I woke with a start. The blustery night had given way to an eerily calm, dark early morning. As we went to bed the trees rustled and the clouds raced across the moon. But now there were no sounds, except for the ones, which bolted me upright, wrenching me from my slumber.
As the sun had descended we had dutifully helped Faith with dinner. In the fading light we had pounded corn to remove the husks, rolled dough for chapati and fed the fire that simmered the beans. In fact, squatting in that smokey mud hut is where many of my favorite hours passed.
Mama and Faith talked to us like children, pointing at objects and saying their names in Kiswahili. Jiko, kitchen; kisu, knife; maji, water; and so on. At some point the fire died down and began to smolder, pumping black smoke into the tiny structure. The doorways were caked with the soot that had collected over decades of cooking.
We all would run out coughing, eyes burning, laughing. Moshi, moshi (smoke) Faith anapika moshi! Faith she is cooking smoke! Mama thought this was really funny and it was to be my signature retort whenever I passed the kitchen.
A break from the cooking brought the whole family together to sit in the dirt and enjoy some tea. This was a time for friends to stop by. This was a time for children to run and play in the cool evenings beginning. The dogs chased chickens and were rebuffed by the goats. And the bush babies with their tiny heads and enormous eyes would begin to come out and call.
We would sit quietly to one side and watch the family. Enjoying their closeness, their familiarity and their ease. And I couldn't help but feel that this place was another time. We had stepped through some doorway into a place where people valued, above all else, the relationships that made up their daily lives.
Darkness would come and the conversation would move inside. A tiny black and white television was connected to a car battery and set to the nightly news. We would rush around to help bring in the food, pray, wash our hands, and then devour whatever was set in front of us. Afterwards the Fresh Prince of Bel Air would come on. Baba loved this show. It was peculiar and foreign to him, but he understood the comedy. He knew that, regardless of the setting, Will played the fool and the butler was the voice of reason.
We brushed our teeth outside in the moonlight, went to the choo one last time and retired with our bellies full. Lala salama, sleep peacefully. Turn off the lantern and curl up while the wind rustles the leaves.
The noise was unmistakable. The car was being jostled. It was parked just outside our window and somebody was moving it. The brothers had always told us that robbers would try and take it. They said that people would steal anything if they thought they could get away. But after several months, I had come to find Kitui as safe and friendly a place as I had ever been. I would leave a bike unlocked there before Los Angeles or Boston. I wouldn't dream of leaving my backpack in front of a store in D.C. But Kitui, other than being a bustling market town, was a perfect place to experience real Kenyan life. Big enough to be somewhat anonymous, and yet small enough not to get lost.
I sprung from the bed and crept to the window. The bars prevented a good view, but I was able to fix one eye on the car. It was rocking side to side. The rear end seemed to be lifting slightly. They must be taking the tires!
I raced from our room and into the central living space. One of the brothers was sleeping on a couch and I roused him. He was very alarmed and went to wake his older brother. The older brother woke with a scream and came running out of his room. We conferred in hushed but racing tones and moved towards the big iron door.
I unlatched the door as quietly as I could considering the locking system was three massive iron bars drawn through iron loops in the door frame. We stood for a moment and looked at each other in terror and then slowly opened the door. As we peered around it at the car we could see it was still moving. There was grunting and the car slid forward a small amount. The back wheels seemed to be off the ground.
We recoiled to plan our attack. The brothers stood behind me and said that we should yell and run at the thieves. They grabbed a couple of shoes by the doorway and readied themselves. We took a collective deep breath and turned back towards the door.
During training we had several visits from the embassy security staff concerning personal safety. They told us about muggings and carjackings. They told us that it was better to assume people were dangerous and give them whatever they wanted. Make friends the man had said, they won't think twice about killing a stupid white kid to take his cell phone and wallet.
That flew in the face of what Peace Corps was about for Jennie and I. We had envisioned being with the people. Living right where they lived and not missing a moment of personal interaction because of our fears.
How many men were there? What weapons did they have? Are they big? Their grunting was deep and suggested enormous efforts at taking the car apart. All of the stupid preconceptions that people had said about how dangerous Africa was flew through my head. And with that, I turned, yelled loudly and ran at the back of the car.
We were three determined assailants the brothers and I. Arms raised and running fast, we must have seemed a force to be reckoned with. We swung around the back of the vehicle and recoiled at what we saw.
The cow had escaped from the pen during the storm. Or for that matter it may have stayed outside as the rest were rounded up. Benson, the farm hand, was often drunk when he brought them in and rarely counted correctly. Baba would yell at him and scold his work ethic, knowing full well that there was no one else to do the job no matter how poorly Benson performed.
The old cow was scratching his back on the rear hatch. The cars back wheels lifted off the ground slightly as his deep grunts of satisfaction resonated throughout the compound. He was entirely unimpressed by our display, continuing his exercise despite the cursing and laughing humans around him.
The commotion woke the rest of the family, and the neighbors. And after several minutes of laughing and explaining it was back to bed. The cow was put in his pen, and for now the car was safe.
