before the rising of the swamps and the clearing of new farms when the water goes down. Then, I thought, they would have even more time to perform ceremonies and explain them to me. I was quite mistaken. Most of the ceremonies demanded the presence of elders from several homesteads. As the swamps rose, the old men found it too difficult to walk from one homestead to the next, and the ceremonies gradually ceased. As the swamps rose even higher, all activities but one came to an end. The women brewed beer from maize and millet. Men women and children sat on their hillocks and drank it People began to drink at dawn By midmorning the whole homestead was singing, dancing, and drumming. When it rained, people had to sit inside case, by noon or before, I either had to join the party or retire to my own yh their huts: there they drank and sang or they drank and told stories In any hut and my books. "One does not discuss serious matters when there is beer. Come drink with us Since i lacked their capacity for the thick native beer, I spent more and more time with hamlet. Before the end of the second month, grace descended on me. I was quite sure that Hamlet had only one possible interpretation, and that one universally obvious Early every morning, in the hope of having some serious talk before the beer party, I used to call on the old man at his reception hut-a circle of posts supporting a thatched roof above a low mud wall to keep out wind and rain. One day i crawled through the low doorway and found most of the men of the homestead sitting huddled in their ragged cloths on stools low plank beds, and reclining chairs, warming themselves against the chill of the rain around a smoky fire In the center were three pots of beer The party had started. The old man greeted me cordially. "Sit down and drink. " I accepted a large calabash full of beer, poured some into a small drinking gourd, and tossed it down. Then I poured some more into the same gourd for the man second in seniority to my host before I handed my calabash over to a young man for further distribution. Important people shouldnt ladle beer themselves It is better like this, the old man said, looking at me approvingly and plucking at the thatch that had caught in my hair. You should sit and drink with us more often. Your servants tell me that when you are not with us,you sit inside your hut looking at a paper. This morning they wanted tobefore the rising of the swamps and the clearing of new farms when the water goes down. Then, I thought, they would have even more time to perform ceremonies and explain them to me. I was quite mistaken. Most of the ceremonies demanded the presence of elders from several homesteads. As the swamps rose, the old men found it too difficult to walk from one homestead to the next, and the ceremonies gradually ceased. As the swamps rose even higher, all activities but one came to an end. The women brewed beer from maize and millet. Men, women, and children sat on their hillocks and drank it. People began to drink at dawn. By midmorning the whole homestead was singing, dancing, and drumming. When it rained, people had to sit inside their huts: there they drank and sang or they drank and told stories. In any case, by noon or before, I either had to join the party or retire to my own hut and my books. “One does not discuss serious matters when there is beer. Come, drink with us.” Since I lacked their capacity for the thick native beer, I spent more and more time with Hamlet. Before the end of the second month, grace descended on me. I was quite sure that Hamlet had only one possible interpretation, and that one universally obvious. Early every morning, in the hope of having some serious talk before the beer party, I used to call on the old man at his reception hut—a circle of posts supporting a thatched roof above a low mud wall to keep out wind and rain. One day I crawled through the low doorway and found most of the men of the homestead sitting huddled in their ragged cloths on stools, low plank beds, and reclining chairs, warming themselves against the chill of the rain around a smoky fire. In the center were three pots of beer. The party had started. The old man greeted me cordially. “Sit down and drink.” I accepted a large calabash full of beer, poured some into a small drinking gourd, and tossed it down. Then I poured some more into the same gourd for the man second in seniority to my host before I handed my calabash over to a young man for further distribution. Important people shouldn’t ladle beer themselves. “It is better like this,” the old man said, looking at me approvingly and plucking at the thatch that had caught in my hair. “You should sit and drink with us more often. Your servants tell me that when you are not with us, you sit inside your hut looking at a paper.” This morning they wanted to