Karibu Kenya #4: Spanish, nostalgia and corn

                Well, I made it through the night after Dan’s exaggerations of large rats and herds of geckos inhabiting my aunt’s apartment. On a realistic level, there was only one gecko, which other than leaving a sweet present on my bed, was completely harmless. We should be expecting his presence again tonight as my aunt says she can’t seem to get rid of him no matter how many times she sweeps him out of   the house. We had to tag team last night since these little buggers are pretty good at jumping. While Aimee knocked him off the wall, I quickly opened the screened door as she swept him out in the grass.

                Once we finished wrangling the gecko, I decided to officially unpack my suitcases since I would be staying in my aunt’s spare bedroom for the rest of the summer.  After about 20 minutes, I came to the conclusion that I lost my mind while packing for my trip. I counted over 15 sweaters that, once put together, filled up an entire suitcase!  In case you aren’t aware of the current temperatures in Kenya, they’ve been in the 70s and 80s. Though it should be getting colder with the arrival of rainy season, I highly doubt I need that many sweaters. The most comical part of this mishap was the disappointment I felt after years spent in a family of professional packers. I’ve decided to blame my epic failure on lack of sleep during my last week of work.

                Spanish class started today-first with Dennis at 10:30, then with Timothy at 11:30. Dennis was all smiles when he came into the dining room to work. Timothy, on the other hand,  was a bit shy but warmed up as we sat out on the patio in the hot sun. No pun intended. Aimee and Mim decided to extend the boys' class periods to two hour sessions instead of 1 in hopes that they will be able to cover more material before I leave.

                After classes, Aimee and I took a walk to King’s Kids, a nearby orphanage and school on Kwiga Rd. I was hoping to see my childhood friend Lydia, whose family is in charge of the organization. Unfortunately, she wasn’t at home but I had the pleasure of catching up with her mom. I also spotted my first monkey of the summer as we were on our way out. He didn’t seem to mind my paparazzi-ness as he nonchalantly stared back at me.

                The kilometer walk back from Lydia’s house brought back a rush of memories. Her house shares a stone wall with the old compound where my family and I used to live when we were still in Kenya. Aimee and I decided to stop by on our way home since it was still owned by the same landlord.  Not far up the road, I could see the greenhouse where my mom would buy fresh flowers. Everything seemed so familiar yet very different. The dirt road once filled with potholes was now covered in pavement. The rhythm of Garden Estate Road was moving at a different pace-much faster than before.

                For those of you who don’t know, our old house was turned into a hotel, restaurant and conference center. As we walked up to the gate, I stared at the big sign that held the words Oak Place. We signed in with the guard and then I began searching for some part of the house I would recognize. Even though the grounds were well kept and the house had been newly renovated, I felt that my childhood memories had been buried underneath a façade of consumerism. I soon came upon a familiar glass door that happened to be the original door that served as the entrance to our kitchen. As I looked at its paint chipped metal frame, I couldn’t seem to hold back my tears. It is silly to cry over something so far gone, but for some reason it made me sad. Before the waterworks got any worse, our old landlord David popped out of one of the rooms to the side and the next thing I knew he was asking about how my family was doing and whether or not I still had a memory of the house that once was. I’m sure my eyes were explanation enough. Things became less heavy as we continued to walk the manicured compound; primarily because of the awkward statues that were scattered about the property- a foot, a grenade, a body builder’s torso, horse heads, frog fountains,  cowboy boots and a man’s face just to name a few. Surprisingly, it is a very popular venue for weddings in the area. As we headed home, I glanced down to find my feet covered in red dirt. For some reason it made me happy and I  enjoyed a peaceful walk back to the house. Adding to the ambiance, the ebbing smells of goat and cow manure weren’t the most refreshing, but proved quite nostalgic.

                We came into the house to find two pots of boiled sweet corn and maize. Grandma asked me to put five on a plate and bring it to the living room. Thinking that the 5 pieces were to share, I was gravely mistaken as I watched grandma turn into a corn-ivore. As the night came to a close, Aimee and I fought over the last few pieces of corn as we listened to grandma tell us a story of when she was a little girl.