home sweet home

After nearly 34 hours of travel, Eleanor, Kean (my brother) and I arrived safely in Boston. It was a remarkably easy series of flights and thanks to the playrooms in both the Nairobi and Amsterdam airports I had a relatively happy child the whole way.

We are now in Western MA, in the Berkshires. I am reminded of why I love New England, especially in the fall. The leaves have shed their uniform green and are displaying the full spectrum of colors that make them who they are. The weather is remarkably warm, and there is no shortage of rocks, plants, seed pods, and blades of grass to entertain Eleanor's imagination. We are staying in a lovely old home with dear friends from college, taking long walks and bike rides, and drinking wine in front of the fire. Today's mission: buy 200 apples for welcome bags. Look out local apple orchards!

If it weren't for Tim's absence, it would be pretty much perfect. 
-kjd

Factory seconds

Yesterday afternoon I stopped at the "supermarket" at the end of our road for a short list of goodies which included diapers, pickles, and olives (don't ask). At the counter they bagged everything for me, and carried the bags to the car since my hands were full- trying to stop Eleanor from eating the piece of pickle she had just dropped on the floor. When I got home I went to take the bags from the car and one of the two caught my eye. "Interesting," I thought. "How did they get their hands on this?" And then I picked it up. Of course. God forbid anyone in America should have a bag like that!
-kjd

 The bag.

The reason it's in Africa, not a GAP store near you.

a surprise storm

One of the things I have come to miss about home are afternoon thundershowers. Don't get me wrong, we had our fair share of them back in February and March, but they have all since deserted us. The other day, as I sat at the computer updating figures for a manuscript, Tim sitting next to me working on his project's budget, the gray skies darkened the wind picked up. "What is this?" we wondered out loud. "Could it be?"

And sure enough, within minutes we were greeted by the sounds of rain drops on the window ledge outside. It was a glorious hour of light rain, which was all to short in my opinion.
-kjd

 the wind and the rain, outside.

 heading for cover.

ready for the elements.

my African experience

The other day Tim and I were discussing my Kiswahili skills (or lack thereof) and Tim said "You just don't have to speak it. You live in 'White Africa'."

I have thought a lot about this statement. Although the term makes me a little uncomfortable, the sentiment is true. If I wanted to, I could go the whole day without interacting with a Tanzania who wasn't one of the house employees, without using more than standard Swahili greetings. I have ex-pat friends, we go to grocery stores where the Wahindi owners speak English, I attend playgroups at ex-pat restaurants or the International School where English is the language of instruction, my nanny speaks English, my landladies are British...shall I continue?

But everyday that I leave the property, I come face to face with "black" Africa and the dichotomy does not escape me. I am acutely aware of my good fortune, and of the fact that so many here do not share it; that my opportunities set me so far apart from the average Tanzanian that even making the comparison is somewhat silly. Sometimes I think this serves to make the "black" (real?) African experience all the more visceral. If I were out "there" in it, everyday, wouldn't I grow somewhat accustomed? Hardened?


It might be a "white" experience, but it still is an African experience. And it is my experience. And as the time draws nearer to it [that experience] being over I have decided that, even if it is "white", it is no less real.
-kjd

 Pristine. Educational. Advantaged?

 Gritty. Dusty. Personal?

Peaceful. Relaxed. Isolated?

Stimulating. Coarse. Lively?

 Diverse. Welcoming. Deceitful?

Deprived. Dusty. Honest?

It might not be pretty

It's dry here. Very dry. There are parts of one's body that are especially susceptible to such dryness, and mine have not escaped this fate. The weather has been especially unkind to my feet, which have become particularly thirsty. Several weeks ago Tim and I had another movie night -- Ocean's Eleven. In the film Bernie Mac's character comments that the way to really soften your hands is to slather them in lotion and then wear gloves to bed. This got me thinking...

It might not be pretty, but my feet are thanking me.
-kjd