A power outage interrupted my last installment, but at least I was able to retrieve it. Please allow me to conclude the Kamarunku affair:
I had inscribed the ball as "a gift from the students of the USA" so Stanley had a girl by the name of Gift read the dedication to the multitude. As they clapped in rhythmic pulses of gratitude, I felt fingers of nearby kids on my legs as the bolde explored my hairy white Muzungu skin. And when Stanley announced "You can touch him," the storm was unleashed. Hundreds of outstretched hands probed my arms as curiousity overpowered caution and propriety. Suddenly I was the white nucleus of an estatic writhing and squealing dark amoeba.
5 minutes later we retreated to Stanley's office where he gave me a leather passport case and four fine pineapples which filled my daypack beyond capacity.A seam gave way, but what the heck. An exchange of email addresses and a promise of future competition with Kashambya and other schools left confidence and optimism in the air, and Dennis and I mounted the moto and started down the rocky slope to cheers and waves of the kids who had lingered.
The taste of that pineapple and that experience lingers still for me, and assures me that my project is blessed by some volleyball god. Amen.
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