Welcome home … or at least on the way

So I’m not home yet, but I’m on my way.  Happily seated in an uncomfortable airline seat, on the way back to London where I will spend a day being relatively normal.  I will go for a run, which is marginally socially acceptable.  I will shop for clothing that fits, hopefully without the added assistance of a man popping into the dressing room to suggest a different pant option.  I will sit alone in a pub and drink a pint without an escort, and perhaps (although this one is far less certain) even remain on my own, with thoughts for company, throughout the entirety of said pint.  In case it’s not clear by the previous paragraph.  I am VERY excited.  This should not be misunderstood as any sort of poor reflection on the previous three plus months, merely as a new excitement for another change of scenery, and new activities that are regarded as “normal”.  I will, of course, dreadfully miss being able to eat my food with my hands without sideward glances or perceptions of ill manners.

                               

In the mean time, I sit on (in? …. Going to have to brush up on my American English again, I see.) a plane fascinated by the “food” that has been offered as a snack.  Here is a simplified, or perhaps just interpreted list of the ingredients, in order, without omission on the side of the pack: 

Sugar

Sugar

Starch

Water

Starch

modified animal fat

stabilizer

pectin

“Flavourings”

“natural colours”

Oil

Vegetable concentrates?

“Beeswax”

…. Yummy!  They actually taste quite revolting, in a highly addictive sort of way.  They are marketed as “Wine Gums”  Ah the Brits.  Known the world round for their culinary ……. Individuality?

To those of you more interested in the meadnering thoughts and politically driven commentary that I may or may not have a reputation of providing, I apologize.  With my time here drawing to a close I have remarkably little free time, and by the time I actually do sit down to relax my brain is too fried to write anything meaningful.  No worries though, I still intend to write at least a few more posts about Kenya after I've returned to the states, and I'm sure there will be inspiration a plenty once I return and realize that nothing is as it was, and I have to relearn how to be my version of an american again.  In the mean time - Today I have learned:

- that I too can cultivate a Frienemy ... I use that term in the most 40 year old soccer mom sort of way, as I'm not entirely sure what that word means, but if I understand it at all, Doxycyclene and I are just that.

- bilateral parotitis does not mean swollen parrots on both sides.

- Orchitis is not the King of the Orcs from a fantasy novel.

- how to play African Poker ... which really is nothing at all like Texas' version, and I suspect only played in Kenya.

- that I am apparently that weird ex-pat who disappears into the bush only to reemerge 2 years later, find the other ex-pats and realize that that isn't "how it's done".  Ha!

- that computers and water bottles do not mix.  However, thanksfully, damp computers and Voi dry heat do.  Thank you Voi, disaster averted. 

- swimming is a bit like riding a bike. 

Today I learned:

... that if you google directions from Japan to Los Angeles, google suggests that you kayak from Japan to Washinton state with a stop over in Hawaii.
　...today I learned that although I don't blindly revere fame, I am always moved by those who are famous or in positions of power and yet remain kind and decent human beings.

... that I'm exceptionally good at justifying .... almost anything. Not sure that's a good thing
... that I'm not afraid of ants anymore
　
... that sometimes seeing a dead body is a more effective means of prevention than knowing what caused the death

... that maybe privacy isn't more important than $7 designer jeans

... (remembered) how much I love and miss my family and friends ... sappy, I know.

... how to make african stew (let's hope I can remember)

... how to shell cowpeas ... for my next trick: I will learn how to shell cowpeas without dumping them all over the floor! (not yet accomplished)

... that sometimes having mosquitoes buzz outside of the net is as annoying as having them buzzing inside the net.

Just to lighten things up a bit:

Warthogs!!!

(it's an older picture from Tsavo West, but still fun)

Butterflies Aren't Always Beautiful

I don’t know if I’m just becoming more and more like my Dad, or if I’m becoming more aware of myself as time goes on.  Likely it’s a bit of both.  In the past year I’ve realized just how introverted I am.  This isn’t to say that I don’t interact with others, I’m just selective about how many and which people I interact with; when I venture outside of that – which I do sometimes – it just happens to be painful.  Some may call it snobbish, but I maintain that the difference isn’t in choice, the difference is in level of comfort. 

