The Blog I Started to Avoid “Unsubscribe” Responses to My Mass E-mails

Kenya is the kind of place that gives uppity women romantic notions of colonial adventures –  traversing the dark continent in twin prop planes and riding jodphurs, owning farms at the foot of the Ngong hills and horse ranches in the Rift Valley, spouting off memorable one-liners to the men who doubt you.

 

 

           

 

Kenya makes me want to be Beryl Markham and Karen Blixen, to write by latern light on my front porch at night, to learn Swahili and still take time for tea and biscuits every afternoon.

And when I’m finally finished swooning and day dreaming, Kenya makes me want to sit quietly and just watch.

The graceful corps of birds on Lake Nakuru, the way storms roll across the Masai Mara like heartache, the roiling crowds that flood in cross currents through downtown Nairobi: The young men in G-Unit pseudo gangster garb, the sharp Kenyan business class in tailored suits and elaborate hairdos, the busy Indian ex-pats who count Kenya as much their own as England’s or Africa’s, the quietly curtained Muslim women, the armies of children in sensible two-toned school uniforms, the hard working women doing the African waltz of weight — slowly ambling under the burden of vegetables slung across their chests and balanced on their heads, dozing children strapped to their backs.

Kenya is fantastic, accessible and brimming with far more creature comforts than West Africa and I did all the things you have already done yourself or heard about from the great aunt/bridge partner/boss/mailman who bored you with 348 pictures from their safari.  

So I’ll try to stick to the highlights: 

I headed into Nairobi, found a great hostel that became my home base (Run by a charming Brit named Ken, the place is like an international high school. It’s fantastic -bunkbeds, junk food, plenty of rumors and daily intrigue and a cast of characters whose top ambition seems to be avoiding growing up.), and after a couple of days in the city took off for a camping safari at the Masai Mara. 

      

Each day we feasted on surreal views of the animal kingdom and stunning countryside backlit by tumultuous skies and the occassional downpour.  But the human drama was nearly as entertaining. The journey’s cast included: 

*  My two newly adopted siblings, Marissa and Christopher, a hilarious brother and sister from Ireland.  Marissa is an incredibly bright human rights worker in Nairobi who does a killer Indian accent and promises she’ll put in a good word for me when she gets to heaven and I’m stuck in purgatory for my political sins. Christopher is equally hilarious, delightfully less politically correct and works promoting trade between Ireland and Northern Ireland.  Which seems like an uphill battle, but whatever you want to do with your life is ok with me, Christopher.

    

*  Edison, a Uruguayan banker who looked like a war correspondent but was actually quite prone to giggling and strict cleanliness. We shared delightful stretches of girl talk in the tent at night.

*  A German nurse who was in Nairobi working with Flying Doctors - take charge and strong willed, armed with only one change of clothes and obsessed with the time, Simone was a good natured and endless source of amusement.

*  Kaylie and Kaden.  Or something as equally alternative as that.  A WE’RE-BUYING-ONLY-ORGANIC-COFFEE-NOT-SHOWERING-AND-LIVING-IN-A-TRUCK-TO-FIGHT-THE-SYSTEM-MAN couple from California who literally loathed me because I’m a Republican (which I *promise* I did not bring up - they asked; I even tried repeatedly to change the subject when the inevitable haranguing began). It was a shame, because I actually really liked Kaylie before she and her boyfriend decided to hate me….and then of course, I was morally obligated to find them slightly less appealing.  And for the record: I’m all for not showering these days, but I’m not pretending it makes a statement. I’m just lazy. 

After the safari and before some catatonic time spent on the coast south of Mombassa, I headed up through picturesque Naivasha into Nakuru where I had the good fortune to stay with a Kenyan family (friends of a friend). 

We toured Nakuru National Park and the Menengai Crater, consumed amazing home cook meals and talked. The three college aged kids of the household and I had countless conversations on the state of Africa, music, family, politics, job prospects (or lack thereof), education and the pressures facing them. The likes of which, in my 29 years, I have never known. 

Until this point, I had told and retold the story of quitting my job, packing away my things, essentially moving into a backpack and launching off to travel with a sort of jovial nonchalance. A tone of “aren’t I quirky and impulsive!?” 

But it finally hit me in Nakuru, Kenya - as I was listening to these two young men who understand too well the sacrifices their mother will make to send them to university, who are shouldering the crushing deliberation of where to go to school and what field of study is most likely to provide an actual job on a continent where most of the masses no longer bother dreaming of a better life - how utterly naive I am. 

Even as I was ignorantly rambling on about the “wisdom” I’ve gained in the past year — about how it’s never too late to start over and reinvent your life, about how they shouldn’t put too much pressure on themselves to make the perfect next move — it dawned on me that this mindset, this luxury of opportunity does not exist for them. 

*We* have the fortuity to transform as it suits us, to screw up and try again and go back to school for the fun of it and leave perfectly good jobs and seek out new ones that will ”inspire us.” They do not. 

And though they were too polite to say it, I could see in their faces that my frivolous concept of life and what it actually costs to survive had no relevance in their world. 

I no longer brag about my ability to walk away from a good job - which too many here have never had and cannot find -in a blessed country they are not allowed to join. 

And honestly, I am grateful to those kids for so gracefully teaching me to talk a little less and appreciate a lot more.

For all the people I met, who came to feel like family, and for the landscapes that rolled from lush valleys to mountains and beaches with diverse but unceasing beauty, Kenya is set apart in my mind. 

For some reason, it feels a little like home.

 

 

Tags: kenya, Travel

This entry was posted on Saturday, April 15th, 2006 at 1:57 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.