As the sun had descended we had dutifully helped Faith with dinner. In the fading light we had pounded corn to remove the husks, rolled dough for chapati and fed the fire that simmered the beans. In fact, squatting in that smokey mud hut is where many of my favorite hours passed.
Mama and Faith talked to us like children, pointing at objects and saying their names in Kiswahili. Jiko, kitchen; kisu, knife; maji, water; and so on. At some point the fire died down and began to smolder, pumping black smoke into the tiny structure. The doorways were caked with the soot that had collected over decades of cooking.
We all would run out coughing, eyes burning, laughing. Moshi, moshi (smoke) Faith anapika moshi! Faith she is cooking smoke! Mama thought this was really funny and it was to be my signature retort whenever I passed the kitchen.
A break from the cooking brought the whole family together to sit in the dirt and enjoy some tea. This was a time for friends to stop by. This was a time for children to run and play in the cool evenings beginning. The dogs chased chickens and were rebuffed by the goats. And the bush babies with their tiny heads and enormous eyes would begin to come out and call.
We would sit quietly to one side and watch the family. Enjoying their closeness, their familiarity and their ease. And I couldn't help but feel that this place was another time. We had stepped through some doorway into a place where people valued, above all else, the relationships that made up their daily lives.
Darkness would come and the conversation would move inside. A tiny black and white television was connected to a car battery and set to the nightly news. We would rush around to help bring in the food, pray, wash our hands, and then devour whatever was set in front of us. Afterwards the Fresh Prince of Bel Air would come on. Baba loved this show. It was peculiar and foreign to him, but he understood the comedy. He knew that, regardless of the setting, Will played the fool and the butler was the voice of reason.
We brushed our teeth outside in the moonlight, went to the choo one last time and retired with our bellies full. Lala salama, sleep peacefully. Turn off the lantern and curl up while the wind rustles the leaves.
The noise was unmistakable. The car was being jostled. It was parked just outside our window and somebody was moving it. The brothers had always told us that robbers would try and take it. They said that people would steal anything if they thought they could get away. But after several months, I had come to find Kitui as safe and friendly a place as I had ever been. I would leave a bike unlocked there before Los Angeles or Boston. I wouldn't dream of leaving my backpack in front of a store in D.C. But Kitui, other than being a bustling market town, was a perfect place to experience real Kenyan life. Big enough to be somewhat anonymous, and yet small enough not to get lost.
I sprung from the bed and crept to the window. The bars prevented a good view, but I was able to fix one eye on the car. It was rocking side to side. The rear end seemed to be lifting slightly. They must be taking the tires!
I raced from our room and into the central living space. One of the brothers was sleeping on a couch and I roused him. He was very alarmed and went to wake his older brother. The older brother woke with a scream and came running out of his room. We conferred in hushed but racing tones and moved towards the big iron door.
I unlatched the door as quietly as I could considering the locking system was three massive iron bars drawn through iron loops in the door frame. We stood for a moment and looked at each other in terror and then slowly opened the door. As we peered around it at the car we could see it was still moving. There was grunting and the car slid forward a small amount. The back wheels seemed to be off the ground.
We recoiled to plan our attack. The brothers stood behind me and said that we should yell and run at the thieves. They grabbed a couple of shoes by the doorway and readied themselves. We took a collective deep breath and turned back towards the door.
During training we had several visits from the embassy security staff concerning personal safety. They told us about muggings and carjackings. They told us that it was better to assume people were dangerous and give them whatever they wanted. Make friends the man had said, they won't think twice about killing a stupid white kid to take his cell phone and wallet.
That flew in the face of what Peace Corps was about for Jennie and I. We had envisioned being with the people. Living right where they lived and not missing a moment of personal interaction because of our fears.
How many men were there? What weapons did they have? Are they big? Their grunting was deep and suggested enormous efforts at taking the car apart. All of the stupid preconceptions that people had said about how dangerous Africa was flew through my head. And with that, I turned, yelled loudly and ran at the back of the car.
We were three determined assailants the brothers and I. Arms raised and running fast, we must have seemed a force to be reckoned with. We swung around the back of the vehicle and recoiled at what we saw.
The cow had escaped from the pen during the storm. Or for that matter it may have stayed outside as the rest were rounded up. Benson, the farm hand, was often drunk when he brought them in and rarely counted correctly. Baba would yell at him and scold his work ethic, knowing full well that there was no one else to do the job no matter how poorly Benson performed.
The old cow was scratching his back on the rear hatch. The cars back wheels lifted off the ground slightly as his deep grunts of satisfaction resonated throughout the compound. He was entirely unimpressed by our display, continuing his exercise despite the cursing and laughing humans around him.
The commotion woke the rest of the family, and the neighbors. And after several minutes of laughing and explaining it was back to bed. The cow was put in his pen, and for now the car was safe.
1 comment:
Moo.
You can't fool me: I've seen the size of the horns on those cattle. And you were going to convince it to stop rockin the car with a couple of threatening shoes? *lol* Good luck with that! :)
much love,
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