Between a Stone and a Spiced tea

Zanzibar is commonly known as the spice island and as such our holiday deal included a free visit to a local spice farm situated on the one and only hill on Unguja island. Our spice guides, Emanuel and Samwe, apart from both being very friendly (as are all Zanzibarians) were as different as night and day. Emmanuel limped his way through the wild forest-like plantations on a bad leg that's the result of childhood polio. But his personality made up for what he lacked in physical ability. Our man E explained in a beautifully fluent English what each spice is used for whilst the shy young Samwe carved and crushed seeds, leaves and bark for us to touch and smell. And whilst we listened intently to Emanuel's explanations, Samwe's nimble fingers weaved palm leaves into a a variety of hats, ties and necklaces which we were later given as souvenirs.

The spice tour also included a - and I quote - "gastronomic fruit tasting" - where one gets to enjoy a fine selection of Zanzibarian fruit. Mangos, pineapples and bananas are popular, but are twice the size and much sweeter than their South African cousins. Also part of the fruit salad was a so-called Jack fruit, which tastes of pineapple and banana combined (kind of like the pavement special of fruit if you ask me). Engela loved it but it did not quite agree with my sensitive taste buds. What did agree with me was the fantastic lemongrass tea. Although, admittedly, my love for this spice could equally be ascribed to a psychological affinity since it is used to keep away mosquitoes. And we all know how I feel about those little minions of Satan.

Now I'm not about to delve into the details of ethnographic philosophies, the fascinating phenomenon that is culture or its unique linguistic peculiarities, but I would like to know the following: Why does the average human being have an innate desire to teach any willing (often unknowing) foreign sucker the bad words of their mother tongue - the language they should be most proud of and convince others to be the most poetic?

Why does Emmanuel know how to say "Dis f*kken lekker" but he probably cannot say "My naam is Emmanuel. Hoe gaan dit?". Which further begs the question: Why would the average Afrikaans speaker be more impressed that Emmanuel knows the expression "Dis f*kken lekker" than if he had said "My naam is Emmanuel. Hoe gaan dit?"

Not that I am judging. Non, putain de bordel de merde! - that would make me a hypocrite.

Dis f****n lekke!

Palm leave Souvenirs

You're going to Google the French, aren't you? ;)