This tendency is only amplified when moving to a country in which I’m always different, and then of all things selecting a town where I’m nye on famous because I’m so widely recognized by the local citizenry.  I should probably stop here to explain that this isn’t a complaint.  I’m not bemoaning the attention that I get, or the situation that I’m in.  I love it here and I’m very happy, but I’m also coming to terms with the forces that exist within me.  It’s possible that it’s not the interaction with others that I find painful.  I think that it might actually be the anticipation of interacting with others.

My mother used to talk about my father with such wonder.  He never wanted to go out and do anything, but whenever he begrudgingly went out and got involved he always had a good time.  I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND.   – another side note, I’m sure that right now as my parents read this they’re both denying it, and my dad is at least on some level suddenly concerned for me.  Perhaps I should have prefaced this by saying that it’s my experience, and even if I misunderstood all of what they say (which I doubt), I still identified with it.  I love hanging out with friends.  I really enjoy seeing people that I haven’t seen for a long time, sharing stories, and taking the time to catch up … once I’ve already started.  However, the days or hours leading up to it are usually filled with doubt, conjuring of possible escape plans, and peripheral emotions that add anxiety to what should be pure excitement.

Now, take that tendency and change it to a new context.  I truly enjoy being abroad and learning new languages, instigating bizarre exchanges of culture, and making friends all around the world.  I have a few friends here in Voi, and I like nothing more than to sit around, chat, drink a beer or make some tasty food.  However, on a daily basis, I have to face the world.  I have to engage in simple tasks like grocery shopping, interacting with the housekeeper of the place where I live, and chat with school children who are extraordinarily excited to use their English with the foreigner.  Today I stuttered.  I managed to laugh it off, and have a conversation with the check-out lady in the market, but for 3 horrendous seconds I froze, staring at her, knowing what the answer to her question was, and even knowing it in Swahili, but there was no movement, no speech, no force on earth that could have moved me during those three seconds. 

Oh well.  Nothing else on my list of errands was truly vital.  You’ll have to excuse the late posting of this email though … purchasing more airtime for my modem was on the list after the grocery store, and that had to wait for another day.

Today I learned:

Today I learned ....

... that I'm the most predictable unpredictable cat around.

... that I have more seniority in the hospital than one of the other doctors I've been working with. Sweet!

... Gunshots of unknown origin or trajectory scared the crap out of me.

... the word for a fear of the number 13 ... but I forgot it again

... that Cadbury Top Deck chocolate is good, but Whole nut is better (let the jokes commence!)

... perhaps re-learned how very much I love the 4th of July.

... how to use my stethescope properly. I'm such a dork.

... that the Barclays' loan advertisement is a total rip off of the Old Spice man comercials. Hillarious, and the UK is fallin' down on their copyright enforcement job.

... that Kenyan funerals are generally on Saturday.

... I don't live in a conflict zone .... do I?

There are few things in life that make me stop what I’m doing and write down just what happened and how I feel.  A hail of bullets  near my workplace  qualifies as one of those things.  So that I don’t freak everyone out I should first say that I’m safe, and never was really in any actual danger.  However, near enough that it scared the crap out of me.  It’s been minutes since the firing stopped, but  my hands are still shaking, and I catch myself looking around nervously and reminding myself to breathe. 

The hospital where I work is just meters down the street from a local prison.  A local low security community service sort of prison.  So while there are guards and they do carry guys, the prisoners in their white and black striped uniforms to my experience have always been quite docile and polite.  They bring the hospital staff oranges from the orchard, and keep the landscaping around the hospital in order.  While there are some lifers, most are only in for a month or more, and are just passing the time until they are out again.  Apparently someone was unhappy with the current situation though and just tried to escape. 

The first sign that something was wrong wasn’t actually the pop of the gun.  I heard that … but with all the tuk tuks running on lawn mower-type engines my brain registered it as traffic.  The actual sign was the movement in the line outside my office after the second series of pops.  Each blast coming in pairs as though it were an automatic weapon that someone couldn’t quite manage to only get one shot off.  Pop pop, pause, pop pop, pause, pop pop pop.  I’m not sure if they caught the person or not at this point.  The shots became less frequent, and moved away toward the direction of town.  I suppose I am at the hospital, so if someone was shot you’d think I’d hear about it – but then all gun shot wounds are taken to the military hospital, so who knows.

It’s strange now that as my hands are beginning to stop shaking people are casually lining back up to have their prescriptions stamped and go about their day.  Word is that the prisoners were unsuccessful, so all adrenaline aside, life goes on unaffected.