Today, we were in a chicken restaurant in Southern Africa. I was the only non-African in the place. I ordered Mgazi a children’s chicken plate and did what I would do with Zaffron: I took her drumstick from her plate to cut a chunk off, to make it easier for her.
She reacted immediately and loudly, semi-shrieking, “BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH! BLAH BLAH BLAH!”
This was all very fast in a high, squeaky voice. I started to laugh a bit uncomfortably because I didn’t know what the words meant; she wasn’t shrieking in English. It was, however, very clear that she was not happy with what I was doing. And everyone in the restaurant was looking at me – I could feel my face getting hot.
Pastor was with me. He was laughing too. At me. He told me what Mgazi was yelling.
It was, “DON’T TOUCH MY MEAT!! DON’T TOUCH MY MEAT!!”