Kwaheri, Kenya

For my last days in Nairobi, I felt like I had a giant ticker in my periphery counting down the hours, minutes, seconds. I loved my time in Kenya, but oh how I wanted to get back home. My trip here was punctuated with choppy phone calls, spurts of condensed emails, frustrated miscommunications from back home.  And as much as I wanted to stay in Kenya, to explore more of its land and language and love, I could feel the time running out. I preoccupied myself with the image of falling into my parent's hug, a great welcome home. I was so excited to show them what I had seen, have them feel what I felt. I wanted them to get it.

On my last day of class, my students showered me with hugs and hand-written letters. I embraced my third graders. Their room had been my home at Rumwe. I fought back tears. Francis flashed me his giant smile. Otieno gave me a fist bump and a goofy grin. These kids would turn into memories in just a few hours.

I walked back to Winnie's alone. The sky was overcast and the bumps in the dirt road tripped me, as if I hadn't figured out their course. I got my usual stares, but I liked to think that the residents of Kangemi had gotten use to my presence. I bought a cut of pineapple for 10 shillings, a little ritual Floss and I had started only two weeks back. It was sweet and dripping down my hand. I still couldn't bring myself to throw the wrapper on the ground, though no one would have thought twice.

Me and Winnie

I packed up my bags then ate my final Kenyan meal as I waited for my taxi driver to arrive. I had scheduled a pick up, hoping to have plenty of extra time at the airport. This was only my second international flight and I had been raised by Nate Seely, who taught me leave more than enough time to twiddle my thumbs in the terminal before take off. But the car seemed to stop more than it started and once, to my horror, the driver actually turned off the engine and flipped open his phone to chat with a buddy. Ineffective traffic circles and constant red lights threatened my timetable. I checked my phone every thirty seconds just to see the minutes slipping by. I breathed through the Nate-inspired panic attack that was building up.

I arrived at the gate with 20 minutes to spare. Good enough.

In order to defeat the disabling jet-lag of international travel, I forced myself to stay awake on my first flight and hoped to sleep soundly on my second. Of course, I was too optimistic and barely slept for two days. I came down with self-induced sickness.  It was a whirlwind from baggage claim to the car. I answered my parent's questions though I was exhausted. I took them through my photos and videos and we talked about the lifestyle I had temporarily adopted.

But my mind was preoccupied. I couldn't afford to rest and relax. I had come home on this particular date for a reason. I cut my trip short because I had bigger plans. I arrived home just in time for my first day of intensive training with Mama Hope,  a nonprofit, in San Francisco. I had been selected to participate in their 9-month fellowship program and the kickoff bootcamp was tomorrow. I had to ignore my exhaustion and coughing and light-headedness. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be fully immersed in the international development world and I was about to embark on a journey that would take me to new territory.

I was about to build a health clinic in Uganda.

A Family Away From Home

Maybe it was my stomach getting tougher or maybe it was sheer willpower. I managed to swallow down the last of my lamb sausage (it tasted exactly how a horse smelled) and my ox testicle (the men had more trouble with this one). It was my last weekend in Kenya and dammit I was going to make the most of it, gassy or not. 

We called George. George was supposedly the name of the IVHQ approved taxi driver, but it was hard to know who was who because I swore they passed off calls to one another and didn't leave us with a clue. "George" picked us up in the safari van. Nobody really knew why that was his mode of transportation. I thought it was because it fit the most people, but then later he picked me up alone, in the same vehicle, to take me to the airport. None of this really mattered though. "Take us to a mzungu bar!" we cried.  He passed out on the couch as we danced and socialized, lost each other then found each other, laughing and shouting as the rain pounded over the canopied dance floor. By 3:30 we found George asleep in his safari van. We banged on the door and he took us home. 

Sunday was a lazy day. We had stayed at the volunteer house that night, the one that held up to 15 people and had a constant flow of newcomers. We trickled out of bed one by one, pouring chai and toasting bread. It was my last day with this crew. These were my Mombasa friends, the ones I had spent a weekend with exploring white beaches and soaking in paradise.  These were the strangers I bonded with as Nairobi was making headlines and innocents were getting shot, as parents were worried while the ocean beckoned  us to forget. It had only been three weeks but were had created something great. My last hour was spent happily reminiscing and quietly reflecting together on the balcony. When my taxi rolled up I looked up at the friends I'd never see again and they waved down. I'm lucky, I thought. 

I had two more days of life in Kenya. Some days whizzed by while others never seemed to end. But of course, I knew this was inevitable. I knew I'd feel it was all over too fast. 

