Asante sana

       We climbed into the small bus headed to Nairobi, and greeted the driver in Swahili.  The seats were so tiny and close together that our knees hit the seat in front of us and there was no room for our bags.  They could go either on our laps, or on the floor with our feet on top.  "It's ok, we can put them in the isle once the bus fills up and we're on our way." More people waited outside.  The driver came back and began folding down little seats in the middle of the isle.  Well, there goes our plan, but whoa, these people have to ride in those seats?  No more complaining from us, we didn't have it so bad. It turns out this bus was a shuttle, which meant there were several stops.  At each one, locals would come and tap on the window trying to get us to buy their goods.  Seri, with her beautiful, gentle spirit told them in Swahili that she couldn't buy, but took time with each one admiring their work and encouraging them.  The highway, for some reason was paved for one portion and dirt for another, and this went on the entire way. Once the highway was completed it would be amazing, but as it was our bus bumped and bumbled down the road. The landscape was beautiful and I was happy to see northern Tanzania.
       There were quite a variety of people on the bus.  Most striking was a very distinguished Kenyan man in a business suit carrying a briefcase, who was so tall that his legs were folded up to his chest for the ride. He looked us over; I'm sure wondering what two white women were doing on this bus. A beautiful young muslim girl from Tanzania sat in the makeshift seat next to me.  She looked to be about 14 years old and was so shy that she would cup her hands around her mouth, whisper in my ear, and ask me questions about America and about being a woman.
       In the back, one of the passengers dropped his glasses that slid forward on a quick stop. We squirmed as we tried impossibly to look under our seats for them. We shared our snacks with the young girl and at one of the stops; her mother offered us some food she had made for the trip as well.  During a pit stop, the bus driver almost left two people who were still in the bathroom, and Seri and I shouted up to the driver, "Mbili zaidi!" two more! One man in the seat in front of us was self appointed dust control manager.  Every time a car passed and the red dust started billowing in the window, he reached over and shut it, suffocating us in the heat.  Seri would open it again as soon as possible, because we didn't mind the dust as much as the heat.  His arm span reached both sides of the bus, so we giggled with the people on the other side who were also in battle with him. Halfway through the trip, the young girl could barely keep her eyes open.  Her mother wouldn't let her trade seats with me to take a rest, so I got out my camp pillow and she laid her head on my shoulder.
       At the border we took our bags and climbed off the bus.  It was my first border crossing, and there were people everywhere. We followed some of the Africans from our bus to get in line for the exit stamp from Tanzania. Our bus drove away.
       "Is he leaving us?" We were more than a little anxious.  A man behind us overheard, and pointed that we were supposed to walk down the hill.
       "Your bus on other side."
       "Asante sana." Thank you very much.
       Seri and I stopped in the middle of the crossing and had a moment of awe and gratitude.  We were about to step into Kenya.  Kenya!  We'd heard about it all our lives, and never even once thought to dream about going there one day.  It was crazy, the path our lives had taken to get us to this point, and it was not lost on us that day. On the other side we stepped up to the counter and smiled as our passports were stamped, entry.  Back on the bus, a few miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, we passed several young men in sweat suits running in unison.  Kenyan runners!  Our trip was already complete.  The camaraderie that happened on the bus that day touched our hearts.  Cramped and hot as it was we treasured the entire experience.
        As we pulled into the bus station late that night, the man in the suit spoke for the first time.  He looked at us and said,
       "Your Swahili is perfect.  Really, it's beautiful. I've been listening to you all day."
       "Wow. Thank you so much."
       We looked at each other and shrugged in disbelief, who knew?  We unfolded ourselves, smacked the feeling back into our legs, and climbed off the bus.  A bank of taxis waited and we negotiated with one for a ride.  In the car, after our greetings, we asked the driver to take us to Milimani Backpackers.
        I was a little nervous about staying in a hostel.  Traditionally they were for young people.  Would I be the out-of-place old lady there? Would I seem ridiculous?  In my previous life I had always stayed in four star hotels, where everything was pristine and picture perfect at all times. And it's not that I couldn't do that now, but I wanted to learn to backpack travel. I wanted the experience, and besides, I was living without material comforts these days and it was just fine. What would it be like to rough it while on vacation in a city? Question though, if we were in a dorm with other people, how would we keep our stuff from being stolen? We were in Nairobi after all, which was often called Nairobbery.
       I was brought back to focus when our driver asked Seri, "Where did you learn your Swahili? It's very good."
       "Thank you." She looked at me and held up two fingers, mouthing the word, 'Twice!' We grinned at each other in the back seat, encouraged that our study and practice had paid off.
        We pulled up to Milimani and went through the big gate.  To the right was a small restaurant and bar. Among the crowd, seated at one table, were two older couples laughing and having a beer.  Whew.
       "See," Seri said, "you worry too much."
       "I know. I never used to be this way.  I need to find me again."
       "Well, while you do that, I'll go find reception."   
       We checked in and were able to rent a locker for our valuables. We stored our passports, camera's, and extra cash.  The receptionist showed us to our room.  It was a dorm, housing five bunks that slept ten women.  Even in the dark, I could tell most of them were full.  She pointed her flashlight towards two top bunks and whispered that they were ours. I tossed my bag on top and decided it would sleep up there with me. I dug out my headlamp, found my toiletries bag and headed down the hall to the community bathroom to brush my teeth.  As I walked in, a man stepped out of one of the showers and casually said hello as he wrapped his towel around his waist. Umm, awkward.  Oh well, I thought, I guess we all have to take care of the basics, so I went into the bathroom stall as the stranger stood over the sink brushing his teeth. Back in the room, I climbed up to my top bunk and got settled in. I could tell I was going to be experiencing new things every day. Our morning had started at five, and every part of my body was tired. I whispered to the next bunk,
       "Hey Seri."
       "Yea?"
       "Thanks for making this happen."

Kenya

Milimani

funky safari decor in the living room

Our first glimpse of Nairobi