Kenya or Kenya not?
3 July 2012 § Leave a comment
Ever since this pun popped into my head, it has given me no peace. It’s not even funny to me any more, but it surfaces frequently, and, as it’s too annoying to say aloud, I decided to write it. I think that’s what people do with words and arguments that annoy other people too much to justify saying them aloud.
I arrived in Nairobi on Thursday morning, after Sara stumbled upon me in the Amsterdam airport. I was curled in a sofa-ish chair and writing in my journal, and I had just experienced some classic wandering around and injuring myself time. (Those are possibly my two greatest talents.) With about an eight-hour layover, I had planned to take the tram into the city through which I keep flying in order to go to the Van Gogh and Rijk museums (musea? I’d like to start the plurals reformation). A search for transportation availed nothing, however, and my quest to store my bag, filled with enough books to fill my mind and break my arms, in a locker ended in confused staring at Dutch directions, hoping that the machine was not charging my credit card ten euros each of the five times I kept putting it back in the machine, and smashing my hand in the locker.
I wandered away on the verge of tears, possibly more from exhaustion than from pain, and found a little place that my class hung around during our layover in Amsterdam, when we were all depressed that we had just left South Africa. Sara’s appearance was much more exciting then, since I had just been thinking about my beloved classmates.
The dull travelly stories, which all end up sounding the same, came to a close, and Sara and I arrived in her apartment and tried to watch Mark Brecke’s documentary about Darfur (he lives in the same place, so he and his wife and adorable daughter came over for dinner tonight), but we fell asleep for seven hours.
Some more things happened, and we went to visit the orphanage about an hour away, where I’ll be living and working in August, and more friends and family arrived, and there have been extreme amounts of social activity, so perhaps more details shall trickle out later. We’re (“we” can remain a mystery for now) leaving at half past six in the morning to go to Kijabe, where we’ll spend the next two days helping Mary (Sara’s mother) with her work there.
Lala salama : )
(That’s my favourite Swahili phrase; it means good night)