Second term has just started at my secondary school. That means another 3 months of 30 lessons per week in math, agriculture, chemistry and physics. Still, Kenya is beautiful and on clear mornings, I get to see Kilimanjaro from the school compound (it's really gorgeous, I just wish I had a way to post pictures online).
Many parents came to school on the first day of school. At one point, a woman comes up to me and starts speaking to me here is our conversation, translated from swahili.
-Good morning.
-Good morning.
-I am a parent here. Do you know mswahili?
-I know so so. Only a little bit.
-Is mswahili good?
-So so. Not good. Not bad.
-Not good? Why?
At this point, it finally dawned on me. The language is kiswahili. Mswahili is actually a name. Like the name of one of my students. And she thinks that i am standing there insisting her son is so so. Oops.
Well, i think i saved face by explaining that he is a hard worker but easily distracted. I guess I need to keep practicing the language in my spare time (what spare time?). Still, that was not my finest hour.
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