“Welcome to Britain”

“Huh?”

“It’s going to be okay German child”

“Guten tag?”

“Shite”

“Ja?”

“My cup of tea has cascaded down to the floor”

“Hallo?”

“Shite. I liked that cup.”

The tones from the mbiras combined with the rhythmic rattle of the hosco shakers was hypnotic. He had been in the dark rondavel hut for hours now watching the men dance on the hard-packed dirt floor. Their dance was more like a slow parade around the hut. The singing that accompanied the music and the dancing was almost a scream was still somehow melodic.

The hut as at the center of a small village named Epasur. He was part of a small group of exchange students who were spending a year studying in the small African country. They had been in the village for a couple of days on a field trip organized by one of their professors. He had told them that they were there to attend an important ceremony.

So far, the visit had been very interesting. They were welcomed to the village by the local headman who toasted them with a bowl of a tradition fermented beverage that was passed around the group for everyone to sip from. The beverage was very dense and grainy and did not taste like anything he knew from home.

Later, after the welcome, the professor translated the headman’s speech. He told them that the headman had welcomed them by telling them that the weekend’s ceremony commemorated a battle that took place in the village during the country’s war of independence. The Professor added that the battle was celebrated in order to honor the bravery of the nation’s independence fighters and their successful struggle for freedom and respect.

The first day of the visit had been very relaxed and interesting. The male students spent the mornings with the young men of the village. They walked to the surrounding fields, tended to the village cattle, ate a lunch of peanuts and fruit, and played a game of soccer using a taped up clump of cloth as a soccer ball. The females had collected water and tended gardens with the girls of the village. For the rest of the day, the students spent their time visiting with the residents of the village and just hanging out amongst themselves.

On the second day of the visit, he woke to the sound of chickens strolling in front of the “children’s hut” where they had been assigned to sleep. He stretched and crawled out of his sleeping bag quietly since some of the other students were still sleeping. He slipped on a tshirt and jeans, walked out of the hut, and headed over to the village bathroom. This was basically just a closet-size wooden structure that contained a deep hole in the ground and a stack of old newspapers. After using the facility, he went walked to the village standpipe to wash up and brush his teeth.

As he was finishing up, the Professor came up to the standpipe along with the village headman and two young men from the village. The professor told him that the two young men were headed to a nearby shop to pick up some supplies for the evening’s ceremony. He introduced them as Samuel and Theta and ask the student to join them on their chore.

Later that morning, he was sitting outside the hut when he saw the two village guys walking towards him. They stoped in front of him and told him they were leaving for the shop. As they began their walk, the two young men introduced themselves as brothers, While they talk and walk, he looked at the countryside around them. He saw a pretty sizable corn field and a worn foot path. To the right there appeared to be a dirt road and on the other side of the road a forest. The forest looked pretty deep and not a little foreboding. Every now and then, the small group of young men would cross in front of a small compound with a few rondavols or small square buildings made out of hard dried mud and maybe a bicycle or a cart in the yard. For a good while, they are followed by some stray dogs which his two companions chased away by throwing stones.

After a period of awkward silence, he asked them if up the nerve to ask them if they were going to see any wild animals. Not in the daytime, was their reply. In response to other questions he learns that they left school last year and that they learned their excellent English at school. Both of them stated that they planned to leave the village soon for the capital city where they hoped to get a job and live together in a house owned by an Uncle and his family. Laughing among themselves, the two guys mentioned that these plans made their mother very sad and their father very mad. But, they affirmed, they were going to leave the village - life was too hard and too boring there.

Then, they asked him about America. Was his family rich? No, he said, we are an ordinary family. But when he told them about the family house and their two cars, they shouted out loud that yes, yes he was a rich man! Samuel quickly started asking him about life in America and Theta stated that someday he wanted to go to a rich country.

Things were getting somewhat uncomfortable for the student, so he was glad to look up and see that they were closing in on the bottle shop. As the three young men entered the store, he looked around the small shop. It was very neat, containing mostly necessaries such as eggs, water, cooking oil, some vegetables, and chicken along with some little candies and plastic toys for children. His companions greeted the proprietor and asked for a bag of corn meal and a case of bottled water. The old fellow nodded and asked the two brother a question in the local language which made the brothers laugh and point at him. Nodding, the old man gave them their goods in return for a handful of money. On the walk back to village, the exchange student kept wondering why he had been laughed at in the store. Finally, he asked.

