Pioneer of Kabiruini

One of my greatest privileges in Kenya was an invitation to the rural home of my host mother. Kabiruini is a tiny village in the Highlands and to me the similarity to the Swahili word for ‘Welcome’ – ‘Karibu[ni]’is incredibly appropriate: the hospitality we received was outstanding; warm, fuzzy-feeling stuff.
We had the sort of road trip which demonstrated perfectly the Kenyan attitude to time: Mwangi said we'd leave Nakuru at 10am. After hunting for petrol, pineapples and music we finally left around half one... Having failed on the music front we had nothing but a Jim Reeves tape (singer of classics like 'Have I told you lately I love you?') for the four hour journey. I bagged the front seat in order to get a seatbelt but this meant facing the oncoming traffic - an unnerving experience in Kenya...
That evening we visited the village pub. Helen had originally planned for me to follow the menfolks in the car - I think she reckoned that if I got out of the car there'd be a riot - but in the end Mwangi and his uncle escorted me. There was a disappointing lack of riots; silence fell when we entered (well, as silent as Kenyans ever permit...), but we were shuffled through to the equivalent of a snug: an empty shed behind the pub. It soon filled with people wanting to greet the mzungu and if I ever hear 'Karibu Kenya!' again it will be too soon. It’s all understandable though when you learn I was the first white person to set foot there.
After enthusiastic (tipsy) greetings I chatted with a chap whose name I cannot remember and who shall therefore be known as Bwana Coffee. During all the handshaking and whatnot I noticed he held his right elbow with his left hand as he shook my hand - a sign of respect. I taught him the Western fist-bumping version of Respect! which amused everyone, especially when we tacked some chest-thumping, air-punching Christian sentiments onto it. As a coffee farmer he wondered how much a cup of coffee cost in England, so I told him. Eyes popping in outrage, he explained that he's paid 20/- per wet kilo... around fifteen pence. Even in Kenya this is pretty appalling. This provoked furious torrents of Swahili which boiled down to: “We're overworked and underpaid.” It was illustrated with an impression of a one-armed, one-legged coffee picker toiling in the fields. The visual: all six foot of Bwana Coffee leaping around on one leg, one arm twisted behind his back and other skinny limbs flailing. It was complete with an expression of pure fury - a Kenyan speciality.
Bwana Coffee didn’t seem to know whether he sold his coffee Fairtrade but sadly my suspicion is that he does. I'll never enjoy Kenyan coffee again... Alright, exaggeration, but I didn't realise it was so bad. On the upside, it's impressive how your confidence in Swahili grows after a couple of beers!