12.1 October 8, 1967 Frank's letter home

 Oct. 8

Dear Folks, (Cochrane)

    The weeks are beginning to roll by fast now. I guess that comes from being busy or having so many things to do that you can't get them all done. The supervisor of our practice teachers really keeps us going plus all the other little extras Like a student came down last night because he couldn't sleep. This was at midnight. He claimed he was so sick that we had to take him to the hospital. His temperature was 96 degrees and his pulse was normal but he was convinced that he was going to die. I finally took him back to his dormitory and put him to bed, which he didn't like one bit. He didn't  like it half as much as we didn't like  being called out at midnight to fuss with him. He'd been sent to the hospital the day before. All in a days work I guess.

     I hurt a few feeling last week while I was visiting classes. I really laid into some of their teaching. I always try to compliment them on something, but some of these students were lazy and had not prepared, and some of them  had ignored earlier suggestions I had made. Those things sort of make me a little riled at them.

    We got some inspirations on arranging and fixing up the house last week and it improved it enough so that the place begins to feel comfortable. I built a set of pigeon holes and a bulletin board to set behind the desk. It isn't fancy because I used packing crate material and a few odd boards that I scrounged from t he fundi, but it makes the place look a great deal better.

    We had company this weekend and had a real good time. A family from Kenyatta College came up Friday evening. Saturday we took them down to Embu to the African Market. This is where everyone with anything to see comes in and sets up shop. They have a 12 acre lace that is fenced and has a few trees along one side. They line up in rows and spread their stuff on the ground and that's the market. They sell everything from ready made clothes to food, to bows and spears. One fellow stood in the middle of piles of clothes, ringing a bell and calling his wares like an auctioneer. We bought some potatoes and a few odds and ends. I got Milt an unstrung bow. Then on the way home we stopped at the Isaac Walton, a small inn, for tea. It is the only place to stay for  a night's lodging and to eat here, unless you are African and immune to all the germs of the country.
    

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