Do not worry, Samuel said, Mr. Apoczem wanted to know why we were buying water and we pointed at you and told him that we had a group of white people staying in the village for our ceremony. Nothing to worry about. In fact, he told us to take good care of you. And, with that, both boys laughed some more.

The rest of the walk was quiet and not a little difficult. The bag of meal and the crate of water bottles were pretty heavy, so they stopped often to rest and switch loads. He was very glad to see the village when they came back to it. When they arrived at the hut where he was staying, Samuel and Theta said goodbye and started to walk away.

Theta, Samuel, he shouted, will I be seeing you tonight? No, they replied, the youth are not invited tonight. He was pretty tired from the walk so he went into the hut, laid down, and fell fast asleep.

At about 6 that evening, the Professor stuck his head in the hut and shouted “rise and shine,” time for dinner. Hustle up, the ceremony starts at 7 or so. So he got up and walked outside where all his fellow students were gathered around a small fire eating dinner. When he arrived the village headman handed him a bowel of corn meal porridge and a cup of that local beverage. The professor spooned into the porridge a little vegetable and spice relish and told them not to drink the local beverage if they didn’t want to, warning them that is was made from fermented grain and was pretty strong. Still, he ate all his porridge and washed it down with two cups of the local drink.

Soon they were called into a large rondavol with a thatch roof near the center of the village. It was the largest structure in the village. When they walked into the hut, they saw a group of 6 or 7 men singing and playing thumb pianos and shakers over on the far side of the building. In the middle there was a small fire and a large group of villagers were tramping around the fire with bowed heads and bare feet. The students and their professor were seated beside others of the villagers on mud benches built into the walls of the rondavol. As they listened and watched, the musicians played, the dancers danced, and every now and then people would join or leave the dance. This went on for hours. Maybe it had to do with the walk or the drinks he had, but he began to feel sleepy. Sometimes he dozed off but soon a dancer would yell or scream or someone would come in or go out of the hut and he would startle back awake. As the night wore on, the fire died down and the musicians and dancers began to seem like shadows moving about the hut. Eventually, many of the players and dancers left the hut and so did a lot of his fellow students. And, finally, he himself fell asleep.

The sound of the hut door slamming shut woke him up. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that there were now only two mbira players alongside one honcho player. The fire had died down to just red glowing embers and the inside of the hut was very dark. He also saw that he was the only person sitting along the wall. Then he remember the slamming door and looked to his left. There, standing in front of the rondaval’s only door was a very large women in a ragged dress and apron with a red scarf wrapped around her head. In her left hand was an axe. She closed the door and began to tramp around the hut, swinging the axe over head and down by her side as she danced. Every so often she would moan and growl.

He thought to himself that this was a scary situation. Where was everyone else? Where was his professor? Who was this women. Why did she have an axe and what was she going to do with it? He felt sure that he should not be there alone, the only white person in a very dark hut with a large African woman swinging an axe. Just then, the woman seen to notice him. She began to swing the axe wildly, screaming and yelling in a deep voice. Then she approached him, still shouting and swinging the axe. She stopped right in front of him and stared at him. Suddenly, she took the axe in both hands and lifted it above her head. The music stopped and the woman became quiet. She smiled at him a little and brought the axe down fast and hard. It hit the bench next to where he was sitting and bounced onto the hard mud floor. The woman turned and opened the door of the hut.

As the woman was she running out of the door, his professor came running into the hut. What the hell are you doing here, the professor shouted. You are not supposed to be here. Do you realize you could jeopardize the whole ceremony? Go back to your hut now! I guess it was a mistake to invite a bunch of selfish and self-important students to this village. Damn it! Get out!

Still a little frightened and now very ashamed, he walked back to his hut. He laid down in his sleeping bad on the hard mud floor and tried not to think of the woman and the axe. After a while he managed to fall asleep.

The next morning he woke up when another student came into the hut saying that the professor wanted them up and packed by the time the van arrived. They would be stopping for breakfast along the way back to the university. When he sat up, the other student came over to where he was sitting and said that he thought the weekend was so cool and that it was really interesting to see how everyday life was in a poor third world village. But, he added, it will be great to get back to civilization.

