I went for a long walk in the evening. Everyone is so polite and they always speak. I’m going to have to get over my English reticence and start speaking first instead of always waiting for the Africans to start the conversation. It was so still, with the birds singing and the bats beginning to fly. Boys wee doing their washing and spreading it out on the ground to dry. Solitary individuals and groups of boys were having their bath in the pool by my house. I’ve been warned to avoid all “wild” bodies of water because of the dreaded diseases they carry - it makes me wonder what sort of illnesses are already ravaging the bodies of these young men.
From my kitchen window I saw a young boy collecting water from my outside tap. He had an atrophied leg and walked with a crudely fashioned crutch yet he managed to walk with dignity, carrying the bowl on his head.
It’s strange, coming from North America and being in a society where it is bad manners to tell an elder that you haven’t understood what he had said. Before each class I ask the boys to turn to the back of their exercise books where I would start giving them rules for arithmetic. I explained everything, in a variety of ways and yet, when I looked around I found them all writing at the front of their books. I didn’t have the heart to tell them they were wrong. It’s not because they have no brains; it’s my problem thinking they understand my English. One boy today admitted he didn’t understand. I found myself saying, “Good”. At least it gave me a chance to explain again to all those who daren’t admit they didn’t know. Generally, when they are asked if they understand, they politely say, “It is all right, sir.”
I am grateful that I have known the indigenous people in Canada. Many African traits are like those of my Indian friends and so they don’t frustrate me as much as they would those North Americans who have never had the pleasure of knowing the “original people”. When I set a time for a meeting I can expect some people to be on time but the rest will drift in during the next hour. I am getting used to it and it isn’t bothering me so much which impresses me no end.
One of my outdoor lizards came in today. He popped in under the door, nibbled a few ants and then left. I am totally fascinated by them and never cease to be amused by the way they scurry around, with with their heads bobbing up and down and turning their heads sideways to peer with one eye at something crawling in front of them. I love it when they sit on their rear elbows with their front feet up in the air, looking for all the world like a teenager trying to be sophisticated.
I learned another Hausa word today - Babban Baturi, which means ‘important white man’; it might come in handy when I face officialdom or have to bargain in the market.
Heaven help us! Some men tried to steal the principal’s Mercedes last night. He came to school limping because he’d hurt his foot trying to defend his car. Our compound is quite exposed as we are on a main road to the city and there are no fences. The principal’s home is the first house on the compound so he’s easy prey. He called a meeting for staff and students as he’d come up with a plan. He announced that we would all be provided with a large length of stick and, when he blew his whistle, we would all come running to help, armed with our weapon. The principal said that he’d blow his whistle at 3am. I thought this was a daft idea because we’d all stay awake ready for the practice drill. I suggested he should blow his whistle at any time of the day. When I went home I stored my stick under my bed so that I’d be ready to perform.
