That’s Bloody Bonza Mate

For the past month the third little traveller has been interested in anything related to Kenya. At dinner we’ve heard smatterings of Swahili, while all of us have been told more than once the significance of the colours on the Kenyan flag. And just when we thought Kenya couldn’t infiltrate our system anymore, G found himself in a supermarket at 10.30 last night collecting a fresh bunch of bananas and a coconut.

Why? It’s time for the annual grade three Cultural Fair.

The month before the fair each child is provided a country to study, with the only requirement being that you’re not allowed to have lived there (and possibly visited there I’m sketchy on the details).

I love the Culture Fair. Last year the second little traveller was all over Ethiopia. This year it was just as good. The room is a buzz with children with flashcards, displays and food. And the energy they give off when you ask a question they know the answer to is electric. And when you ask them something they’re not sure of? It’s hysterical.

“So what’s that wooden stick used for?”

“It’s just a stick that they like to make”.

“Oh, why do they make it?”

“They just like it.”

Last year I arrived and spotted this little gem.

You know there are that many Kiwi’s in Australia you could actually argue that this picture is correct.

This year I arrived at the Kenya display to see the third little traveller deep in conversation while pointing to Kenya’s national dish. He was explaining how to make it. He has no idea how to make it. He looked over in my direction but he was all business, no time to chat. Our relationship appeared to have become quite professional, somewhat similar to a home inspection. As I walked my way through his display he pointed out the benefits of the property. I was waiting for some sort of motherly reference, and at the end of my tour as I considered the coffee beans and the coconut husk he gave me a wink. This is how boys charm their mothers. He is nine.

It was time to make my way to the Australian display.

“Would you like a lamington?” my Aussie host asked me in a Romanian accent.

They were delicious. I looked down and saw this. Someone had done their homework. Check out the Opera House.

A budding engineer or the child of one?
Have a look at Uluru

I looked down at the list of Australian slang words provided. The usual suspects were there. Cobber, Sheila, blokes and dags.

“Do all Australians speak like that?”


“Struth. That’s bonza!”

Everyone looked at me blankly.

I love the Culture Fair.

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