I’m back!

Last night we took the night bus from Mombasa to Nairobi. We rolled into town at around 7 AM and returned to our homestays. The past two weeks have been incredible—they’re going to be difficult to explain without writing a novel, but I’ll do my best!

View of Shirazi from the dock

Honestly, the first couple days of the village homestay were miserable. The language barrier between my host family and I seemed insurmountable. Don't worry, I ended up loving it!

I’ll start from the beginning: our arrival in Mombasa. We were met with a hearty breakfast at the SIT Mombasa office, and after we finished we set out to purchase clothing for our stay in Shirazi. The majority of its residents are Muslim, and the dress very conservatively. But Shirazi is also boiling hot, making shopping for full coverage items tough. I bought a muumuu and 2 kangas (you’ll see what they are later on). We returned to the office and made ourselves appropriate for Shirazi:

Rockin' the muumuus. Extremely comfortable; I will probably wear it at school.

The bus ride was sooo hot. By the time we arrived in the village, we were all on edge to meet these families. We didn’t wait long: the entire community had assembled to greet us. We were handed off to our parents and sent off on our own!

Where the goats, cows, and chickens roam free

I was terrified. My mother didn’t speak any English, and my Swahili repertoire was limited to “Hello, my name is…” I followed my mother to our wood/mud hut, where she wrapped my head and waist with fabric and deposited me on a mat on the floor. Hmm.

Moments later my mother reappeared with a fried egg and a cup of chai. After dumping 2 heaping tbsp. of sugar into my mug (no, I’m really not exaggerating), the rest of the family paraded by and attempted to communicate with the mute white girl sitting on their rug.

Entrance to my room, from my seat on the floor

Dinner came soon after my pre-dinner. Dinner, it turned out, was arranged on a large silver platter. On it were piles of coconut rice, a bowl of tomato/potato stew, and a couple small, fried whole fish. No plates? No utensils? Soon a sibling arrived with a pitcher of water and a bowl. I connected the dots: rinse hands with the water and dig in.

My first bucket shower followed my first communal meal.  The shower room was outside and the stars were beautiful; the bucket shower was not half bed. I went to bed exhausted and terrified for the communication challenges I was sure the morning would bring.