Miaka miwili

I remember sitting on the floor of my mom's studio two years ago, reading my 'welcome to kenya' acceptance letter for the first time. Then, I had no way of knowing what Kenya would throw at me, and how challenging it would really be. I didn't know how tired, energized, uplifted, and depressed I could feel on a daily basis. I couldn't have known how hard I would have to fight for my independence from men. I never really knew how much one person's understanding smile could make a whole day at peace. They say that for most volunteer it is not the amenities (or lack of) that produce the most challenges. For me, at least, that could not be more true. I hardly blind anymore when my water is deep dark dirt brown, or when my electricity is out. I enjoy the half and hour walk just to get to the village where I get a matatu to arrive in a substantial town. I love the feeling of accomplishment when I finish a load of hand-washed laundry and hang it out to dry in the blazing equator sun. No, the challenges run much deeper. I struggle to be heard in a culture that, in my experience, does not value the opinions of women. It is a challenge to be without the family and friends that I am used to. It is a challenge to teach students that have so much going against them.

When I first got to site, these challenges were far too overwhelming. I remember waking up each morning with the pep of getting ready for school, only to sag my shoulders as I remember 'two years'. Even knowing I could finish my service, I still had that question in the back of my head of 'really, can I do this?' As I got used to my students, people in town started to smile when they saw me, and my neighbors learned my name (Caroline and Karen are close enough), I woke up less and less accompanied by that big number of TWO YEARS hanging over my head. At some point it disappear all together.

In two weeks I will travel to my Close of Service conference, which is supposed to prepare us for leaving the country in just a few months. Naturally, this leads me to reflect a little. At first glance, the two years seem like such a short amount of time. But then I remember the weddings I have missed, the babies that have been born, and the changes in the US since I have left. I remember that we have a new president who is almost halfway through his term. I remember that I have almost spent one year each at two different schools. I remember all of the people I have met during my time in Kenya. I remember the first volunteer in our group who left early, through to the last one. I have spend two birthdays, two 4th of Julys, two thanksgivings, two christmases, and two New Years here.

It is funny to look back at the things in Kenya that annoyed or baffled me that I now have accepted:

-I always used to ask the teachers how they could stand to be in the loud matatus and didn't understand how they could actually PREFER them. Now, I am secretly disappointed when I step into a quiet matatu. Who wouldn't want to hear Celine Dion or UB40 for 3 hours?
-They eyebrow lift (meaning 'yes') and active listening grunt have become my go-to form of communication.
-I am ecstatic when a meeting only starts 2 hours late.
-I am a little offended if a teacher walked into the staff room and doesn't greet me.
-I feel ok picking my nose (though not as integrated, in that regard, as some PCVs)
-No tissue, no problem
-It is now just a delightful surprise to get my own matatu seat or to find a working seatbelt.
-I pass babies and bags of fruits through a matatu like it's my job.
-I bargain my little heart out when I am being ripped off.
-I wash my shoes.
-I say things like 'I am just used' and 'she really tried'.