Thumbs Up for Escaping Marriage

The Swahili language is impossible. The language is actually extremely easy, with possibly the most basic grammatical rules of any language, but EVERY word sounds exactly alike.

For example: One could say nyoko or nyoka. One means snake, the other to abuse. Don't ask me which one is which because I still can't tell. Kumi means 10 and kuma means something that would be too inappropriate to post.

My personal favorite was when I was trying to say "Ningependa kuenda kuogelea." Instead I said "Ningependa kuenda kuolea". My sentence changed from "I would like to go swimming" to "I would like to go get married."

Not the greatest thing to say when you are in a very remote village, where a marriage for me could have easily been set up. Personally I don't think I could take on the duties expected of a Muslim wife in the middle of nowhere.

Other than those slight language glitches, the fact that I couldn't speak to my Mama or Grandmother at all, and how I was pretty clueless the first couple of days concerning how to act, dress, and where I should go to the bathroom my village stay was wonderful. I would go back immediately if I could, and if it weren't blistering hot all the time with terrible humidity. But then again, I was able to bathe under the stars and go skinny dipping off a deserted island in the Indian Ocean. Life could be a worse.

I just happened to be there during Ramadan, the holiest month of the year for Muslims and also a month of fasting. So every morning, anytime between 2 and 4 I had some nice knocks on my bedroom door and my Baba calling out "Mog" to wake me up. I'll never understand the food choices- steaming hot ugali (maize floor and water boiled together) so that I couldn't even eat it without burning my hands, and cold fish. Why one thing could be heated and not the other will be a burning question that I just don't think will ever be answered. I will also never understand why I now have henna all over my feet and hands, and my nails will be bright orange for the next few months in celebration of the end of Ramadan.

I loved my family, and even tho we couldn't really talk we got used to each other pretty quickly, and soon I was realizing that they weren't kicking me out of the kitchen area to go on a walk with my 12 year old uncle/cousin because they didn't love me, but rather because my American cooking skills pale in comparison with the work they do. I was put on child duty all the time, and that mostly consisted of me giving them my camera and letting them play with it. I couldn't figure out who exactly was related to me, but I got used to a core group of people that continuously liked to laugh at me and my inability to speak to them.

They also all wanted me to fast, and when me just saying "No, I'm not Muslim" didn't work, I attempted the "Well, I have to take medicine every day, and eat when I take it, so I can't fast." The village then thought I had malaria, and it took a few days to dispel that myth. The idea of ANTI-malaria medication just was not something my limited Kiswahili was going to express.

We also spent a few days in Mombasa where I didn't do much more than catch up on my ice cream intake, and eat so much food that I have made myself sick.

Now we're back in Nairobi, where I am appreciating my wireless internet and connection to world news more than ever. The lack of humidity is also doing wonders for my hair, which I woke up one morning needing to cut immediately. So I did, and now I have no hair.

Here are some limited pictures of my family I lived with. Hopefully I will be able to add some more in the next few days.