Thursday August 25th, 1977
Tonight was the night for the mission banquet. I fixed the green beans. They were good except for being a bit soupy. Ken was dressed like an Arab coffee vender and sat outside the banquet hall. We made him a Muslim cap at 5:00pm. We used an old pillow case to make it from.
Mom, like most great cooks was her own worst critic. I don’t remember any complaints about the quality of the beans that night.
I am sure that I got to enjoy the leftovers from the banquet as payment for my part in the production. I remember greeting the guests as they ascended the stairs to the dining room. My role was to sound like a street vendor hawking his wares. I was supposed to help set the mood for the evening. I am sure that upon seeing a boy dressed in a flowing gown proclaiming “Kahawa!” (Swahili for coffee) at the top of his lungs with a pillow case on his head moods were deeply rooted for the evening. I remember the Africans unmitigated glee at watching me make a fool of myself for 1-2 hours that evening. Long into the evening they would mimic my plaintive cry and then break into gales of laughter.