Pardon me but that is how I heard beer as pronounced by my Botswanian friend. Bee-ah. “Du yu drink bee-ah?”
I remember the third night in Beijing, back at the Yihai Hotel, where they serve bottomless beer on the house -a mighty privilege for hotel guests. I joined the table of four colleagues from the Central University of Finance and Economics who are from different African nations and we started something like a getting-to-know-you drinking spree. They were okay and the session went very well as we emptied cases upon cases of the mighty Tsingtao beer the whole night through. This is what happens when beer lovers of different origins meet, endless discussions. By dawn, the young hotel bar attendant walked up to us and — scratching his head in disbelief over the pile of empty bottles — announced that they have already ran out of beer. “No moh pijiu!” Since that night, the hotel bar management scrapped the whole “bottomless beer” idea.
A few days later and 500 miles down south, in Qi County, we found ourselves plunged inside another watering hole that will never ever run out of irrigation: the Yanjing Brewery Plant.