I honestly don’t really know what to write this time. This week has somehow been the longest in my life ever. Adapting to kenyan culture again has been hard. I’ve never felt so white in my whole life. Every day I feel excluded in some way, and during the same day I’m smiling thinking that this is an experience I won’t forget. But, hey one thing I know, it takes time to grow roots, it takes time getting to know people, and man you feel vulnerable. Stripped from everything you are, no family, friends, things… I’m just me, I cant prove anything, they dont know who I am at home, who I am with my friends. It’s not just a vacation, this is everyday life. Guess this is what it feels like to move to a different country. Hey, you’ve gotta invest, it won’t feel like home by just klapping your hands.
Coming back has been hard, cause I wasn’t prepared for it to be hard. And the adventurer in me isn’t just satisfied with doing everything we did last time. I constantly feel this urge to challenge myself, and I just have to experience new things, meet new people. And some days are just flat out boring and normal.
So, guess that’s the situation report from Kenya. Being an international social worker isn’t all that glorious. Sometimes it’s sitting listening to coldplay on a mac with three other white chics. That’s monday evening. Tuesday might be another story though. You never know. It might be a wild hunt in the kitchen for Nelson, the mouse that is living under my couch, it might be practicing swahili with the shop keeper, might be walking around the compound getting a hug from a random guy called Ben that thinks you look smart. And when it’s time to og to bed I crawl under my mosquito nett listening to a disturbing mix of prayers called out from the mosque and the excited churchgoers that have an allnight prayer session.
