It's our turn to eat sweets

The day before yesterday I ate supper in the dining hall on a table of some of the younger boys.

While we were cutting French beans (or mishiri as the boys call it) for the next day's meal, the boy sat next to me, went across to another on the table, berated him in swahili and slapped him over the head.

'What was that all about?' I asked when he came back to his seat.

'This boy,' he explained, 'is our captain of the table and they gave him money to buy sweets for all of us but he went and bought the sweets and ate them all himself.'

'Much like the President of Kenya, then,' I suggested.