In Lamu... Finally!

After 5 days of hiding out at Cafe Java in Kampala, I gathered all the courage I could and headed back to Kenya. I had a stressful few days in Rwanda and I needed some time to recover - some time to pretend I was in North America, to make some friends, to have a few laughs. For 5 days I sipped iced lattes, played backgammon over rum and coke with Jack and Ben from London, indulged in jack fruit with Sebastian from Germany and was the center of market photoshoots with Charlie from Maryland. It was 5 days of much needed laughs.

From there, I made my way to the coast. I met up with my friend Beau in Nairobi and we took the night train to Mombasa where we spent a couple of days before making our way to his house in Kilifi. Having Beau around helped ease me back into "real Kenya", where there are no movie theaters, no iced lattes and a hole in the ground constitutes a toilet. Real Kenya - where getting from point A to B means sitting with 20 people in a 14 person matatu - the Kenya I hesitated to return to, but thankfully had someone to hold my hand all the way there, and once I made it it wasn't so bad.

And now, I am writing this from Lamu on the Indian coast of Kenya. I've reunited with some Americans that I met in Kisumu. The 10 of us are staying at the Sunset House on Shella, just a 45 minute walk up the beach from Lamu, through the labyrinth that makes up the town. We have the entire guest house to ourselves - wait, did I say guesthouse? I meant Barbie Dream House. We have a housekeeper Arnold who is super human - he can grocery shop, do the dishes, wash our clothes, make the beds and cook crab all at once. Everyone has their own double or queen sized bed and an ensuite bathroom. We have a kitchen, dining room and two roof top terraces. The Swahili architecture allows for wide open spaces, a steady flow of fresh air and lots of natural light, and the decor is simple - off-white walls, straw roofs, and a few plants to bring life into the room. From the rooftop, you can see nothing but blue water, straw roofs and palm trees; hear nothing but donkeys braying and calls to prayer. This place is breathtaking - this place is paradise. It is so peaceful that I was barely phased by my trip to the local clinic the other day. We went on an obligatory dhow trip on Swahili sailboats representative of the coast. Halfway through, we stopped to explore the Takwa Ruins on Manda Island. Normally, I love decaying brick walls, but along the way I had a violent run in with a sharp and thorny branch. Unable to walk or pull out the thorn buried in my foot, the ruins quickly lost their charm. I made it back to the boat via piggy back ride and headed straight for the clinic. After 3 injections of local anesthetic, one scalpel and two varieties of pliers later, out came a thorn an inch long. I may have screamed loud enough for the whole archipelago to experience my pain, but I didn't shed a single tear. And if you could have seen my doctor, you would wish that you were the one to have stepped on the thorn. Swedish and handsome, this was more of a blessing in disguise. I felt a bit like Keri Russell's character in Waitress, where an unhappily married and pregnant Jenna falls in love with her doctor and the two of them have a romantic affair... my scenario may be missing a few details, but in the words of The Andrew Sisters in their 1938 hit: "I can dream, can't I?" I'm considering one more injury before I leave tomorrow. And let's not forget the souvenir I have to take home! Dr. Foxy put my thorn in a zip-lock bag, gave me some pain killers and sent me on my way. My first day on the archipelago didn't turn out as expected, but I can't think of a single experience that has. So as the old saying goes - Karibu Kenya. Hakuna Matata. Welcome to Kenya. No worries.