How to appear like you are learning Gikuyu (Gee-koo-you):

This isn't like French class. The teacher isn’t talking to me slowly reciting phrases from my book that I have open in front of me. I’m not just waiting for 45 minutes of semi-uncomfortable confusion to be over hoping that the answers written in my book from the past three generations of owners are correct. 

This is Gikuyu, and I have no idea how to speak it. In fact, I have no idea how to tell when one word stops and the other starts. 

I do however know how to appear like I’m learning it. Granted this strategy won’t last me very long. At some point people are going to start to think “She’s been here for 14 months. What’s wrong with her?” 

The first rule for appearing to be learning a language is try to avoid having a confused look on your face. Gikuyu is “soooooo easy” according to all the fluent Gikuyu speakers. In fact it’s so easy that there aren't any actual books written in it. It’s just simply spoken and heard. So great for me. The way they talk about it, one day it will simply just click for me and I’ll understand everything. In the slim chance that that actually happens, don’t look confused. Look inquisitive. 

I “zone out” a lot. This is inevitable. When surrounded by quick conversations that I have absolutely no reference in where to begin discerning what they are talking about, it just turns into white noise. This is also a time that I train my face not to look completely confused or detached. I don’t want to look like I’m being completely disrespectful. But really, I’m thinking about what I’m going to cook for dinner, how I want to burn all my skirts and whether I should buy a bucket to pee in. 

When someone takes the time to recognize a phrase that I probably should know they take a few seconds to slow down their conversation from 105kph to 80kph. Then they say my name very loudly as if my lack of understanding stems from volume, they look me in the eye and repeat the phrase. We both take turns repeating the phrase. This goes on until I've recited it at least seven times. Nothing cracks a Kenyan up more then hearing a white person recite “What time is it?” in their mother tongue over and over. Then I walk away repeating the phrase to myself, but loud enough for people to hear, convincing myself and my impromptu teacher that this time it will really stick. And just as soon as I find a pen I’ll write it down so it really plants some roots in my damaged brain. I never do, and it never does.

Ni wega.

The Black Lung

Living in Kenya is not impossible. Obviously. People have done it since the literal beginning of man and will do it long after I go. This being said, life is different here. Not impossible, just different.
One of my incredibly dorky hobbies has been taking note of how Kenyans do things where I have grown accustomed to having first world conveniences. 
One thing you hear a lot is that Americans have "very much" money. False, well comparatively true, and that Americans use machines for everything. True. 
Here are just some of the things I've written down. I'm sure there are many many more and I will try to add to the list as my time here grows.


Tupperware: One plate placed on top of the other to make a giant dome.

Lawnmower: A machete with the tip bent at a 90 degree angle swung back and forth by an old man smoking a cigarette or a tiny little sickle wielded by a ten year old.
Lawnmower #2: Sheep, cows and goats.

Dishwasher: Two buckets and one bar of soap.

Washing machine for clothes: Same two buckets and same bar of soap.
Bathtub: One of the previously mentioned buckets, same bar of soap if you are really hardcore. I'm not. 
Excel Spreadsheet: Piece of paper, ruler and pen.
Trash Compactor: Box of matches.
Central Heat: A charcoal stove that sits in the middle of the room that hopefully won't kill you from CO2 while you sleep.
Door Lock: Nail halfway hammered into the door jam, bent at 135 degrees, and twisted in front of the door to keep it "locked".

I also promise that one of these days I will write about what I am actually doing here. I assure you I'm not ONLY sitting around being a smart ass. I'm working a little here and there also. 

Your face will get stuck like that.

A lot of my day to day now is spent culturally adapting. I have to take a lot of things in stride. In the last couple of months I have noticed that the cultural stuff that I'm trying to get over and/or change can boil down to things that your mom use to yell at you from the other room, in public or in front of your friends.  

Don't Stare:

As someone new in a community that doesn't speak the language, doesn't look like anyone else and has to muster up a lot of zest to leave her house to do simple simple tasks, could you please not make it any worse by assuring I have an audience for everything I do.

Don't Point:

It's rude to point out peoples mistakes. I'm going to make A LOT here in the next couple of months. Prepare yourselves, its going to get embarrassing. 

Wash your hands: 

Before you cook. Before you eat. After using the bathroom. After changing a diaper

Don't put your hands in your mouth/near your face: 

In case you didn't wash your hands in any of the before mentioned instances it will keep POO from getting inside your body. 

Take your medicine:

You know about your country's reputation for health. You know that there is a lot of improvements that need to be made. You know that there is a need for education. You know that there have to be some changes from adults. Then why don't you finish taking your medicine?

Don't pick your nose in public: 

I don't get it. I still have to stop myself from reacting when I'm speaking to someone and they start digging up there nose mid sentence. 

Tom and Jerry

A girl's head can really swell with the almost daily proclamations of love I get from random manchildren on the street. Luckily I'm so humble I can barely stand it.
I know my Amish skirt, dirty hair and recurring acne is irresistible, but for the record, if any of you suitors are reading.... No I will not give you my phone number. I am not interested in polygamy, or bi-nogamy, whatever that is. I assure you, you do not "Love" me. I don't appreciate you making me lie so much just to get rid of you. I don't have a boyfriend, no I don't have a husband either. Oh and those kids I was talking about, they weren't mine, just a myriad of random characters I've read about or seen in a movie. Just so you know, I am not above getting mean. I will humiliate myself and you. Then I will sleep a very deep slumber knowing that I have put you in your place.
Looks like being single is suiting me best again.