Welcome to Africa

Hm . . . so, I seem to have been locked out of my most recent blog.  Until I get that situation rectified, I'm going to go ahead and post this (written last week) on here.  My first post in . . . well, a long time. 

It's day five of my new, African, adventure.

My last few months/weeks in the States (if one can discount the packing) were pretty glorious. Attending my “little” brother's graduation from the Coast Guard Academy, going on a Caribbean cruise with the family, seeing wonderful cousins and uncles and aunts in Minnesota, spending some time on the Oregon Coast, watching the World Cup, attending a dear friend's wedding in New Mexico, and getting to spend time with special people all along the way.

As a last hoorah of our year of living together, my amazing brother and sister-in-law took me into Portland the night before I flew out. We ate delicious Thai food, swam in our hotel pool, and got up super early to make my flight out of PDX. And if that wasn't enough, they sent me off with a packet of goodies ranging from tealight candles to pictures to snacks (not to mention some utterly epic princess band-aids).

[At PDX with my travel buddy and my bag of goodies]

So off I sailed from old things to new things, feeling very loved.

My next stop was three days in the UK – a wonderful transition, both in terms of jet-lag and the extra time to catch my breath, but also as an opportunity to reconnect with some beloved people and places before undertaking the process of connecting to all things new.

And then I arrived in Africa, on the night of the 21^st, only to be met by a herd of zebra crossing the road. My drivers laughed and shrugged: “Welcome to Africa.”

Or, as one of my friends pointed out, “welcome back to Africa,” for this is the continent of my childhood, and even though the expanse of the Sahara separates the now from then, there are plants and trees I recognize, though it is all so much more here.

I'm living in a small apartment (a bedroom, a toilet and shower, a living space with a kitchen) on a compound that is very much a slice of Eden. So many colors, so much growth and life outside my windows. And my own private corner in which to drink coffee, read my Bible, and watch the birds.

My landlady is Swiss, and grows vegetables as well as flowers, telling me I can feel free to pick what I would like (herbs, and spinach, and white radish, and so much more), saying that she always offers the invitation, but no one ever takes her up on it (the implication seeming to be that young people these days prefer fast food to fresh greens) – I assured her that there is nothing I love so much as vegetables and fruit, and I have already helped myself to some of her basil and chives.

So if nothing else, I think I will love living here, in my own space, with a garden, and an awesome next door neighbor who took me hiking on Thursday to Mt. Longonot, where we walked the ridge of the volcano and I drank my first Stony and saw my first (non-zoo enclosed) giraffe. It was a glorious day.

[Can you spot the giraffe?]

And yesterday I had an adventure of a slightly different caliber, walking to the store on my own for the first time. I think I am slowly gaining my bearings, and discovering that yes, indeed, I can live here.

Though, please, don't ask me to drive.