Watch the Walk

This week has been a rough one for dinner time. We have a particular neighbor who likes to drop by on her way to or from her house, or both, depending on the day. Often she just stops in for a few minutes, but sometimes she settles in for the long haul. She sits down, tells graphic stories about the misdeeds of neighbors and acquaintances, scrolls Facebook on her phone, calls friends, and generally just hangs out. One of the dinners that waited And this week her settling in has conveniently collided with our dinner time on multiple occasions. No matter what time we are finishing up dinner prep, she arrives just as the end is in sight. I'd say that it's intentional, but she couldn't have timed it better if she tried. It's not like we eat at the same time every night. I'd like to say that it's easy to just add another plate and go with it, but it's often not as easy as that. We don't often cook islander-style food at home. And sometimes... we e...

"You probably don't appreciate the traffic here." It was phrased as a statement, but I knew it was really a question. What do you think of the traffic? My Kenyan driver weaved through traffic, gently pushing his way into intersections and avoiding the pedestrians and motorcycle traffic as they intermingled with cars and trucks. Actually, I have a great appreciation for how traffic works in Nairobi. It's the truth. I appreciate the skill of drivers there, the way that they watch traffic and respond in accordance with it. I appreciate how everyone moves through roundabouts, getting where they need to go. Systems are systems. The US system of driving is nice-- you follow the rules of the road and normally things work out fine. But then there's distracted driving. The driver checking Facebook, taking a picture, answering texts, talking on the phone, setting up navigation. It doesn't take long for things to go wrong. In Nairobi it's a lot harder to be a d...

Here on Clove Island I take taxis regularly. Now, this isn't the sort of taxi you might imagine-- a car to yourself and a meter running to tell you how much to pay. No, it's shared, and the price is set. For approximately 55 cents I can go anywhere in the capital region. The driver picks up and drops off passengers at their individual destinations. So here's how it works: 1) you stick our your hand at a taxi that's going the way you want to go, 2) you tell the driver where you're going, 3) if he agrees, you get in, and 4) eventually you arrive at your destination. This is where a sense of ethics comes in on the taxi driver's part. Sometimes you get a driver who just wants you to be his passenger and will obscure where he's going, "Sure! Hop in! I'll take you there!" he says, even though he knows the other passengers aren't going your direction. I recently had a driver pick me up after agreeing that we were all going t...

"Men here, they're just no good." My friend looked at me and sighed, frustrated over trying to find a man worth her time. She continued her complaint: -- They all sleep around before getting married -- They pressure you to sleep with them as soon as you're engaged -- They marry multiple women, then cheat on their wives with girlfriends on the side. -- They don't support their wives or children well, and their eyes are always wandering. Islanders, at least every islander I've encountered thus far, wants a baby. And in order to have a baby you need to get married. And in order to marry, you need to find someone to marry. But the men have their complaints too. "Women here, they're just no good." I was the only passenger in the taxi, and the driver needed to get this weight off his chest. -- All they care about is having a baby... -- And how much money you give them. -- You never know who they might be sleeping with on the side. -- Th...

The month of fasting is in full swing, and so far the questions haven't slowed down. "Are you fasting?" "Are you able to fast?" "Do you fast?" "Are you fasting Ramadan?" Sometimes I wonder if I attract more questions because of the way I dress. I've always got a scarf over my head and I wear local clothing items. So maybe it seems natural for islanders to wonder if I'm fasting too. Of course, it doesn't help that they ask these same questions of children they meet on the street: "How many days have you fasted?" they like to ask. So then when they ask me, I feel like they're treating me as a child. I find myself wanting to respond, "I'm not a child! I'm fully capable of fasting!" But really, I don't care to talk about fasting. I'd rather talk about the why-- what are they hoping to gain? Do they realize that all their hard work is in vain, and that the hard work has already be...

This last week I traveled back to Clove Island. It involved only 4 planes this time, but partway through the trip I was delayed, waiting for a storm to pass. Delayed two days. Now, I didn't know at first that it would be a two-day delay. At first, I only knew that my next flight was cancelled and I'd been rebooked on a flight the following day. The airline gave me a complimentary hotel and meals, so I headed off to sleep off some of the travel exhaustion. There were islanders at my hotel, but I greeted them in English, not the island language, because I wanted to rest. I was still on my own, and enjoying it. The next morning, while waiting for the shuttle back to the airport, I was looking at my phone when I heard a lady greet me: "Bweni Abby!" Uh oh. No more peace and privacy for me. I'm now officially back in Africa. It was an old neighbor/friend/student, who was traveling back from China. She proceeded to talk with me in the island language, while all the...

As I was considering what to write about, it occurred to me that I've never told the eyebrows story on my blog. "Eyebrow story?" you ask, with raised brows. Yep. Here we go: It was probably a month into my time on Clove Island. I'd learned some language, but not a lot, and I depended a lot on my neighbors to make sure I was properly dressed as I left the house. This one lady in particular seemed to enjoy checking on my language progress, often proclaiming to a nearby friend, "She doesn't understand AT ALL!" I suppose this was fascinating for her. Well, one day I was heading out of my neighborhood, to see a teammate on the other side of town, when this particular neighbor stopped me and called me over. "Woman, come here!"  I came over. "Closer!" I moved in closer. And the next thing I knew, she had an eyebrow pencil out and was greasing my face with big, beautiful eyebrows. She pulled out a hand mirror and gave it to me...