Yesterday I was in desperate need of some toilet paper or tp as it is commonly referred to here; desperate times call for desperate measures–you don’t even want to know. I also needed some water that didn’t taste like milk or my grandmother’s pool. So, there we have it–three excuses for me not to work in the shamba (garden).
Franco and I headed into town and dropped my phone and camera batteries off to be charged. We then went for tea and andazi at another chief’s shop. From there, Franco was in dire need of a haircut, his Yaaku curls were getting a wee bit long. While at the barber, or kinyozi, I decided to have him shave my face since it too was getting a little scraggly. Of course all the boys in town had to line up at the window to watch throughout the entire process. He threw so much methyalate on the razor I could feel it being soaked up by my pores which resulted in a undesirable burning sensation. It took kinyozi longer to shave my face than it normally does myself. Once done he rubbed the liquid methyalate all over my face; hey, if it means that I don’t get an infection of God knows what kind, my face can burn…
We then stood outside chatting, most of the boys were an hour and twenty minutes late for a meeting at the Baptist church. Regardless, I invited them for a snack of tea and andazi and they accepted. Duh. Conveniently a few others showed up just as we were ordering.
At one point there were forty people playing football or volleyball as well as those just standing around chatting. It makes me really happy to see them all come together and enjoy one another’s company.
Alpha had this ring on that I asked to see, so he took it off and placed it on my pinky (the only finger it would fit) and told me to never forget him. He really is one of the nicest kids I’ve ever met; he’ll be a very fine leader one day.
Then came the trek home where I pointed out to Paulo each time he was gossiping and did my best to explain how that went against his Christian values–I don’t think it worked.
I had forgotten it was “Man Night in the Kitchen,” until my Kenyan mom came out and sat in the gathering area and looked me in the eye and said, “Jii Koni (Kitchen.” Whoops. It was a lot of fun to be in the kitchen, which was unfamiliar territory for us as men in Dol Dol. I was, of course, corrected every time I did something in a way that seemed foreign to them even though my way worked perfectly fine. THERE ARE DIFFERENT WAYS OF DOING THINGS!
The evening ended with discussions regarding the future of Dol Dol’s youth and me being told to get inside because it elephant was nearby. Well, it’s not in my immediate vicinity so I’ll continue peeing, thanks!