The student stood up and went to the standpipe to wash up and brush his teeth. As he was finishing up, the professor walked by and stopped to talk. Listen, he said, sorry I was so angry last night but these ancestor ceremonies are very important. I spoke with the headman last night and he told me no harm was done. In fact he said your presence in the hut with the axe woman added an important special dimension to the whole event. You see, he explained, this was a ceremony honoring and offering respect to the village ancestors who fought in the revolution to win national independence and freedom from European colonialism. The songs we heard from the musicians represented the villagers calling to their ancestors who fought in the battles and other actions of the independence struggles. The dancers tramping around the fire represented those ancestors who made the long trek to freedom. Our presence symbolized the wish that all whites would someday honor the countries of Africa and respect its peoples and their rights as fellow human beings. I did ask him about the woman and the axe. He said she represented a real ancestor of the village who, they believe, committed the last act of bravery in the independence war. Apparently, she killed a colonial official who had come to the village to arrest some men for fighting against the settler army. When the official came to her hut, in a sudden act of defiance,she killed him with her axe. So, unbeknownst to you, last night you and her played out the final act of revolution in honor of the ancestors who won freedom for their country.

The student was overcome with emotion and, shaking with both fear and awareness, he turned and walked back to his hut. When he got inside, he sat down on the floor to roll up his clothes and pack his overnight bag. Getting up to his feet, he walked over to the bag and leaned down to place his clothes in it. There in his bag, he saw the axe, the axe the women had last night, the axe she had swung at him. Looking more closely he saw there was a note written in pencil on a torn piece of notebook paper. It said:

“All people deserve respect. After many years of abuse, my ancestors won their respect from your ancestors. Last night I offered my respect to you. I hope we have yours.”

“Leo, I can’t do this!” I whispered.

“Oh, come on, you want to be here!” Leo grinned, giving me a weak shove that left me stumbling sideways — straight into a girl about our age.

“Sorry!”

She gave me an odd look before muttering something under her breath, to which Leo responded in near perfect Spanish.

“Mis disculpas, señorita. ¿Podría darnos algunas direcciones, por favor?”

“¿A donde?”

“La Academia del Aire, señorita.”

The girl gave us both a strange look at that. “Cuantos años tienen ambos?”

“Hm? Yo tengo catorce y el tiene trece.”

“¡Tan joven! Deben ser prodigios si son estudiantes.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, feeling a little sick of being so lost here.

“Shut up, Zephyr. Give me a minute.”

“¿Amigos?”

“Novios.”

“¿Cuál es su nombre?"

The answer to this, I finally understood.

Leo, and his name is Zephyr.

I was never good with languages, but I knew enough about Spanish to realise that it was the kind of language I wouldn’t enjoy being referred to in if I understood it all.

“Get out. See different cultures. Meet interesting people.” Sure, that’s what the brochure said, and that’s what the recruiter said, and that’s what my parents said. But no one told me how it would REALLY be. I don’t understand how anyone can live where it is this cold! I really do not know what color the buildings are around here because everything is constantly blanketed in white. You can’t really identify people on the street because they have to wear so many layers so they don’t freeze to death. I am used to greeting people using my hands; hands on both shoulders, look them in the eye, say hello, nod your head. That is the way you should greet people! But here, they are so rude. People barely look in your direction, and merely grunt at you. When I first arrived at my host house, I greeted the family as I would anyone. Morthana - the female head of the house - looked mortified that touched her. I still do not understand the language. It is all so guttural. It sounds so savage. I am still learning to say hello properly. “Uspa,” but I have been told it sounds like I am saying “wuuspap,” which is an entirely impolite phrase about anatomy. When tried to say it on my first day of class, the class was so out of control with laughter that the teacher sent me to the headmaster. The school also confuses me. Back home we studied the vegetation, the animals, the rain. Here we are stuck in the classroom. I guess I get it, because I don’t want to be outside when it is below freezing, and, besides, there is nothing to study except snow and ice. Morthana is a good cook, or at least everyone else in the house eat her food as soon as they get it. They enjoy her cooking. I am still getting used to boiled roots night after night. Apparently my first meal was supposed to be a highlight, because we have not had fish except that first night. And everyone else was jealous that got a bigger piece. I don’t know if they realize fish is a sacred animal in my country. Or maybe they do realize and they were being mean. I miss being home.

It’s very different here. When I want to say one thing, I feel like it gets lost in translation. No one here says, “see you later.” Everyone is literal. At least, it seems to me.

