We found this little East African cafe in town last weekend. Trust me when I tell you this place is pure Africa. I felt transported in time.
The front room is this tiny space with a dirty floor, a couple of tables and a couple of chairs. It is full of men of all ages drinking soft drinks and tea, eating rice and flatbread off a communal plate, and watching English soccer on the TV.
Behind that is a little tiny kitchen in which 4 woman wrapped in layers of robes slaved over a tiny stove.
Behind that is a cleaner dining room where families with children sat. We sat there. It was 3 or 4 men with lots of children. All the men were yapping on their cells in some foreign language, and all the children were silent, staring bug eyed at us. I am the only white person in the place.
Finally, a boy about age 10 approaches Marin and asks her "Is that guy your friend?" nodding toward me. Marin said "No, that's my Dad." The boy scrunched up his face and said "That's weird. His skin is a different color." Whereupon Marin looked at me as if to ask "Now what do I say?"