Of Handshakes and Propriety

Oftentimes, when I travel, I find myself faced with customs and social niceties which are either entirely foreign to me or else so remote that I forget they exist. As is probably to be expected, I occasionally bumble straight through these into a situation which is somewhat tense and mildly embarrassing until I convince a native resident of the place to laugh at me, at which point I become a lovable clown instead of a foundering oaf. In a forthcoming post, I will recount an afternoon full of such mistakes. However, I occasionally get to enjoy moments where the locals don't understand my customs, and I have the distinct pleasure of realizing that I'm not the only person in the country baffled by alien pleasantries. Such was the case today at chai.

Chai, as I've mentioned, is a delicious Kenyan drink similar to our own hot beverage in latte form by the same name. Every day, around ten, the kitchen puts out a giant kettle of the stuff, and I get to enjoy a little oasis of civility and comfort in the midst of this rough place. From time to time, chai also becomes a time to chat with some of the students here and joke around a bit. Today, for example, a fellow named Samuel and I discussed his family and the circumstances that brought him here to Discipleship College. As the conversation began to lag, and I began to feel the need to return to the office and resume my web design work for today, I turned and extended my almost-empty mug to drink to Samuel's health. The gesture failed comically. Apparently, Kenyans don't do a lot of toasting, at least not with the muzungu (white folks). I have noticed before this that when I hold empty vessels or flatware around some of the locals, they tend to be whisked away before I realize that someone is cleaning up after me. But this took the cake.

When I attempted to clink my mug against Samuel's, he took it in hand and started to turn toward the dirty dish basket. I pulled him back, and attempted to retrieve my mug for a do-over. Samuel looked confused, and perhaps a bit annoyed at my interference with his cleaning up after me. Seeing that he wasn't getting it, I then attempted to take his mug instead so I could show the gesture. He must have thought I was robbing him of the rest of his drink after nearly finishing my own, because he pulled back from me and his frown deepened. "No," I said, "Look." And I took one of his hands, each holding a mug, in each of mine. Against his resistance, I managed to achieve a sort of pathetic forced toast. Samuel looked deeply at the mugs, and then skeptically at me, and then shook his head. Begrudgingly, he allowed me to retrieve my mug at last, and start over. Then, after several attempts to show him what I wanted, he relented and allowed me a half-hearted drink in his honor. He clearly wasn't thrilled about it, and seemed more to tolerate my eccentricities than to embrace the gesture. Ah well, at least I wasn't the befuddled one this time.

The whole affair reminded me of the scene in Disney's "Pocahontas" when John Smith attempts to teach handshaking to the titular Indian princess.

"This is how we say hello, Samuel."

"Wingapo, American freak."