one white guy

March meant another visa run for me and I’m really glad I made the last-minute decision to return to Kenya. I entertained Zambia, Zanzibar, and Djibouti as possibilities, but the guaranteed good times of returning to Kenya won out.

I get really bad travel anxiety for some reason, so didn’t sleep much before my early-Saturday flight. Everything was completely fine, though, and I touched down over Nairobi’s dry plateau without a hitch. After some errands around the city (shopping for supplies for the orphanage and resisting the urge to fondle Western toiletries unavailable in Uganda), I pulled in through the familiar turquoise Rafiki gate. The kids were strangely shy when I first arrived, so I spent a lot of time being extra goofy in order to loosen them up. I learned that they’ve had a steady stream of mzungu guests since January, so I’m not much of a novelty anymore.

With new kids Elliot and Mary

The couple of days I spent at Rafiki were the usual mix of goofing with the kids during their chores and trying to be useful around the compound. Ten-year-old Esther and I became embroiled in a three-day-long game of chase, which always ended with me out of breath and her the clear winner. Love that girl.

Once the younger kids discovered my leg hair, however, all bets were off. My hairs were pulled, plucked, pinched, plaited, and put into a ponytail until I finally had enough and jumped into a massive soccer game. Everything went normally until someone developed the rule that allowing the ball to roll between your legs meant you could be beaten mercilessly until you touched one of the house-mothers. Yikes.

Kagai, Faith, me (the white one) and Mary. Love.

On Monday morning, I thought I’d be adventurous and head back into Nairobi to visit the IJM office there. Finding, boarding, and staying on the appropriate matatu proved my downfall and I arrived way after morning prayer. I was just in time to join Kenya’s communications intern Jennie on a meeting with the Nation Group, a newspaper chain across East Africa, so the day wasn’t a total loss. I made some quick contacts and marvelled at Nairobi’s plush downtown.

Not quite done with my foray into big-city life, I took a taxi to an actual mall(!) and rode an actual escalator(!!) Not that Kampala is some backwards hicktown, but we don’t have malls or escalators. (I stand corrected – there are escalators in the Nakumatt, but I’ve never been). It was definitely weird, so I can’t imagine what June back in the US will be like.

I then met up with the IJM Kenya interns and fellows for lunch and a quick debrief. We chatted about all the high- and lowlights of living in East Africa and the differences between our two offices. They have two interns/fellows from New Zealand, so I learned “heaps” of cool slang, like “switched on” and the various uses of “sweet.” Pretty productive, I’d say.

The rest of my trip was a blur. I matatu’d back to Rafiki, hung out for a while with the kids, then left early in the morning to fly back to Kampala. Before heading out, Teresiah (the spitting image of my best friend Cheri) forbade me from going, saying “You can’t leave; you are too much fun. Even your face is fun.” There you have it, dear readers. New tagline. Scott Adams: “Even My Face is Fun”

Driving back through Uganda’s lush green hills and bustling street life yesterday, I determined that I’m far more comfortable with life here than I would be in Kenya. It was great to come “home” and unwind after a whirlwind trip. I feel refreshed and ready to go for my next three months in Kampala, but can’t wait to get back to Rafiki and see my kids again soon.