After Leiden gave these European immigrants, who had no cutlery, a lesson in how to use chopsticks, he went off to attend to other work. Whether they learned it or not was none of Leiden's concern.
Some had already grasped the knack and were playing around with them, but more were scratching their ears and cheeks, unable to use the chopsticks properly.
When they got to the dining table, it was exactly as expected—a parade of absurdities. The tiny chopsticks took on every strange form imaginable in these people's hands. Some who had given up simply clenched the chopsticks in their palms, lifted their bowls, and shoveled rice into their mouths.
Those who had learned used their chopsticks with convincing flair, picking up rice and dishes as they savored the subtle wonder of it.
Then there were those whose minds had learned it, but whose hands had not. Their grip was correct, yet they either could not pick up the food or kept dropping it.
Unlike the European immigrants in the cafeteria, forced to eat with chopsticks, Fischer's family now cooked for themselves in the house assigned to them.
During their first few days in East Africa, Fischer's family had also eaten in the East African cafeterias. But they were fairly well equipped; after all, they had lived in a big city and had seen utensils such as knives, forks, and spoons before. They even had them at home.
Before leaving Stuttgart, Fischer had sold his little house along with its furnishings. They were not worth much—the house was too small and dilapidated, while the furniture was old and crude—but however small a mosquito was, it was still meat.
Fischer had promptly deposited the money in the Hohenzollern Development Bank. The immigration staff had told him that the Hohenzollern Development