So long and thanks for all the fish!
on It began in Africa (Kenya), 19/Apr/2012 14:55, 34 days ago
I almost thought my previous blog post would be my last but I couldn't go without a final word on the biggest topic of all: Kenya. I could still write for weeks about the country that has adopted us for the last year and a half but it isn't possible to say everything, and evenif I did it wouldn't be the same as living and breathing it every day.So I'll just hope I can capture the confusing mix of emotions swirlingaround at the moment. It almost goes without saying that the main thing I am looking forwardto back home is seeing our family and friends– just sitting down witha proper cup of tea and chatting face-to-face will be fantastic. Onthe other hand we have met so many awesome people here that have madeour time special: having already said goodbye to many volunteerfriends I know it is going to be tough leaving those who remainbehind. Fun times with friendsI am excited to see the winding West Country lanes of home, smellingof leaf mulch and cut grass; can't wait to tuck into my first pint ofcider; look forward to the easy-on-the-eye Georgian town house facadesof Bath, Bristol and London. I will hugely miss the vast open spaces,big skies and sudden sunsets of the equator, where freedom andpossibility seem limitless. Amboseli at dawnI look forward to washing machines, dishwashers, chilled white wineserved in a proper glass, meals served at a dining table, duvets andmy mum's beloved cottage garden. I will miss eating choma with myfingers, washed down with Tusker-stoney shandies; will miss the genialhandshakes and drunken diatribes of the locals in our neighbourhoodpub; will miss“my” vegetable ladies, who sell the best freshtomatoes, mini aubergines, coriander and limes on the street. I long to be shot of smog so thick you can cut it with a knife,pavements collapsing into potholes and drains, the terrifying hurtleof a matatu as it overtakes on a blind corner, the way every showerlooks as if it might electrocute me. I will miss the hustlin' matatutouts directing gridlocked traffic better than any cop and manouvreingtheir beaten-up vehicles through the tiniest gap of pavement to keepour crazy city moving. I will miss hopping on the back of a piki-piki,helmetless, fingers crossed, but grinning ear-to-ear. Matatu mayhemI look forward to not being hassled by street kids, leered over bycreepy guys or having 'mzungu' yelled at me 20 times a day. I long formy anonymity and just to be able to walk down a street withoutattracting attention. I will miss the expectation that I will becomeinvolved in people's business– helping the matatu tout collect coinsfrom other passengers, having someone else's child or parcel droppedunceremoniously on my lap when the bus is full.  I look forward to returning to a world where people share a similaroutlook and I no longer need to explain myself at every turn or holdback key parts of my life. I am nervous that the way I speak Englishand the way I do things has been irrevocably 'Kenyanised' and that noone will understand when I want to be 'picked from the stage', 'take acold soda' or have someone 'flash me'; worry that I will stand aroundwaiting for someone to assist me in a shop rather than looking forwhat I want; will wonder why it's so hard to get a 'fundi' to just fixthings for me. The confusing raft of emotions is all the more complex given my placehere as white and British: simultaneously I am seen as a possiblesource of wealth and influence, and also as the despised ex-colonialmaster. I could live in Kenya 30 years and I would still be 'mzungu'–the outsider – and no amount of Swahili lessons or matatu rides willever get me past that. At the same time I am a woman and so expectedto step aside on a pavement, put up with slimy come-ons, and, if Iwill insist on leaving home without my husband, to take all that as amatter of course. It is a complex mixture of reverence, disdain,curiosity and sleaze that comes my way on the average Nairobi street. It is all too easy as a volunteer in Kenya to come to feel that othersperceive you as a resource rather than a person: something to beco-opted, used, applied, to the absolute limits of my willingness. Atthe same time I am guiltily aware of the ease with which I can leave,the choices and chances I scatter so carelessly. When Kenyans ask mewhere I have traveled in Kenya and I list the places they often say,'Wow! You know Kenya better than me.” I remain at heart the true'mzungu' – roving and restless, taking what chances come my way as mydue. And of course, those Kenyans are wrong. I may have traveled but I cannever know Kenya as they do. There are so many aspects to this complexcountry, with its 40 plus tribes and languages, its feuds andcorruption, its generosity and geniality, that remain opaque, justoccasionally glimpsed, as if through the rush hour smog. All I can dois thank it for adopting me into its sometimes dysfunctional butalways hearty embrace and for giving me a chance to see at least alittle deeper than most. Kenya, I wish you well. So long, and thanks for all the fish.Nairobi skyline