There was an air of festivity at the Rest House because I had said I was going to eat what Zirigu and his wife ate. The woman came to let me know, with the few words of my language she knew, that I should have given her adequate warning so she could have feasted me properly. I said that was okay because there was another day coming. Zirigu laid the table and when I told him that he should not give me a fork and a knife because I was going to eat with hands and that I only needed a spoon to scoop down the soup, he opened his mouth wide. When I was eating, both of them came to watch me. The food was alright. Of course, it tasted strange like anything else you are not used to. I could detect a not-too-familiar seasoning here, a foreign spice there. But on the whole there was nothing in the strangeness of it that I thought one could not get used to. I have eaten stranger meals. Zirigu let me know of just one anxiety he had. That my bowels would run in the night. Later, he brought the pito. I asked him to sit down and drink with me. He attempted to protest. One doesn’t drink with the master, you know. I assured him it was alright. The wine was good. It has a sweetness in it. As we drank, we talked. I told him more about myself. He seemed to understand and sympathise. When we were through with my bottle, he said that he was going to bring one of his own. He did. Gradually the main part of the talking switched to him.

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