August 28, 2009 (An extra day)
Continued...
He invites us in. The living room is cool and welcoming. Pictures of Christ adorn the walls above the leopard print couches. It’s quite lovely. Our arrival has raised a racket. We hear goats, cattle and chickens all upset.
We meet Papa’s son, the five-year-old Bright (I don’t know if this is his actual name or a nickname—it’s the only one I ever heard), shy but certainly living up to his namesake. Anita proffers a bag of chocolate, which he immediately hides from the others, and Lisa offers a box of Crayola Crayons, which he eagerly takes.
A woman has been silently moving about since our arrival, and the three of us converge on her and introduce ourselves, since clearly it won’t happen if we don’t. This is Edith, Papa’s wife. After a quiet, brief introduction she leaves again. During the course of the next few hours, I will hear her say less than a handful of words.
Papa’s papa, Gabriel, comes in to join us. He has a beer, and we are offered a bottle of champagne. I confidently open it, I have tended bar in
Sigh.
Gabriel’s brother, Sebastian, arrives. Then Jackson, one of the wagum. And finally, Mama Mandela appears.
This is the woman Nelson has told us so much of. She made sure all her children went to school, and that he trained to be a guide very early. Her manner is the exact opposite of Edith’s—she is loud, funny and confident. Clearly age changes a woman’s status in the home. She appears with Sebastian’s wife Teresa. The two of them introduce themselves, call for two beers, and we engage in an extended greeting and thank-you dance that involves excessive hand shaking. About the time we all get settled, Papa gets up and tells us we’re headed to the bar.
We troop out and head about 20 yards up the hill to the local bar. It’s a one room building with a large porch covered in simple wooden benches. We settle in, Papa makes an order, and in a few minutes the holy grail of the African alcoholic beverage quest finally appears: Banana Beer.
Lisa and I are thrilled. A huge plastic bucket, maybe 20 gallons (Lisa, Anita? Help me out here…) is pulled from the building to the end of our benches. It is full of a thick liquid. A wooden gourd with a handle is dipped in and filled and they start to pass it around. Everyone drinks from the same gourd.
The first mzungu to receive it is Anita. She takes a drink. Lisa and I wait expectantly—and every single eye is on her. ‘Mmmm. Tastes like bananas. It’s good.’ Everyone smiles and laughs. Lisa’s turn. Her reaction is much the same. More laughter, they’re clearly enjoying us being here. The gourd makes it to me, and I lift it up.
A faintly sour woody scent rises toward me. The beer is warm, room temperature. I take a sip. Mmmm…tastes like bananas--warm, sour bananas with a hint of rubbing alcohol that burns a bit on the way down. The beer is topped with a thick coating of millet, the texture and color of sawdust that sticks in your teeth. It’s not so good. Really, quite bad. But we gamely continue.
As the gourd makes the rounds, it’s clear that word has gotten out. Three wazungu have purchased a twenty gallon tub of banana beer for 20 US dollars, and the whole neighborhood turns out to partake. Soon every bench is filled, and people are standing, passing around plastic containers and gourds of the beer. Papa is telling us this is the place to get it. The barman makes it here, and this is good banana beer. I certainly am happy I didn’t try the bad beer.
The gourd hits me again. Sebastian is sitting near me, egging me on. ‘More, more, you must drink more. You are not driving.’ I muscle through, not realizing that Anita and Lisa have been pretty much faking it after the first sip (what can I say—they’re smarter than me). About a half an hour later, slightly buzzed, we get up to leave. We still have a 2 hour drive back to Arusha.
I walk with Mama Mandela and Gabriel back to their home. As we walk, I practice my Chagga with all the neighbors. They all smile brightly, answer me, shake my hand, and then spit out rapid fire Chagga remarks to Mama and Gabriel. Mama tells me they’re highly amused by the mzungu dressed like an African that is speaking Chagga. I’m not sure if they’re laughing at me or with me, but I’m having a good time.
Back at the home we take a few photos, say our thanks and farewells, and then head back out onto the bumpiest, roughest, rockiest dirt road of all time. This time with a buzzing head and bladder full of sparkling grape juice and banana beer. This is not a great combo. I lean forward to let Papa know I’m going to need an internet café soon. He laughs and says we’ll stop in Marangu. We go past the funeral, now with few people left, but a cairn remains covered in bright flowers and cloth.
By the time we get back to Arusha, it is dark. We’ve survived an exciting two-lane driving experience.
Here, the wazungu are on firm ground. The three course menu and wine list we can maneuver, although I’m suffering from banana beer heartburn and am trying to hide it. There is an endearing moment when Papa is unsure of how to use the pepper grinder and I, for once feeling like I know something he doesn’t in this country, show him. Two tries later and he’s still stumped. Nothing to do but laugh it off. We say our goodbyes. He promises to leave some of the coffee from his plantation for us to pick up at the hotel, and we promise to send pictures.
Then it’s off to bed and, tomorrow, safari.
Photos: Papa and Mama Mandela. Mama Mandela drinking banana beer (please note large blue tub of it in background). The Maleo family: Mama, Edith, Aunt Teresa, Gabriel, Nelson and Bright.
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