This Living-In-Shirati moment was apparently brought to you by the African equivalent of Mad Dog 20-20.
I don’t know if you can quite make it out, but this is the fence separating our backyard from the road, and those are the legs of a man lying on his back in the grass. This man, who was utterly drunk at 2:30pm, came stumbling through our backyard calling “hodi!” (which is like “Anyone home?”) and Fred went outside to see what he wanted. Fortunately Fred was home on his lunch break to deal with this guy. The man had a bag of small fish, like sardines, and a tomato which people had given him and which he was hoping to cook for dinner, but he was in need of a little bit of cooking oil. (Possibly he intended to take part of our fence home to use as fuel for his cooking fire…it’s happened before on a number of occasions.) Fred told the guy we didn’t have any cooking oil–the kind of obvious lie that you can only tell to a drunk person–and told him to be on his way. A few minutes later I watched him struggling to climb back over the fence to the road, but apparently the effort was too much for him, because twenty minutes after that I saw him passed out on the other side of the fence. Ah, Shirati.