Dazed and Confused in Nairobi

Java was our regular meet up spot. It had free wifi and great masala chai. We'd all whip out our phones in a social media frenzy, posting and liking and updating and sending information as quickly as we could. The first time I came up for Internet Air, my brain was whirling ("this is the most intense buzz I ever had!"). There was so much to see and do and tune into! 

But by my fourth weekend, the Internet became somewhat of a nuisance; my cyber social status didn't really apply anymore. I checked my email though my inbox was consistently empty, I browsed on Facebook though I didn't have anything relevant to contribute. The content I'd post would just float off into cyberspace, all notifications on pause. 

But this time my Internet time was put to good use. Just before leaving for Kenya, I had been accepted as a Global Advocate in a program called the First Fifth Institute.  It was an intensive 9-month training program geared towards young professionals who were eager to break into the international development world. First Fifth would provide hands-on experience "completing high-impact projects that meet the fundamental needs in food, water, education and health care." (It's a really great organization and you can read more at www.mamahope.org or www.firstfifth.org). First Fifth would be sending me back to Africa for a three-month stint to complete my assigned project. I came to Kenya knowing it wouldn't be my last time in Africa, knowing that this was just the beginning. 

I quickly wrote a mini biography needed by the First Fifth orientation coordinator and emailed it off. I had other tasks to complete but dodgy Internet access made those items difficult. F/5 understood and agreed to make my deadlines a bit more flexible. I felt good knowing that when I returned back to the states I would have some real work ahead of me instead of the jobless, pointless scenario I had feared.  

This weekend, I wanted a break from the tourist attractions. Some

volunteers were going to spend money on wildlife sanctuaries, but I wanted to spend more time in the city exploring. A volunteer from Washington named Cody invited me and a few others to go to an indoor rock climbing facility on the west side of Nairobi. Excited for something new and a bit of exercise (Kenyan food is mostly starch served with a heavy hand) I jumped at the opportunity. 

Texas, an IVHQ trusted taxi driver picked us up. We drove a ways then pulled into a confused parking garage and opened the door. Here? We wondered. 

We jumped out and paid the thousand shillings owed. Looking up, we saw the grey concrete of a ten-story building. Hallways and stairwells were placed in unexpected places; we climbed up to the sixth floor where the rock-climbing facility was suppose to be. But as we came to the final flight, construction workers on break gave us curious glances. The whole floor was demoed. No rock wall. 

We quickly cut our losses by finding the nearest Indian bar and grabbing a cold Tusker. Most disappointing scenarios seemed remedied by a Tusker. 

Niko enjoyed displaying his collection of interesting world facts, Cody and I enjoyed giving him a hard time. We were relaxed and easy and casual and happy. Rock climbing was foolish, really. Garlic naan and apple-mint shisha made up for the travel.

We handed it to one another--this really was better than all the touristy crap the rest were up to. Though I wondered if I'd get the chance to see that monkey park they had tried to find. I do love monkeys. 

From here our adventure became...interesting. Cody, Niko and I agreed that walking through the city was an viable and practical option. Our group had planned to meet up at an all-you-can-eat exotic meat buffet called Carnivore in the city. Cody's Google Maps showed that it was only three miles away. His little blue glowing orb would lead us there.

Now, the streets of Nairobi are not easy to negotiate. It's all like a game of Frogger, but easier to die and less lives to waste. Taxis, matatus, buses and cars hurled themselves over lanes and into the highway shoulders, lights seemed to have no real authority and only the practiced  pedestrians had figured out the secret rhythms to stay alive. We crossed roads, feigning courage. It seemed weak to scurry or scramble as a vehicle zoomed at you. 

We were caught in the human gridlock of downtown Nairobi, faking know-how and confidence. We were walking with such over-zealous strides that we failed to register what we saw ahead: a giant cloud of smoke taking over the sidewalk. It wasn't until our lungs burned and eyes began to water that our senses began to override our pretend confidence. On impulse, we turned around and ran in the opposite direction. Others ran too. Many had kerchiefs over their noses and mouths, coughing and waving away toxic air. We rounded the corner and took cover in a doorway. Niko seemed to catch most of the potent gas and wretched, his eyes watering. Half bewildered, half scared, we quickly agreed to find an alternate route. 

Nobody could tell us what the cloud was. Our theories went from accidental explosion to tactful terrorist attack to damn kids pulling pranks. We wondered if it would be in the paper. None of us would be surprised if it wasn't. 

Our next failure we blamed on Google Maps. Carnivore, the restaurant where we were headed, did not revealed itself in the location the smartphone had predicted. Instead, we stared at a giant castle-like hotel complete with iron gates to keep us out. I asked the security guard how close we were to our destination and he mumbled something about taking the 25 matatu to the 4. After walking for an hour, we were definitely not keen on boarding one cramped matatu to the next. But this was suppose to be an "adventure" and isn't this what "adventures" were all about? I sucked it up as followed. Wasn't getting tear-gasses enough for these people?