Trying to get help is like pulling teeth. I don’t fully understand everything and I just need someone to give me a guiding hand. Like where is the market? Where is the best place to get clothes? What is the best way to travel?

Not only, do I not have the answers to those question, but I have to wonder who is trying to scam me. I never know who I can trust. Sometimes I just want to go back home.

But there are some really good things that I get experience here. I get to dive into another culture. I am immersed in a different language. I can see places that I would never get the chance to see if I stayed at home.

There are rough days and there are good days. Overall, I would say that the good days outweigh the bad days. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

The glass in front of him reflected the right side of his face perfectly, making his eye clearer than he would’ve preferred in any other situation. In any other situation, a reminder of the war would be the worst thing that could happen. It had been three months since he had been set on that boat heading for the shore of the Ruby River, and at that time he could clearly remember how the feelings of anxiety and excitement played on his heart. If he could go back in time and tell himself that some day, he would be sitting in court, the center of the most complex controversy either nation had seen in a while, he would have laughed. He hadn’t always been the smartest when it came to blind faith. The city had taught him that. He wasn’t a holy piece of an ancient puzzle here, he wasn’t special. Just another in a crowd of thousands of scholars reading through their books urgently. “Sir Mercury, please repeat to the court the events of the fourth of May.” The prosecutor repeated again, her eyes piercing into his soul. “I- Yes, my apologies.” He cleared his throat. “That day I had been doing my rounds as usual, there was nothing out of the ordinary. By the time I got to the scene, the place was still untouched. “I left at about half past six to fetch some of my books for another lecture. I didn’t get back until an hour later. “By then, she was dead.” “Your honor, he’s clearly lying.” “I will have order in my court.” The judge said calmly. “My house shall not be a mad kennel, no matter how things operate in yours.” The crowd was shushed, the silence spanning what felt like an eternity. Then, with enough force to make him jump, a new voice spoke. “If you’d permit me, I have evidence to support that claim.”

It was all new to me, the lights, the people, the hustle and bustle of a vivid city. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it.

The language was so different here but I was starting to know the basics now. Luckily I was suggested a tour guide who spoke English and Japanese so I could get some practice in.

I was so lucky to get into this exchange program, it was a once in a lifetime experience to live and study here in Japan.

“Hey, are you Allan? I’m Kenji, your guide,” a pleasant tone awoke me from my gazing.

“Konnichiwa! Watashi wa Allan desu,” I said quickly pleased with my pronunciation. I couldn’t help but squeeze a smile in after.

“Aha, nice job! Been reading ‘Japanese for dummies’ then?”

“Not quite but yeah pretty much,” I replied in a jokey tone, one that attempted to hide my slight dissatisfaction.

Tokyo was very different to what I was used to. I’d always lived in a village far out near Oxfordshire. So city life was never available to me.

“Jonesey told me you needed a guide around town. How’d you guys know each other?”

“He is from the same town as me, we grew up together.”

“Oh wow! Yeah, I’m from London but I came to study here and ended up staying. I’m Japanese but my family live in London.”

“That’s so cool! What did you come to study?”

From then we just clicked, he was a creative like myself and was studying art design. He fell in love with architecture and become a painter. The next Frank Gehry. I, myself came to study Japanese literature in the hopes of becoming a writer. My parents spent most there savings on my education and I knew deep down they rather I’d become a big shot lawyer or doctor with the money they invested. Thing is, books were everything to me. I couldn’t imagine dedicating my life to anything else.

“I know the best place to eat.”

We visited a restaurant, I couldn’t make out the name but it was a sushi bar with a rotary belt. Good would come round on the belt and you’d take what you fancy, the first time I’d experienced anything like it!

Kenji slurped his noodles, lifting the bowl to finish off whatever was left. Something I’d never dare to do in public.

“Hey,” I whispered, “You are well hungry aren’t you?” I giggled.

“Haha, we’ll in Japanese culture it’s a compliment to the chef if you slurp the bowl,” Kenji laughed, “… It shows you really enjoyed the meal.”

It was too awkward for me, surely I couldn’t slurp these noodles in front of all these people.

“Go on try it!” Kenji said leaning back into his chair, stroking his belly.

“Really?” I looked at him suspicious, could it be a prank?

“Yeah!” Kenji smiled even wider.

Why not, what’s the worst that could happen?

