All the small things

Writing an entry while walking makes for it's own adventures, such as
getting stuck in an alley with a belligerent drunk offering a taxi
ride and tours. For a ninety-something percent Muslim population,
there sure do seem to be a lot of drunk guys. The sample from
Stonetown is probably unusually loaded with them, and my perception is
probably biased by noticing them from among the many, many sober men
who say things ranging from "mambo?" and "hujambo?" to "taxi?" and
"give yourself to me". Yesterday, in passing, I was asked whether I
was still a virgin. Sarah's response when o told her this was that
Stonetown had gone a long way down since she first got here.

I saw one of the funnier English shirts worn by a Zanzibari the other
day. I was sitting at a shoe stand, having my favorite sandals
reinforced; a friend of the shoe dude was sitting on the opposite side
of the shoe dude from me (shoe dude and I sat beside one another on a
bench). He was wearing a shirt stating "I survived JJ's bachelor
party... Barely" with a couple of beer mug graphics accompanying it to
emphasize the point. My guess is that the understanding I have of his
shirt is not the understanding he has of his shirt, which is, of
course, the risk we all take wearing foreign writing on our clothing.
In a place where almost no one drinks or eats pork, it's like seeing
someone walk around with a McDonald's sausage and bacon breakfast
biscuit ad on it. I gave it a nod of approval.

Another special sight: waiting for a coffee place to open this
morning, I was passed by a Masai man dressed in traditional red and
violet, carrying a bow and quiver. As he walked away, I also noted his
Manchester United rucksack. I love that about the Masai here. A lot of
them wear t-shirts and jeans at home, but need to look the part for
work to keep up the legendary warrior reputation.