Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, saw a number of European tourists in the years after independence. Budgets were short, and it was decided that the traffic lights, installed by colonial masters, would not be maintained but would be replaced by police officers who would direct the traffic from podiums at intersections. However, in a holdover of the traffic light era, an elaborate set of rules was drawn up: When a traffic officer had his shoulders towards you, especially if he was waving his arms to gesture you on, he was considered 'green', and traffic could proceed. When he pointed at you and started to turn, he was 'orange,' and you had to take care. And when he faced you, he was 'red' and traffic had to stop. 

Consider a tourist from Europe, not versed in this detail, driving down one of the boulevards. At an intersection, she saw a policeman on a podium facing her. She saw an opening in the traffic and began to cross, at which the rather large officer stormed up to her and demanded: "Madame, what color am I?" The tourist wilted and stammered: "Black?"

In Uganda, traffic circles or roundabouts control traffic with reasonable success. And, visitors are warned, when entering such a roundabout, you have to give way to traffic already rounding the about. 

A non-English word one soon learns in Uganda is 'Webali,' which is used to thank someone. Soon after my arrival in the humid tropical heat, I went looking for an electric fan. In busy Luwum street, known for its pickpockets, I bought a nice, large Chinese one. So, leaving, both hands holding the bulky package, I became acutely aware of my unguarded pockets and wallet. And a young man smiled at me and said: "Webali!" I learned that the more precise translation would be something like 'well done.'

One learns that, in most of East Africa, the letters 'L' and 'R' are often interchanged. It requires a moment of attention when a waiter informs you that the dessert is a Remon Melangue. Or when a friend, busy constructing a house, tells you that, at last, he had "found a glader to revel his yald."

As I was leaving, contemplating the rather tattered aeroplane on the tarmac, the ground hostess smiled at me and said: "May you have a nice fright!"

My reply? "Webali!"