The Oil-Slap Picture & Other Thoughts

1/26/11

The electricity is out, and as I sit with my host family and write this by candlelight, I feel home. I miss my people in the States, but it’s a ‘good’ miss. They’re keeping my heart warm.

All the MSID-ers loved seeing my battle scar and hearing about my so-called ‘oil-slap’ incident. God, I can’t wait to get into Kibera! It doesn’t make a ton of sense, I understand. I’m so drawn to the underdog, the places where my hands will get dirty. I like to think of my Grandma Monica diving into her impossible WWII nursing job; she gives me such strength. I feel like we would have such great chats if we could talk now—I have a feeling she could relate to the unquenchable thirst for adventures driving me today.

I faltered a bit today. A wave of homesickness came over me, and I felt so small. It was just for a few minutes, but I loved it. Why? I’d been feeling so invincible here in Kenya, it left me with a fear—what would happen when the other shoe dropped? I loved seeing that I’m perfectly capable of rising to the occasion and getting right back on my feet; I have a much more stable sense of confidence now. Stuff will go down—TIA, afterall—but I’m so ready to take each challenge and let it shape my very being, to influence my future path and teach me who I am and who I can be, what the world is and what it can be.

I helped Wanga with her 4^th grade homework last night, just a little reading comprehension assignment. Pretty typical, except it was about Kenyan child rights and abuse. They casually discussed a street boy who sniffs a bottle every morning so he can face the day and a girl working on a farm who’s boss beats her but won’t give her food if she tells anyone. So goddamn real.

Out & About in Nairobi with Tom

Between the peeling sunburn and the oil I've got some battle scars I must say