The Outsider(S) by Caroline Adhiambo Jakob Page B

Then there was the second group occupied by Mr. Makokha. This group interchanged p, d, t and b and sentences like ‘dutey beoble will pi in trouple!’ were not unusual. There was a further group which had issues with the letter s . ‘To be sheen with shuch companies ish not good for our image! ’ was a sentence that left me tongue-tied in one of my initial meetings with the team. There were many other variations in between but I mostly found them entertaining. Mr. Clark burst into the office with a small pocket dictionary in his hand.
    “Is it possible that your name, Ickelschaft, actually means ‘disgusting’ in German?” he asked breathlessly.
    I stared at him silently for a moment. “ Ekelig means ‘disgusting,’” I stated calmly. “You must have confused the two.” I wasn’t going to show him that he had touched a soft spot. I wasn’t even going to mention that he was pronouncing my name wrongly.
    “Did you get my e-mail?” I asked quickly before he came up with some new word. He was intently studying his dictionary.
    “I am learning German. Maybe it is going to make my work of wooing you easier.” A seductive smile spread across his face. I ignored him and repeated my question.
    “Yes. Indeed,” he answered. “Nairobi is a lovely city!” Before dashing off to his office again, he stopped and turned to face me.
    “Should I pick you up?” It sounded like he was trying to use a sultry voice.
    “No. I’ll be fine,” I responded quickly. I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression that I was his date. I had finally given in to his suggestions of going out at night. I had sent the whole team an e-mail asking them if they wanted to come along.
    Two hours later I left my hotel room. Mr. Makokha was waiting in the lobby. He smiled when he saw me. We had developed some kind of relationship. “Madam, you are very smart,” he said and bowed down while shaking my hand with both of his. His exaggerated show of respect no longer irritated me. More than anything it amused me.
    We reached Carnivore Restaurant half an hour later. Mr. Clark had said that it was the best restaurant he had ever gone to, and knowing that he was British, I had no reason to doubt him. They were not exactly famous for their culinary talents.
    I was the first to arrive. At the entrance, there was a big barbecue area. Personnel in white uniforms were walking around with meat on skewers. I walked around the restaurant. It was spacious and beautiful. There were tables in strategic spots. There were also bonfires that gave the whole restaurant a cozy feeling. There was some kind of African music playing in the background, and I could feel myself getting excited.
    Someone tapped my shoulder. It was Purity, Mr. Clark’s assistant. I smiled at her. I had thought it was some bad joke the first time I learned that there was a Charity and a Purity in the same office. I had a distant but paradoxically affectionate relationship with all of the staff. The competitiveness and the backstabbing that dominated relationships in Europe seemed to be nonexistent here. I don’t know if it had something to do with the fact that I was in Africa or the fact that everyone seemed resigned to his or her fate. But there was a feeling, at least, that no aggression was directed my way. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t feeling threatened. It was taken for granted that I had the right to be the boss.
    “You are here,” she said excitedly. She was dressed in a yellow dress with black flowers. On her head was a scarf tied in a complicated knot.
    I looked at my watch. We both smiled. “Of course you are already here, you are white!” she exclaimed with a chuckle.
    We sat at our reserved table. “Do you come here often?” I asked her.
    “Once in a while,” she said and I saw that her eyes were fixed on the table in the corner where a black couple was involved in a deep conversation.
    “Do you know them?” I asked.
    “Yes. They are celebrities