Lunch in sweat house

We ate lunch at a local place owned by a well spoken lady named Florence. Last night I got some take away from her and she asked, "Why are you not married?  You have a good figure."

I think, "No one has ever said that."

Then she went on, "You are not too skinny like so many mzungus I see."

There it is. 

Anyway, they liked dinner last night so we went back for lunch. 

We sat at a table under some shade. Topista ordered rice and beef for the two of them. Florence talked a while in some other language and then Topista and Margaret got up and went inside. I got up and found them on a mat. (Visions of having the family from the Bolivia jungle stay in my house came flooding back)

I ordered matoke, pumpkin and G-nut sauce. 

I realized very quickly I was pouring sweat. Looking around, I saw that we were inside a METAL 10x12 building and it was about 100 degrees in there. 

Somehow I seemed to be the only one sweating. 

I ate my lunch which was very good and then sat, quietly sweating and waited for the others to finish. Oh the relief when we walked out of that sweat house!