FRIENDS

FRIENDS

“You need to come play futbol with us,” says Gladys, Senior 4, age 18, about 5’9”, well over 200 pounds, backed by twenty girls and a half-dozen boys.

“Now?” I say, looking at my sandals, standing on the road outside the fence by the girl’s dormitory.

“Yes!  I will play you first.”

Futbol that day last September turned out to be taking turns trying to kick a soccer ball through the other person’s goal, two bricks on end about two meters apart, about ten meters between goals, best score out of five tries.

Short version:  Gladys wins, 3-2.

They are amazed that I can score at all.  So am I.

I tell Gladys, “I am glad you won.”

Everyone yells, “Why?”

I say, “Because you would have something really wrong with you if you couldn’t beat a 69-year-old Muzungu of my size (4’11”, 119 pounds).”

They all laugh, and the conversation begins.

“You can’t be 69.”  

I will be 70 when I come next year.

“What is your favorite food?” 

Apples and chocolate.

“Do you have a cellphone?” 

Yes, an iPhone.

“Is it true that Americans wear their clothes two times and then buy new ones?  

You saw me wear this same skirt and shirt when I was here last spring.

“You will have to learn our names.” 

I will learn four today.

“We will give you this rock: it has four corners, so you can remember us . . . Gladys, Tasha, Bett, Shamine . . . We are your friends now.” 

Webale.

Tasha