And For The Second Installment...

Hamjambo! Habari za Amerika? Katika Jamhuri, nyumbani ni salama sana. Ninapenda mama, baba, na kaka, Kevin. Ninaenda chuo kikuu cha Nazerene kwa miguu. Kazi sana. Juzi, nilienda nyumbani cha Karen Blixen kwa basi. Nilirudi nyumbani kwa basi na miguu na nilitazama "Charlies Angels". Ninapenda chakula ya Kenya. Nzuri sana. But, wao put Vegetable oil in everything, which contains gluten, and I got pretty mgonjwa. So, I can no longer kula out. Chakula cha asubuhi, ninakula yai na ninakunywa kahawa. Chakula cha mchana, katika chuo kikuu, ninakula rice cakes na siagi ya njugu na jelly na matoke chips. Mmmmm tamu. Chakula cha jioni, mama anapika with corn oil, so that I can kula chakula ya Kenya; like mukimo, pilau, na matoke with arrowroot. Do we have arrowroot back home??????? Because I love it! Ninapenda arrowroot, or dhoma in Kikuyu, my mama's tongue.

I am not going to translate any of that because it's not really all that important. But, I want to clarify that Swahili is not a "clicking language" and I am not living in a hut. It is quite civilized here, Nairobi being one of the largest cities in Africa. So, please, when someone wants to know how I'm handling baring my breasts and eating dirt while clicking my way through a conversation, slap them or something. On that note, I would love to thank all of you who have written me. I have received many lovely messages that really make my week, and make me laugh as well. It's good to know you're all out there when I'm so far away. I apologize that I cannot respond to individuals as it took ten minutes just to load up this page. Ten minutes, folks. Try that sometime when the meter's running.

One thing I will tell you from that Swahili jumble is that I mentioned that I went to Karen Blixen's house on Sunday. She wrote "Out of Africa", and the house she lived in is only about 15 minutes away from me; I am right off of Ngong Road, and she lived near that overlooking Ngong Hills as she mentions countless times in her book. I'm actually reading it now, and it is really interesting reading an 80 or so year old novel about the place I am now surrounded by. Just walking up to her home was a vision that stirred me, and I was willing to pay the 200 Ksh to walk into the four rooms they allow you to see... only I didn't have to pay the tourist price. He asked if we were residents, and was quite surprised when our answer was "Ndiyo! Sisi ni wanafunzi katika Nairobi." -- Yes, we are students here in Nairobi. And then we showed him our residency cards which took 100 Ksh off the price. No kidding. In order to be able to do our internships, we had to become residents of Kenya which meant hours at the immigration office filling out paperwork and getting fingerprints. A lot of fingerprints. A lot. So, we walked through her home filled with carcasses and antique furniture and pictures of her and her husband Bror and her lover Denis. The backyard was the real treat. She writes mostly of her land and the views from her terrace. I sat on the deteriorating old stones and looked off beyond her large beautifully landscaped yard, beyond the tall trees each draping with flowers of all sizes and shapes POPping out reds, brilliant purples and oranges and pinks and blues. I stared beyond these fragrant beauties to the Ngong Hills in the distance. These hills... I took a deep breath and felt that same inspiration enter through every part of me. She was inspired to write, which I understand, but it inspired in me many things. I knew it was doing the same to the other wageni. I knew there was inspiration and awe of all ilks pushing out smiles and gratitude in everyone. Indescribable, really, the feelings one has when you come so far...

My wonder and glee went PATUUWY though when I got back on the basi, the citi hoppa, back to Jamhuri. Just because my friend and I were coming from a tourist attraction the conductor was trying to suck more money from us, as though we were ignorant of prices. Even on the way there, after we gave the man the rightful 20 Ksh, he told us it was 30. I objected and pointed out that I just saw him take 20 from the woman next to me. "She's different", he said and quickly added, "You are going to Karen Blixen's". I told him he was very, very wrong as I handed him 10 more shillings. But on the way back I wasn't going to do it. We gave him 20Ksh and he asked us where we were going. I said, "Don't worry about it, we know where we're going". He laughed and walked away but kept coming back and asking. The bus was full, but he kept coming to us. He said it was 40 Ksh to go to town. I said, "We're not going to town, we are residents here, we are going home". "Where is that?" "I am not going to tell you where I live. Go away! Stop bothering us!" But he stayed and told me he wanted more money. By this time I started to recognize the area, so I told him I'm close enough to my house, I'll just get off. He pushed the button for the bus to stop and threw open the door and pushed us out. I was so disturbed I walked home in silence. I waved goodbye to my friend, and sped-walked to my empty home. I didn't know where my family was, and I did not want to face Nairobi anymore for the day, so I threw in the "Charlies Angels" DVD and watched some ladies kick some ass.

