Back in Africa

It’s been too long! I know this because I almost cried in the jetway when I got off the plane and smelled “Africa.” This is a smell that is at once so familiar and impossible to describe…burning fires and lush vegetation mingling together? Something like that.

Even though I was in Kenya, it still felt good to be back on the Continent. We drove out to Naivasha on my second day…a romantic and historic journey through the Rift Valley. There is a pass that we came over and looked out from the escarpment as far as the eye could see. For some reason, I did manage to see a herd of zebras, who were just chilling on the side of the road. The roads in Africa are full of life. In Nairobi, traffic is ensnared with cars and bikes and people and goats. There are sign posts like “God Saves Hair Salon” riddled everywhere, and in Nairobi for some reason, there are notices plastered every few feet for doctors promising love potions and anxiety relief. Hmmm. In the country, or “bush” as they say, there are vehicles piled two stories with god knows what: mattresses, sugar cane, you name it. Trucks going 14 miles per hour. Motorcycles, or bodas, going 114 miles per hour. It all passes by as I look out across the valley and dream.

The hotel in Naivasha was a classic safari lodge. It was pretty nice with stunning grounds of acacia trees and tropical plants. The rooms are vast, although a little worn. I love these places and they are truly a unique experience of East Africa: colonial décor mixed with safari animal motifs. We were greeted after our journey with hot towels soaked in peppermint oil and cold fruit cocktail juice – likely pineapple, papaya and passion juice. Passion juice! Why the US cannot import passion juice is beyond me. It is so delicious and I, not a juice person, cannot get enough when I’m here.

We had speeches at our opening event that went on for hours. I’m not kidding. HOURS. My patience for such things was practiced when I lived in Uganda, but it had atrophied in my absence and I found myself looking around after about two hours wondering, “isn’t anyone else hungry?!”

As usual with my jobs over the years, in Naivasha I met brave and amazing people who were fighting tirelessly for human rights. Unlike the international development world, human rights activists, whose lives are regularly on the line, have a different take on international assistance. They have to be talked into it in most cases and are uncompromising in their convictions. That is perhaps a blog for another time.

I find myself returned to Africa after several years overwhelmed in every sense. Many of the stories and myths I have carried back to life in DC have been confirmed. Other memories have not done justice to this place. And I haven’t even gotten to Uganda yet!