the morning report

When people ask me what Kenya looks like, I refer them to the Lion King.

In particular, the ten acres of land owned by Visible Grace look like they were lifted directly from the (cartoon) set. Wide, flat expanses of tough, dry grass. Acacia trees marking the horizon. Broad strokes of white clouds across an enormous blue sky. Singing hippopotamuses.

Um...yeah, so the point is, 'the morning report' is (catchy, sticky) song from the Lion King. Also, I decided to try and articulate what a typical morning in Kenya is like.

ahem.


This morning I woke up at 5. 5 AM. It was disgusting. (Side note: I've been practicing trying to guess the time based on the quality of light that comes in the windows. I have a clock, but I feel like an internal clock is a good skill to hone. So far I've been within the hour, which is no small task when you wake up after traveling for 28 hours and you're not even sure what day it is.)

5am in Kenya is much louder than it ought to be. For one thing, the birds are awake. Very awake. For another, the first run of buses is barreling down the main road, honking their horns to make sure we are all aware that There Is A Bus Here.

We are aware. Very aware.

When I lived in Mbita (the village on Lake Victoria where I taught kindergarten in 2003 and 2004), I had a ridiculous sleeping schedule. I was violently allergic to one single flower that grew there, for one thing. For another, we slept with the windows open (it was HOT) so the hippos, monkeys, birds et alia woke me up whenever they damn well pleased. (Like: 3am.)

In Mbita I'd usually crawl out of bed and read, or hop online (the line was faster then?) or lie in bed and think about how many hours I had left before I had to head to school. Somehow I stayed in one piece even on 4, 5 or 6 hours of sleep (and teaching, in case you were wondering, expends a LOT of energy!) Generally, once I was up, I was up. So: I kept weird hours in the village.

But in Nairobi I usually sleep pretty well. Sure, there's the usual bout of jet lag (two years ago, I would pass out at like 6pm every night for the first week. and then of course be wide awake at, you know, 11pm). But once I've acclimated I actually sleep better than I do in Portland. Which is lovely.

But this morning I couldn't sleep. I was UP. Like more awake then I thought was physically possible for such an inappropriate time of day.

Susan recently moved into a one-bedroom flat to save money. This puts a damper on my usual schedule of reading in bed and...well that's just about the only hindrance I can think of. Point is- this morning once I knew I was Officially Up (as in, not falling back asleep anytime soon) I grabbed my phone, my Bible, my book and a shawl, crawled over Sound Asleep Susan, shuffled into my slippers and tiptoed out of the room.

Morning: it smells different here. I can't put my finger on it. Almost-rain in the air. Charcoal fires. Then the deafening silence that comes with country life- birds, cows, goats.

First, like a good African, I made tea. Bring water to boil. Bring milk to boil. Add tea leaves. Stir. Susan has a gas stove, which is nice. (I've often said life in Africa is similar to going camping. The water and cooking sources in particular. Also, the pervasiveness of mud when it rains.)

I settle onto the couch with my book and a cup of tea but then I decide to check on our laundry, which we hung outside yesterday to dry, and see how it's doing.

How it's doing is getting rained on. Not any heavy rain that will go anywhere but a light, dusting mist that I never knew was possible here. Just enough- just barely enough- to keep our clothes damp.

I lean over the guard rail on our balcony, squinting into the dawn-ish light, staring at the road in front of me and trying to see Kenya the way I would if this was my first trip here:

tarmacked road
dust-coloured tarps covering aluminum kiosks
stalks of maize
muddy side roads
buses
chickens
tin roofs
laundry, everywhere (a clothesline extending from every building)

Soon, the road will be full of children walking to school (mismatched uniforms indicate public school; buses indicate private), people heading to work, trucks carrying who-knows-what, and bus conductors yelling at EVERYONE.

But for now it's relatively people-free. Only the birds and myself are awake.