The last two days have been dry, thank all that's holy, because I was on the brink, many, many times of completely losing my waterlogged mind. It's been unusually rainy here, and add that to the chill of Nairobi, and you have a lot of wet, muddy, cold, sad, angry, misled, American students. I had been watching the weather for years in this area, knowing all along I wanted to come, so I knew it's not hot on this plateau. But the rain can kiss my patunga. It is a 40 minute walk to school from where I live, and that turned into 50 minutes to an hour on the worst days. It all started when I did my laundry. Of course, "SORRY NAIROBI, I DECIDED TO DO MY LAUNDRY!" The drops began before I even finished. I bailed before I got my pants in the bucket, deciding to wear the dirty buggers for as long as I had to until I had more time to wash. Mama and I got back into our little apartment, and it poured. It poured, you guys. You don't even know what I mean when I say it poured. Well, maybe you do, Craig and Lois, but my God. I kept turning to my little brother asking him if he thought my laundry was done, and he would laugh and laugh. It rained for three days. "Kev, will you go see if my laundry is dry?", everyday after school which was met with more laughter.

Meanwhile, I was wearing the same clothes, no underwear, trudging through mud everyday to and from school. Wait, let me explain the trudging a little better. There is no pavement the entire three and a half kilometers from Jamhuri until about two blocks before The University of Nazarene. Emmy and I, my neighbor and walking partner, try to stick together and hold a conversation, but you have to be so careful about where you step that it became impossible not only to talk to each other, but to have any concept whatsoever of your surroundings. For the first week, I had no idea where anything was, including my home which got pretty scary one night, because I was trying to keep from falling in a hole. We've got cement holes which go into drainage pipes, sidewalk holes which are just mistakes, and perfectly dug holes in the grass and mud which are dug for God knows what, which is what I fell in one time. I kept myself clean, only twisting an ankle, but others have not been so lucky.

When it's raining, however, the holes aren't your biggest enemy. It's the mud. Mud, mud, mud, mud. I used to like the stuff, what had it ever done to me? This is not of the same species that we're used to, I tell you. It has a mind. It grabs on to you, if you're not paying attention, it'll get a good hold and keep you there while your forward momentum keeps going, whoops! Emmy and I fight through it, slowly, slowly. It clings to your shoe and splashes on your legs. By the time you get through one tough spot, your feet are three times as heavy and you're carrying an extra load wondering to yourself, where does it want to go, this intelligent substance... what does it know? I tried to avoid it once by taking the grass route. Yeah, that was smart. I found myself ankle deep in a swamp and no way out but to keep on going. Shoes and socks were a good idea on the wet day until that happened and I spent seven hours at school with cold wet feet. I walk through it, feeling a "This is bullshit" creeping to my lips, but I fight it, ladies and gentlemen. It's so close, it's almost there, but I breathe. I look at Emmy and smile, and know, "I will get through this, I will get through this". And forty five minutes later I do. No big deal, just forty five frickin minutes.

But, like I said, it's been dry now and I am floating on the broken clouds. Yesterday was the first time we saw the sun, and we ran to it. We ate lunch in it. And I rushed home and washed my jeans and my pants in it praying, praying it would hold. Today, I threw on a skirt and sandals even though it was cloudy and cold, because I was thinking positively. The clouds broke again, and when I got home, my pants were dry and folded neatly on my bed, thanks mama.

So this is what I do here. Go to school, study, watch a movie here and there (watched a great Baliwood one in the theater on Saturday), email, eat, hang with friends at the bar, and I'm thinking of joining a gym. Yes, I said gym, even I'm a little shocked by it. See, even though my walk's a pain in the everywhere, the filling starches my mama feeds me do not sit well with no job or regular exercise to keep the heart rate up. There's this little place across the uneven, rocky, muddy way from the front gate of my little building. It's got a doorway with a cloth hanging and I hear music and women doing aerobics inside. Emmy joined and said they were so surprised a woman went into the weight-training portion that she suddenly got her own personal trainer. There isn't much in there, but when I'm dying to go for a walk, and the sun has set, and it's muddy, and it's unsafe, it'd be nice to check and see if the treadmill is working. Plus, I've never done aerobics. I thought it would be a nice way to meet some of the neighbors as well. We'll see. I also thought I might get braids, but scratched the idea when the one girl who got them can't even move them they're so stiff.

So that's where I'm at. Oh, I did miss a great opportunity to cut the ear off a goat head and eat it when I had to turn down an invitation to a small village because I was having a glutentastic glutennightmare. You may not all know, but I have Celiac Disease and am still learning what I can't eat. Vegetable oil I learned is a real killer, and now I'm suspecting emulsifiers that are in chocolate. If anyone has any info on that please let me know. I can't stay online long enough to research it myself. Emulsifiers, flavourings, soya lecithin.. bad? Help! Does Hershey's have them, and if not send it, dammit, send it NOW! Cadbury is killing me and I'm a choco fiend! Either it kills me, or I'm going to kill someone else from withdrawals!!!

Done with the tangent. Love you all. Eat well, stay safe. Be there on my return. Kwa heri.

Your rafiki, dada, and daughter,

Emily