Stories
A Wife for Muusa
He had said Sunday night. I knew he had said Sunday night.
Yet here he was, shuffling anxiously, with pleading eyes, on Saturday evening, just as I was finally relaxing with my feet up, after a long and tiring week, the BBC World Service on in the background.
Play of the Week would have to be forgotten tonight, in favour of a night drive on my motorbike into the African bush, to fetch a wife for Muusa...
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Suddenly everyone fell silent, a look of shock on their faces.
A familiar dread fell upon me. What had I said this time? The experience is common to anyone learning another language - the embarrassment, humiliation, and joy of getting it gloriously, enormously wrong...
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"Bismillah!" The imam stepped back to welcome me into the mosque.
I had gone on one of my 'walkabouts'. On these occasions, I set off to wander around town with no particular plan, just to see whom I might meet, and to share the story of Jesus with those who want to listen...
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In Gorom-Gorom there is a two-legged pig. Its back legs are useless, but it manages to scurry around the streets every day, looking for food, its front legs going full-tilt, dragging its rear end behind it.
Apparently, the pig did once have four fully-functioning legs. But one day it got into a Fulani yard - maybe into the food even, and the Fulani gave the pig such a thrashing, its rear legs were permanently damaged.
The Fulani detest pigs.
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