Tumwa

The Zaale home continues to entertain. Let me categorize to keep my thoughts clear. Today's category: Tumwa. Tumwa, introduced in a previous entry, just turned 28 on Sept 11. He's about 4'10" with downs syndrome, goes for prayers a few times per day, is seen strolling around Bududa, and knows people everywhere. He's the friggin' man. He's always positive and always a great pleasure to have around. He does his own thing, comes and goes, and my eyes light up every time he comes into the sitting room.

He talks a lot of shit in Lumasabba and will talk shit to the dogs in English, "get back!! - i'll beat you!! - sit down!!" He was going nuts when we first brough the dogs home. He wanted to go for a car ride so he came to pick up the dogs at my old place unknowingly entering close quarters with two animals who were recently accused of being trained killing machines. Tumwa's not a dog lover. He flipped his shit when he realized what we were doing. As the dogs were dealing with the excitement of the car (and Bobby's tendency to get car sick like his dad), Tumwa was jumping up and down screaming in Lumasabba. For the first week, he would put his face up to a small opening in the door yelling at them. It's taken him some time, but now he can fend them off with a stick and yell at them in English with a smile on his face.

c"Ponga" is something that I learned from the kids in Kiholo trading center. It's a fist pound, sometimes followed with a heart pound and then people have various finishing moves. (Mine is kissing my fist as I slowlly blow it up back in the direction of the recipient. My motorcycle buddy Rashid's is causally scratching his nose with his thumb) On Tumwa's birthday, we were "cheering" and Tumwa busted out the "Ponga!". Since then, he's been giving me pongas at an accelerated rate. Instead of a finishing move, we do a simultaneous leg kick at times and he'll sometimes finish it with a grin of satisfaction. Speaking of his birthday, we got all hopped up on cake, soda (him, mom, and the kids) and beers (dad and me). Tumwa put on a neck tie and was dancing his ass off. No power that night, but we had lanterns, a radio, and warm beers. It was one of my most memorable nights since I've been here. Back to the Ponga, he will now repeatedly fist pound me up to 50 consecutive times. Just before I started writing this, He was holding my wrist with one hand and giving me the fist pound with the other hand with both of us repeating "Ponga!" every time.

One day, he was walking back home with a stick, saw some construction guys who are family friends, walked up behind one of the guys, and goosed him in the "backside" with his stick as he was talking shit with a huge smile on his face.

Sometimes he'll rub my leg when we're on the couch. I'll just have my leg up, he'll be infatuated by my caucasian body hair, and start to gently caress my calf.

Last week, I was outside and I heard him in his room clapping his hands and singing loudly and painstakingly energetically and happily. I went in and joined him for a jam session until my hands hurt from clapping, which didn't take long since I was trying to keep up with the loud smacks he was producing. Then we stopped and did a ponga or two, leg kick, satisfying grin and all.

Have I mentioned that he's the friggin man?