Since arriving in Kenya the circumstances surrounding mine, Nikhil’s and Meghan’s accommodation can be described as a combination mystery, tragedy, and adventure mixed with comic relief along the way. During our orientation we were informed that we would be staying with a host mother (insert shock here). Taken aback we discussed it and decided that for the first little while it might not be the worst thing to have someone cook for us, and do our laundry, and generally ease us into life in Mombasa… but of course it wouldn’t be permanent, or would it… (insert mystery here)?
Before moving into our new home, we met a girl, from Alabama, who was already living with the host mother. Within five minutes of her detailing, among other things, the 9 other people we would be living with, the set meal schedule (which included all types of meat, not so great for my veggie and hindu roommates), and mandatory Baptist church attendance on Sundays, our warm fuzzy feelings about our living situation quickly faded. (Insert variety of jokes about small living spaces, carnivores, religion, etc.). (Also insert horror at the thought of 8 months of the before mentioned circumstances).
However, to be honest upon arrival, we were pleasantly surprised. Although there were many people livening at the house, it was very big, nice and clean, the family was very welcoming and friendly, and the food was delicious (complete with veggie and beef free selections). Although it took us a few days to admit it, (insert suspense), Meghan, Nikhil, and I had decided that at least for a little while, this would make a pretty good home. So we got use to rides to work in the morning, chatting with the kids and mum in the evening, tea waiting for us when we got home from work, delicious dinners, internet access at home, etc.
And then the bomb dropped, after a casual discussion about payment for our accommodations it became apparent that in fact we could not afford to live in our new home (insert a touch of tragedy). A day later we packed our bags, settled up, and left not totally sure where we would be sleeping that night or where our new home might be (insert adventure). It was at this moment in time when the true kindness of strangers was demonstrated to us. Everyone and their mother at my office offered us a temporary, and in some cases, permanent place to live. We were assured that we would be taken care of and we were. In a new place, with no idea what you are doing, the kindness and generosity of strangers brings you a comfort that can’t really be described.
Two such strangers, who have now become our Uncle and Aunt in Mombasa, brought us to our new home. It’s a modest one bedroom place which over looks the creek, (at least that’s what the local people call it, but to me it’s an extremely large river that is fed by the ocean, but tomato, tomato… I guess that saying doesn’t really work in writing ). Everyday we get fresh produce from a stall down the street and begin making super from scratch, and eventually we settle into bed, where from across the room we say, “Good night Nikhil”, “Good night Meghan”, “Good night Nicole”.
And so the next 8 months of our lives begin, at our little flat on the creek…
