There is no hurry in Africa

 There is no rush in Africa - Hakuna haraka barani Africa

"Your dog is scary, where did you get it from?"

"It happened to me on vacation in Africa. I just cut off its mane!"

That's roughly how a European imagines Africa. A European has a hard time in Africa, things are different here than at home.

Woah, uh, you like my back wood when I got up, yeah yeah

Like a kickback

Though that shit crack it ain't shot up, yeah yeah

You like tacos on a drunk night

You a club night without a dumb fight

You like Roscoe's on a next day

Skipping all the traffic knowing the best way

That's why I...

I would like to tell you about a restaurant visit that has it all and not only for Europeans.

We celebrate, or rather, we want to celebrate. We, that is a group of 14 people. One of this group says he knows a good restaurant. I don't know who that was, it doesn't matter either. This restaurant is a bit far, we have to go by cars. Luckily people have big cars in which we have room for 14 people.

The restaurant is a bit out of town. There are several buildings, quite large. It's big. We're going to the facility. Nobody wants to sit in the restaurant, it's muggy and pleasantly warm. We find a place under a sun or rain roof. Waitresses run up, tables, benches and chairs are put together. We sit quite comfortably. The drink is ordered.

"She asks you what you want to drink!," the divine explains to me.

"A cold beer!" I say.

"Yesterday we said no more beer!"

"It's good, water!" That was a great overcoming for me, but what should I do, what the divine says is law.

"For real?"

"Yes."

"Well, a cold beer for him!"

What a surprise!

The drinks come, another waitress comes, takes the order to eat.

People talk. Some are banging away on their smartphones. I also. The divine too. One takes pictures.

I am thinking. "Moja baridi bia" it could be or "moja bia baridi." I do not know. I should have said: "Ninaomba kinywaji (I would like to have a drink.)"

"Ninapenda bia baridi (I love a cold beer)."

We ordered french fries with chicken. It takes time. We are waiting. I think to myself: "mpishi anapika (The chef is cooking)."

We are waiting.

There is no hurry in Africa.

I finish my beer. It has gotten warm.

We are waiting.

People are getting nervous. You ask the waitress. She runs into the kitchen, I assumed that, I don't know. After a few minutes, several plates of French fries arrive. Those lucky enough to have a plate in front of them begin to eat. No sign of the chicken. lost?

We've finished the fries, here comes the chicken. Everyone gets a piece. Half the people still don't have fries.

Excitement!

We came at 12:30pm and now it's 3pm! What's taking so long?

Mpishi anapika! I hope. Another half hour goes by and people can no longer be held. We go.

One asks for the bill. She doesn't come either. We go to the cars. A waitress follows us. It is paid.

We're leaving.

There is no rush in Africa!

In the evening I sit

And my thoughts they turn to you

In the evening I think of my home

And I need you to remember

All the love we used to know

Think of me sometimes

My love

Here is a slightly different report from Judith Hecht.

The people in the long queues outside the four immigration desks at the airport are getting impatient. An hour after arrival, still no one has received their visa. All switches are occupied. A particularly impatient person asks in a brisk tone and waving his banknotes when things will finally go on: "There is no rush in Africa," an airport employee replies with a disarming smile. Another hour later, each of us holds the necessary visa in our hands. It pays to be informed. During the following days we often remember that nobody here is in a hurry and nobody wants to be in a hurry. And that's a good thing.