how many days are in the week, you ask ...

its proving to be a bit of a challenge to write two weeks worth of happenings into a single post.  the obstacle is less about the volume of information and more about my short term memory.  but this i can tell you without question: i. am. lucky.  i remember this often, and not just in terms of relative wealth ... but that people PAID for me to be here!  this reality never ceases to amaze me, like the the other night when i rode on the back of a pikipiki at dusk ... out of the plains and into the foothills with blue skies above and red dirt below.  

Kwakiliga continues to be a source of rejuvenation. the community members are a delight and it seems as though i have a new favorite each day.  Mariamu, a curvy lady with an infectious smile, operates the hotelini next to my home and puts a skip in my step most mornings.  don't be deceived by the word "hotel" in "hotelini" as it stands for 1) an inn 2) a restaurant 3) a community sitting space 4) a bar and so on ... yet it consists of only one small table, two benches, and a coal stove.  she came to our house one afternoon to teach us to make a tortilla-like bread called chapati, which is one of the most involved preparatory culinary adventures as of late and, naturally, we make it daily.  (davis folks:  it's reminiscent to the micaela tortillas out of woodland and yes, Danny and Lexi, i can buy coarse salt, avocado, and lime).  Adamu, my newest favorite, lives at the village's edge nearest to the farmlands.  he seems highly uneducated, or at least i presume since he was unable to answer the question "how many days are in a week?"  and  has  only a few front teeth which makes it rather difficult to understand him.   in hindsight, i harbor a bit of guilt for naming his dog "Theo" ... or "Seo" as he pronounces it.


the kids are also constantly teetering between being unbearably annoying and utterly endearing, which makes it all the more difficult to be angry when they are little you-know-whats.  since we continue to be more regular fixtures in the community, they are a little less enthralled by our presence, and thus tend to leer through the windows with less frequency ... and they are increasingly comfortable with initiating conversations, which is a dramatic improvement from the following:  THEM: "Andelea" ME: "bei" (meaning the feminine "yes") THEM: silence.  it also means they tend to take us a little less seriously, especially since unlike their parents we won't abuse them when they misbehave.  one little boy in particular likes to test us by taking a plastic bottle and dragging it against our cement porch to make a sound worse than nails on a chalkboard.  when we yell "toka" meaning leave, he simply laughs and says "sitoki" meaning i won't leave.  though with all of their attempts to try our patience, there are a handful that i'm planning to stick in my pack and bring home after i've freed up some room.


the pictures i've included in this post are from an event at Mama Halima's house ... for those of you who aren't aware of our trying relationship with the woman, we somewhat facetiously refer to her as our "mother in law" ... a name she earned when she began disapprovingly sweeping our unkempt floors.  she stopped by one morning asking if we'd like to come to a singing event at her house and, thinking it was just another rendition of the traditional Islamic songs practiced nightly in our backyard, we loosely agreed.  i.  was.  wrong.  her entire yard was covered with mzees (elders) and watoto (children) and it wasn't until sitting in the living room with the somber women that we began to question the purpose of the festivities which ... up until that point ... we thought were celebratory.  when we asked Mama Halima she said "baba, alikufa".  with jaws dropped, we realized that her father had passed away and this was his funeral.  its moments like those that make us value this community because even when facing hardship and strife, they exude cheer.  i could learn a thing or two (as could we all).