A broad volunteering, part 8... Home!

Hello everyone!

Well, I've been home for a couple of weeks and it's beginning to feel a lot more normal. Leaving Kenya was harder than I expected it to be. I was prepared to be sad when I left, but stupidly thought arriving home would erase all that. Someone doesn't know herself very well, hah.

I think I experienced my own version of "culture shock" when I got home. I prepped myself to have that the same feeling I did the first time I came home from college -- the kiss the ground sort of excitement and the feeling that you haven't been there for years -- but I didn't at all. Everything seemed so normal that it felt like I hadn't even gone to Africa, as if it never happened. I will say that in social situations it felt very odd and I found myself being a lot more quiet than I usually am, which is not quiet at all. Anyway, I'm feeling better now. The realization that I was there and am not anymore comes in waves and, I suppose, will continue to do so for some time. Describing my time in Kenya is close to impossible, and when I read over my previous blog entries I'm not happy with the job I've done. A lot of it is so personal that it's really not meant to be blogged about though, and I think the same applies to the way I'm feeling now. It's hard to not want to tell people about it because some of the things feel infinitely more important than what the food was like, but are sort of random and quite difficult to describe.

There were so many times that I would think, my gosh, I have to tell everyone about this, but never did. About two weeks before I left Charity's younger brother, John, 24, was shot and killed by a police officer. They had been chasing robbers, one of which ran into his apartment. John looked over the balcony to see what was going on and an officer shot him in the head. Charity was devastated. We all went to the funeral and I ended up riding in the hearse, directly next to the casket. It was so emotional and the bumpy roads we were driving over were surrounded by this absolute lush farm land, it was just this insane "I'm in Africa" moment. How do you describe these things? Saying it felt spiritual feels trite because I think that words gets so overused by hippie dippie people, but what can I say? It was spiritual. So many times were like this and truly awe-some.

There's just too much to say, and if this blog were all about me I'd write post after post describing my favorite boys at the Rehab and giving a tour of what my days were like. Since I don't, I've deciding to break it down to my top 5 favorite parts about the past four months.

5) Matatus.

I've written about them before, but there is no way to adequately describe them unless you experience it first hand. Legally they sit 14 people, but the numbers are often in the 20s. They are cramped, often smelly, loud, terrifying, cheap, and the best way to feel like you are one of the locals. How can you replicate being seated in between a 60-year-old Kenyan woman while her sacks of maize jab into your side, and a man who has to morph his body to fit in the vehicle causing your head to be squashed in his armpit?

4) #5, Mugumo Lane.

Our house was sandwiched between a rich Danish plantation owner and a member of Parliament, and if it was trying to keep up with those houses, it failed miserably, but we loved it so. We had monkeys in our backyard the same way we have squirrels at home and multiple geckos that rested peacefully on our living room walls. It was green and green and green outside and afforded me the opportunity to meet dozens of volunteers, some of which became my best friends whom I love and miss terribly. It's going to be one of my strong, strong memories of Kenya.

3) The people that made #5 Mugumo Lane work: Charity and Mouli.

I've told you all about Charity, our wonderful house mother. The more I think about her the more I realized how much she taught me. I mentioned her brother being killed and if anything or anyone acted as a face to the violence in Africa and the total injustice, this did. The two things I thought about when this happened were Brent and that this was how her husband was killed. This event definitely brought us even closer as we talked for hours about loss and mourning and faith. This woman is strong, strong, strong ( and gets paid less than $2 a day).

Me and C, red-eyed on my last night. It was very hard to say goodbye to my mama away from home.

On a lighter note, our gardener/handyman/groundskeeper?, Mouli, was just about my favorite Kenyan and I don't know how I never mentioned him before. Even though he is a 76-year-old with bad arthritis, he worked tirelessly on our yard every single day and took such pride in his gardens. He had a sort of apartment in our backyard but spent his evenings in his hut where he cooked his food over the fire and played his guitar on Sundays. He spoke no English, but greeted us every morning and afternoon when we left and came back from work, and was the cutest and the sweetest character there.

Mouli and Kyle, on a Sunday of course, in front of his hut.

2) My walks to work. Starting on my first day volunteering, I loved, loved, loved my walk to work. It's silly, but getting off the matatu at Wangige Market and be able to weave my way through it as the only white person gave me such confidence. It was so local and so Kenyan.

Walking the dirt paths to the orphanage was the best welcome to Kenya and so therapeutic when I was feeling homesick or overwhelmed. And that God-forsaken hill at the end of the day was a serious test of my will power (there is an option to bypass it and just take a matatu to the market place).

It was my most personal time in Kenya, and was the best, and only, time to be alone, listen to my ipod, and think.. and there is nothing it the world like it.

1) Teresia, Mama, and the rehab boys.. duh. I don't miss anything like I miss these chumps. Saying goodbye to them and the rest of the kiddos was awful and, wait for it... I sobbed! Can you believe it? So new for me.

The rehab boys are all wonderful in their own ways. These poor boys have tough, tough lives and you want to perform miracles for the honest and hard working ones, because where did they get it from? I had my clique, and I think I picked well -- they were such good boys. They are truly hysterical and I marvel at the humor they have considering their circumstances.

Then there is Mama...

...one of the best and purest people I know. Every volunteer loves him, but I am cocky enough to say that I love him more. Him shrieking my name when I came in the mornings ("Auntie Leeesette!") will be forever burned in my brain. Being special-needs and HIV Positive, he's an easy target, but after spending hours tutoring him most afternoons and snuggling him afterwards, I like to think we formed a much bigger relationship that the normal lovin he got from others. I'm really giving myself a lot of credit here, but just let me think it.

And lastly is Teresia, absolute perfection. I love her very much, and Mama comes close, but she's been my number one since I began. I wish you could all meet her, she's just so gorgeous.

I could cry (I do cry!) I miss her so much.

Well, I think that's it, folks. Thank you all for being so supportive and just being so "there." When I think back to myself in March and how anxiety-ridden and homesick I was, I think, Oh gosh, let's not do that again. But, I loved it. And thank you for reading my rambling and long blog posts. They were sometimes all over the place, but it will be fun for me to go back and read it later on. I don't know if I've come back "changed" as everyone says you will, but I'm still digesting and figuring it all out. While in Kenya, you all were my constant and I couldn't appreciate you more. And Mike, I know you're reading this at work, so thank you, too. You were/are the best. I love you all loads.

Kwaheri, Afrika. Nakumiss sana. Na asante, asante, asante sana, jamii.. ninapende wewe :) Lalena selama!

xoxo Lisette