Views: Greetings
It goes a little something like this:
On the worn grass bordering the dusty dirt road, two friends walk towards each other. One, a man, slows his gait, and with a voice like a deep river extends his greeting: Mirembe Mai (Peace be with you, mother). His friend, older by ten years, bows gently and responds with ease: Mirembe Baba (Peace be with you, father). They shake hands, first palm on palm, then linking thumbs, then palm on palm. They stand and speak.
— How is it with you today?
— It is good.
— Hmmm. They both murmer deep in their throats.
— How is your family?
— They are well.
— Hmmm. Their resonant responses punctuates their conversation with acknowledgement of each word and thought.
They are still holding hands.
They wish each other well, then continue on in opposite directions, only to stop twenty feet later to greet a friend at work in a nearby field, a friend on a bike, or a family of women winnowing millet. They continue on, each giving form to what seems like an elaborate square dance, partners switching, rotating, turning on down the road.
When going somewhere together, they — men, women, children — hold hands.