I was speaking English, and the man in the restaurant was speaking English, but neither or us could understand what we were saying to each other. It was un-nerving but true. Ken and I were in Mayersville, in the heart of the delta, an area made famous by the blues, when we stopped for lunch at the only restaurant in town. It had a sign outside that read "Hot meals every day". So in we went.
It took me three times of trying to place my order, but I was stumped when he asked me a question which I could not understand. I had to ask him three times to repeat his question, but I still had no clue to what he was asking. Finally I called for Ken, who on the first request understood that the man wanted me to tell him whether we wanted the fish sandwiches on bread or a bun. So Ken said "a bun", and we were home free.
Ken thinks I must speak slowly to the natives of Mississippi, especially when I am in a small rural community inhabited by mostly black people. The food was great and the price was right, but next time I will speak very slowly and pay close attention to the words of the proprietor. Or maybe next time I will have developed a Mississippi accent.
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