Reunion in Barsaloi by Corinne Hofmann Page B

Mama’s hut. I go across to find Mama dozing on her cowhide. She gets up straight away and laughs. Lketinga’s sister blows on the hot ashes and immediately the manyatta fills briefly with smoke as the fire rekindles. She puts a pot with a few pieces of roast meat on the fire and indicates these are for me.
    Mama has cooked my favourite bush meal. She’s remembered that what I like most is this little dish of fried meat she makes. I’m really pleased and tuck in, although I feel guilty for a moment about Albert and Klaus whose stomachs must be rumbling by now. Mama watches me and keeps saying: ‘ Tamada, tamada – take more, take more’. She smiles when I compliment her on her cooking, even though she doesn’t understand the words I use.
    I’m irritated by the fact that after fourteen years I can’t have a proper conversation without the help of other people. How on earth did I manage back then? Lketinga’s sister speaks a little and so I can make out a bit of what she says but still can’t reply properly. Somehow, however, I understand that among other things she’s asking for money. I pull out a couple of notes and hand the smaller one to the sister and the larger to Mama. The younger woman immediately sticks the note behind the rows of necklaces she’s wearing; Mama pushes hers beneath the cowhide with her foot. Even though it’s worth no more than the equivalent of ten euros, I feel certain neither of them have ever seen such large denomination banknotes. Where would Mama get money like that from anyhow? James provides her with everything they need They both say thank you with a polite ‘ Asche oleng ’.

James’s New Life
    A little while later I hear the sound of James’s motorbike. I go back across to the house as dinner will be ready soon and say hello to James, who looks tired out. Saruni, his daughter, is a real daddy’s girl and springs into his arms immediately. James immediately starts talking about the inspectors who’ve been to visit his school today, which was the reason he had to be there bright and early, even though he’s feeling tired and sick. He suspects he might be having a mild attack of malaria, and there are indeed little beads of sweat on his face.
    Everybody here gets malaria attacks from time to time. For sturdy, healthy folk it feels a bit like flu, and usually lasts no more than a few days. Even so it’s no laughing matter: malaria is still one of the major causes of death in Kenya. Thank heavens the symptoms James is exhibiting are mild and might not even be malaria at all.
    During the course of the evening I come to realize that James has almost as much day-today stress as the average European. He has a lot of work to do as a headmaster, runs several programmes jointly with the Mission, acts as head of the household for his family, as well as helping Lketinga build his own house, and organizes supplies for his shop. It’s as if he’s forever rushing between one appointment and another while the rest of the world stands still around him. It would all be impossible if he didn’t have his motorbike. But because he does have it, everyone expects him to be able to do more and more. The bike has its advantages but also its disadvantages. As far as he’s concerned, it’s obvious that progress has automatically made his life all the more hectic.
    It’s not a case of getting everything done faster in order to have more free time, but of getting everything done faster in order to do even more. From a material point of view, life here has become much more comfortable for him, but his health is clearly suffering to the extent that some days he has to take something to cure his headaches before he can go to work. Very European! Undoubtedly he could do a bit less, but he’s already quite clearly infected with the virus of ‘success at all costs’. He says he still has a lot to learn and has registered for a further education course