just wrote you think I'm negatively considering you?
You: Good morning Loreen, is this what you planned to do.?
Answer: Yes, it is. I did not want to talk to you and take time to prepare an appropriate answer.
You: I really couldn't think you may be like that.
Answer: Join the club.
You: You've completely disappointed me by doing what you did yesterday.
Answer: I did not do anything at all. I tried to tell you open and honestly what I think. But you did not listen nor read a single word.
You: If someone is wrong then you should at least tell them instead of embarassing them.
Answer: I told you. How did I embarrass you?
You: Am really sorry for what happened because i never knew that i could be wrong.
Answer: We talked about right and wrong yesterday! This is about being polite or disrespectful/rude and wanting too much.
You: But i do promise you that it'll never happen again.
Answer: I know it won't because I will personally see to it so it won't be repeated.
You: So erase every negative notice you took from me because i'm sure it's just a misunderstanding.
Answer: This mess is more than just a simple misunderstanding. I won't erase it since this is another experience from which I can learn.
You: I've forgiven you
Answer: For what did you forgive me?
You: and i won't wrongly judge you
Answer: How could you? I did not do anything.
You: however, according to your conscience you should be honest.
Answer: I am, always!
You: Have nice day. (Peace.!)
And i if you won't mind, just send me a number of your neighbour.
Answer: I think he would mind.
You: There's a way he considered me (i think it's due to explanations you gave him)
Answer: I did not give him any explanations. I told him what happened and showed him your messages and he figured out his own
conclusion.
You: and just forgot he's running the same competion but different paths.
Answer: What competition are you talking about? Trying to get me as a girlfriend? I am not an award! And remember: you denied that when I asked you directly!
You: So I really want to clear this mess (peacefully) by confidently talking to him like a man and not in a cowardly way like he did yesterday.
Answer: He was not at all cowardly! He was the one calling you in order to help me to make you understand.
You: *cowadly* (typing error)
Response: You spelled it correctly the first time.
He says that's good. I press on “send” and then we take a DalaDala to town. It's my first time on the front seat. I want to enjoy this as much as possible and so I try to see everything and remember it. This DalaDala doesn't have a back mirror but a shoe instead. It might come in handy. I can't see a lot of the street because there are countless certificates on the glass. I wonder how this car got those because the window is also broken. I enjoy this soooo much. When we step out of the car we see a carriage in which a guy is standing and trying to hold his balance. He looks like he is surfing.
During the dinner M writes back:
M: Alright, thanks. Have a nice evening my friend.
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