But we found it and loaded up and paid the fifty shillings and rode our way towards Carnivore. To be brief, I ate lamb and liver and ostrich and testicles. My wallet was empty and my bowels never felt better. All for the adventure. 

Saturday Morning Reflections

I was sitting on Mary's couch, recovering from a late night of games, filling my stomach with eggy bread and chai. Floss and I met Kevin in Satellite, an area in Nairobi. I had stayed at Mary's place the first two nights I came to Kenya. She was a young 19-year-old who loved hosting newcomers and making her famous popcorn. She had open beds and we decided to crash. 

We played cards and compared musical tastes. It was one of the few times where my age was glaringly obvious. Most volunteers fell between the age of 18 and 22. They decided to take a gap year from university and travel. Sometimes it felt strange to be surrounded by people born in 1994, who didn't understand my pop culture references, or looked at me funny when I start singing along to the TLC being played on the matatu. 

Last night was one of those night. Two eighteen year olds were coming into their phase of musical discovery: "Screw pop music and Top 40s!"

" Lets listen to the classics, man."

" Have you heard of Van Morrison!"

"Dude, Stairway To Heaven is legendary."

" What about Pink Floyd?" 

The race of band naming lasted for about an hour, each music expert trying to outdo the other. I listened. And waited. I remembered that time. 

The morning was one of my last here in Kenya. My plane back to California was only three days away. I thought about the past week--how I felt I was becoming more of a teacher and less of a guest, how the students began to understand my routines and listen to my instructions, how the teachers became less shy with their sticks, chasing laughing children across the field as they jokingly whacked them for being late to class. I was becoming a part of it. 

Floss and I had an established routine during lunch break. We'd eat our leftovers with Principal Resper or in the classroom, then we'd lie down (taking our cue from the other teachers) and let the kids gather. They played with our hair or tickled our necks, sometimes we'd write letters on each others backs. It was relaxing and sweet and great.

There was one girl in kindergarten. She wore a white winter hat, woven with cotton, complete with a twisted string tied underneath her chin. She had big eyes that always shyly stared. One day I called to her with a coaxing smile, "kuja hapa". Recognition flashed across her face and she wearily walked towards me. I scooped her up and plopped her on my lap. She didn't say a word, just played with her yellow ducky water bottle and the long green string attached. And that became our afternoon. 

She'd find me every lunch, running with a smile  and sitting quietly on my lap. Each day she got more and more comfortable--one day playing with my water bottle, another day stroking my cheek. Sometimes she'd play with my hair along with the other girls. But it was my favorite part of the day. Me and my silent friend. 

It was going to be hard to say goodbye. I sat and waited for my friends at Mary's to get ready. But it was Saturday and a day of adventure was ahead.  

When in Kenya...You Go On Safari

Saturday

I arrived at Junction, our meet up point for safari, a good 40 minutes early. Because no shops were open, I chatted with my taxi driver until the coffee at Kava was close to being served. He told me about his first mzungu love, his dream of becoming a computer engineer and the circumstances that led to his current life. We shared stories and complaints, feelings of disbelief and gratitude, both of us wishing the other better luck. We said our goodbyes and I turned my attention towards breakfast.

A croissant with eggs and ham. Devine.

Safari-goers trickled in and ordered their coffee and food. We secretly compared luggage sizes, determining who would be the most hardcore traveler during our journey. I sighed relief when I saw that my backpack was less than half the size of the biggest bag. I was learning.

Three friends from Mombasa--Niko, Nolan and Thora--squeezed in at my booth. I was excited for another weekend with familiar faces, friends feeling more like family in this unfamiliar place. We agreed to claim seats in the same van, ensuring an entire wekeend in each other's company.

This was the first time I was able to share my first experience in Maasai Mara with them. I told them about my day excursioninto Ngong the Wednesday before, right after we got back from Mombasa: A group of 8 rode pikipiki into the Mara and spent a day talking, eating and enjoying the company of the Maasai. We sipped Tusker beers as we overlooked the Rift Valley, we slaughtered a goat and drank its blood, we received sacred burns that mark the rite of passage into adulthood, and we learned about the Maasai Ewangan Night School, the first of its kind. It was an amazing day. One I'll never forget. The three burns on my arm are reminders of the feeling: amazed and inspired and for the first time in Kenya, truly at home. I wiped tears away as the pikipiki took me back to Nairobi. I will return, I vowed.