Lifting the bowl with both hands I tilt the miso soup into my mouth. It’s broth swirled around my mouth lipping down my throat.

“So good,” I oozed out in complete satisfaction.

“Told you!”

You were never really alone in a place like this. The streets were always overcrowded with passerby’s and even the apartment buildings seemed constantly groaning with the sounds of its occupants. You know how they say the city never sleeps? Yeah, that phrase could never be more true about New York City. There was something truly restless about this place, like an insomniac who never knew when to lay her head down.

I bite back yet another string of curses as someone bumps into me, almost knocking the cup of coffee out my hands. It’s not that I had an issue with people accidentally bumping into me, humans were rather clumsy creatures after all, but what annoyed me the most was that no one ever took the time to apologize or even acknowledge their accident. The people from my hometown, a small little farming town that seemed dead quiet in comparison to this place, were always so polite and friendly. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that here, people didn’t commonly strike up conversation with strangers. They didn’t commonly say sorry to bumping into you or knocking over your coffee either.

When I first agreed to the exchange program, I was raptured by the allure of the big apple. But now, almost two weeks here, I had begun to miss the pockets of silence the farm offered. Not to mention that ever since moving here, my bank account has been desperately trying to hold onto any morsel of change that I can scrounge up from my job at the bookstore across from the school. Living in New York was a lot more expensive than I had initially thought.

I had been lucky enough to earn a scholarship for my final year of high school that allowed me to transfer to Yuval Dance Academy, a prestigious New York academy for the fine arts. Back home in my small town I had attended a regular school and only had time to indulge in dance classes on weekends and after class. Here, at this new place, we danced for almost the entire day with only 5 hours a day dedicated to class time. At first I was thrilled with the prospect of doing what I loved all day, but now it was almost draining to lace up my pointe shoes each day. Even worse, everyone at the academy had that classic New York charm-meaning they were always on the move and quick to critique. I was always a tad shy, but making friends here seemed impossible. Even worse, it seemed as though everyone hated me already and it didn’t take a genuis to take note of the snide remarks whispered about me behind my back.

When I finally reach my destination, after urgently pushing through the surge of morning commuters, I toss my empty coffee cup into the garbage and mentally prepare for the long day ahead of me. Classes would be starting again in a couple of hours and I’d be forced to try extra hard to fit in with my peers and make new friends, a routine that was starting to get quite draining. With a quick sigh and final glance at the bustling streets, I dip down into the subway station, yet another underground world filled with its own set of people and customs entirely. A part of me still held out hope that the city would take kindly to my arrival; I still loved a lot of things about New York like it’s nightlife, it’s towering billboards and it’s amazing coffee shops tucked away in every nook. Maybe some day I’d learn to love it as I loved my own little farm back home, but I guess today just wouldn’t be that day.

It is so other She cannot decipher it. Unreadable runes. Menu with many pictures None of which looks edible.

“Where’s the ice?”

“Sir?”

“I ordered iced tea. This is just…..tea.”

“Uh….sir….I do not understand. Tea? With ice? We don’t know this thing.”

Now I am a good Southern boy who grew up drinking my Nana’s iced tea. It was a staple in our house, but here I am somewhere in Europe (I have been traveling on my own) and they have no idea what I’m talking about. How can this be? This is another thing to file under crazy darn stuff in Europe.

In my list I now have: Bathrooms are mostly unisex. They get it over here. People just gotta go, and nobody cares who’s going in a stall next to them.

They have nudes everywhere in their ads. Full frontal, naked as jaybirds and it’s just….so what? Crazy but somehow natural.

A railroad pass will get your just about anywhere you want to go all over Europe; cheap, on time, center of city and literally everywhere.

Everyone drinks beer in most places and drinking age is eighteen. I see parents giving sips of wine to little kids and no one has a hissy fit. It’s just a part of the meal.

They’re nuts for soccer but they call it football but it sure isn’t like football in Alabama. I like it!

I have tried some weird food stuff, for sure. Snails? Great with loads of garlic. Who knew? In Germany I had so many different sausages I lost count. Some places they dip their fries in mayo! Yuk. And England? Well mutton and squishy peas is everywhere and they have grilled tomatoes and fish for breakfast. How weird is that?

From here, I think I am in Amsterdam today, I’ll take the train back to Germany and live there for a year. I am really trying to be open minded about everything, but I have to teach these people about sweet tea and ice!