Isabakuru ya musaza wanjye

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Spent the morning at the office with a cup of coffee.  Went home med-day and had some pasta with a sauce made from the leftover ravioli tomato-meat sauce – it was good.  (So was the ravioli sent from Aunt Em which I devoured without even heating before the pasta.)  I went to Kavumu in the afternoon to meet with the headmaster at the time we had agreed upon yesterday morning.  But when I reached the school, all the classrooms were locked up and no one was in sight, least of all the headmaster.  I was about to leave when I heard voices coming from down below.  Turns out the S2 kids were there, my S1s from last year.  So I stayed until 5 P.M. helping them with the English dialogue they were given to summarize for homework.  Finally headed home stopping in Bugabo to chat with people and buy petrol first.  At home I debated and ended up making frites with the potatoes I had bought this morning.

On the way to Kavumu earlier I called Ty to wish him isabakuru nziza – a happy birthday – as he was on his way to work.  I ran out of credit just as I reached Gacaca so I popped into the bread store to buy more and call him back.  There was a problem getting my change: I was supposed to receive 800frw change but found only 700 on the counter when I hung up the phone with Ty.  (I had quickly entered the pin to the newly bought card to wrap up our conversation and wish him happy birthday one more time while the store owner was fishing for my change in a plastic cup.)  I think the guy (rural Rwandans aren’t known for their math, even simple addition and subtraction is often a struggle) miscounted my change but then the little boy standing nearby suggested I had pocketed the extra ijana (100 francs) while the shopkeeper wasn’t looking.  It was me who wasn’t looking.  It’s likely the boy had quickly scooped up a coin when I wasn’t looking.  Either way, whether it was the shopkeeper’s math or the boy spotting an easy opportunity, I was an ijana short.  I was going to leave, but then the shopkeeper grudgingly handed over the extra coin, all the while the boy insisting I had stolen the missing coin.  Great, now I feel like he thinks I’m a liar/cheat.  I wish I had just quickly walked away now forgetting about the last bit of my change.


~ by twcstars on March 11, 2011.

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