But coffee now kissed my lips as I looked around the modern cafe. Our van was packed and it was time to get going. Nolan, Thora, Niko and I claimed the first four seats, without knowing that we would stick to the same assignment for the rest of the weekend. Jackson, our safari guide, cracked jokes and poked fun as we loaded up and chugged away. This van was like a matatu but with better suspension and a pop-out roof. It creaked with every bend and strained at each bump. After a few concerned looks were exchanged, we learned to laugh it off and accept the bumps as a long-term companion.

After hours and hours, we pulled into our camp. But this was like no camping I had ever done. The landscape was perfectly manicured to match the backdrop of the valley. "Tents" fit three beds and had running hot water and real flushable toilets. The main lodge served hot food, buffet style, with our choice of soda, beer, or spirits.

I was just amazed that I would be able to run my fingers completely through my hair for the first time in two weeks. Every other bath had me pathetically pouring water over my head in cupped palms. My scalp had never seen a drop! To say I was forming dreadlocks was inaccurate. To say I was forming a dreadlock is more close to the truth.

We took a quick excursion into the park to get our feet wet. What we saw that evening--zebras and giraffe and water buffalo--became common and even boring towards the end of the weekend. But we were eager and excited for wildlife, snapping pictures at every opportunity and pointing at each new sighting. It's strange how even the most fantastic of things become causal with enough exposure.

Back at the lodge we had mashed potatoes. Mashed! Potatoes! Gravy, pasta, chapati, squash! Unexpected delights. I'm not sure if we were more excited about the animals or the accomodations. Either one wouldn't surprise me.

Sunday

Today was big game day. We were driving from 8:30-6:30, on the lookout for anything that moved. Several times we shrieked with joy, only to find a lone antelope eating in the grass instead of the cheetah we suspected. But when we found a new animal, the excitement was real. We saw lions stalking water buffalo, hippos and crocodiles sharing the shore, a cheetah panting in the sun, meerkats and warthogs, elephants and baboons. We even saw two rare hunting dogs and a nocturnal spotted cat. A hyena came out to watch us pass and a couple of ostriches strutted across the sunset horizon.

But the best, by far, were the wildebeest. There were thousands of them. They were crossing the Mara and heading for the Serengeti. It was migration season and we could see them for miles. Their dark, lean bodies spread across every level of the horizon, their shadows deep and long, the grass faint and light. Sometimes we'd drive through them, sending a ripple of galloping through the closest hundred. Their friends were the zebra and the water buffalo, sometimes the ostrich would lead their pack. They would run to avoid the van or to distance themselves from the scent of a predator or just for the sake of running. It was a scene from a movie and we couldn't stop watching.

But getting back to the lodge was a relief to our bellies and behinds. Hot food, good company, and luke-warm beverages made us comfortable and happy. We played a card game as the night got darker. Some of the Maasai who worked the camp made occasional ground sweeps with their machetes and sticks, checking for hyenas.

Around the campfire, when the group size had dwindled down and all we could see were kneecaps heated by the flame, one woman took it upon herself to teach the Maasai about the morality of gender equality and the offensiveness of their alleged misogyny, explaining how they really should be more socially aware and caught up with western agendas. I felt like giving her a pat on the back and saying, now don't you feel better? Her words would change nothing, just empty exasperation. We all held our breathes until she went to bed, then carried on with our previous conversation: "now tell us again...How did you kill that lion?" (not to overgeneralize the Maasai culture or ignorantly insert a common stereotype, but the truth was pretty badass and we were keen on knowing the details).

Lights out, antoher early start tomorrow.

Monday

The early morning ride out didn't deliver. We saw the usual game but didn't find the leopard we had been hoping for. But sunrise was beautiful and we had a whole day of driving ahead of us. Because I paid for a three-ady safari, and most of the others had opted for four, I was handed off onto a Nairobi bound van with three others.

We pulled over for a boxed lunch and I ate, as always, as if I had never seen food before. A sandwich, a banana, some chicken, along with my favorite Kenyan juice box left me full and satisfied. It wasn't until we were about forty-five minutes into our drive that the nausea hit. It was subtle at first, but the more I acknolwedge it, the more violent the waves became. I tried listening to the conversation behind me, ignoring the relentless bouncing and bumping underneath me. I pulled out my earphones, pausing the music I was listening to and devoted my entire concerntation on not puking. Saliva filled my mouth and I tried not to panic. I looked at the door next to me, at the road rumbling outside, at the driver's body animated by the story he was telling.

This is not good, I thought. I am going to hurl.

Then, miraculously, we stopped. "Bathrooms!" The driver called. And like that, the nausea was gone. I got out and sat down in the shade to calm my body from shaking. Then I laughed to myself. Close call. It was another forty-five minute drive to Nairobi but I knew I would make it. Relaxed, I strapped back into my seat and closed my eyes.