Beer, where?

A big truck tore past me throwing up a turbulent cloud of red dust from the dry dirt by the side of the road. I wobbled a bit and gripped the handlebars tightly, but continued frowning at the small group of Kenyans who had been shouting something to me moments before:
“Beer where?”, it sounded like, “Beer! Where?” It really sounded like a question.

I looked at the truck as it sped away towards Ngluni, and thence to Nairobi, with its red cloud billowing about it. Bastard was going way too fast on the road through Tala market and I nearly got sucked under its wheels, or blown into the ditch.
“**Be aware!**”, “**Be Aware!**”, that’s what they’d been shouting at me. It had the opposite effect. I was concentrating on the puzzle, trying to decypher their message.

Funny how many things are dependent upon culture. They were speaking my own language, but the phrase was unfamiliar. If I wanted to warn them of something I wouldn’t be able to do it in Kikamba, and they might be confused to hear me shout:
“Mine doubt, mine doubt!”

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