My Walk Home

I noticed I’ve been getting awfully reflective in my recent posts and not described a whole lot of my day to day, so this post is about my walk home from work. I’ll describe today’s walk specifically, but there’s not a lot of variation, so it applies to most days.

I pack up my laptop and Kiswahili text (in case I get inspired to study tonight) in the office around 4:45. I say goodbye to two coworkers on my way out and leave the compound. As I exit the gate, I turn left and take a shortcut across a small hill behind some of the market stalls that line the road. There’s just been a new delivery of second-hand clothes, so there are several mamas sorting through the selection of t-shirts in some of the stalls. I cross the road and enter the back of the market square. I need to pick up some produce for the next couple days because I’ve been away all weekend and my kitchen is empty. I’m planning to stir fry some veggies with some rice tonight. I just discovered one mama sells cilantro, which I love and will add to anything, so I stop there first. I greet her, ask for the cilantro, and tell her I want 10 shillings worth all in Kiswahili and give myself a mental high five for doing so. Last time I also bought zucchini from her, but today it looks pretty shabby, so I decide not to. I walk toward the front of the market as many of the sellers call for me to buy from them in both English and Kiswahili. I pass a stand selling tomatoes, onions, kale, and bananas. And then I pass another stand selling tomatoes, onions, kale, bananas, and pineapples. Then another, and another. Occasionally there are green peppers, potatoes, and I did see some pumpkins, but just about every stand has the same staples of varying quality and quantity. I cross over to another section where all of the stalls sell beans, lentils, and ingredients to make uji (porridge). These sellers must have finally figured out that I don’t actually eat any of those things, so didn’t bother to harass me. I got to the front section with more of the same produce as in the back. I have two sellers in that section that I generally buy from , one because he has garlic and the other because the mama was nice to me. With so little distinction in price and quality, those are the kinds of things a buyer goes on to decide which stalls to frequent. I bought six roma tomatoes, a bunch of garlic, three green peppers, and six onions for 65 shillings—slightly less than $1. (All the produce is smaller here, which works well when you’re only cooking for one.) I spotted another stall with zucchini, so I went over to get some. I started to ask for it in Kiswahili, but have no idea what the word for zucchini is, so I just trailed off and pointed. The seller said, “oh, zucchini?” and I said “yes.” (When we were learning food in language class, our teacher told us that even though words exist for all the produce, a lot of it is called by its English name regardless. Works out for me.) I asked for 10 shillings worth and he gave me three. I walk past the eight cabbage sellers spread out by the gate (they also know I never buy cabbage so didn’t ask) and turn left onto the road.

I walk past the post office and into the closest thing to a grocery store my town has. I greet the mama who is always at the “register” (cash box), who is the same mama who told me I should marry her son if I was going to be here for two years. I try to go to this store because my boss recommended it and they’ve always been very nice to me. However, I’m realizing they’re pretty expensive. I want to make a cake this weekend and need eggs, sugar, and cocoa. I already knew they don’t sell eggs, so I was planning to get the sugar and cocoa and pick up the eggs another place tomorrow. Most of the shops sell sugar they’ve bought in bulk and bagged by weight, which is cheaper than branded sugar, but this shop only had the expensive kind, so I’ll skipp that too and just buy the cocoa. 100 shillings for a small container. That’s actually kind of a lot, but like I said, I’m trying to support the shop. Tomorrow I’ll go to the shop across from the office and get the eggs and sugar (6 eggs and ½ kilo sugar: around 80 shillings/slightly more than $1).

I digress for a minute, but humor me: I’m conditioned from the other traveling I’ve done to convert prices here into US$ to know how much things cost. However, in doing that I’ve always had a US$ budget to spend. Now that my salary is in shillings, it’s kind of pointless to do the conversion. Instead I’ve figured out what I earn per day, and it gives a much better sense of what I’m spending to compare the prices to that.

Ok, back to my walk. I pay for the cocoa and say goodbye in Kiswahili. I turn right and keep walking. I pass the bank and some mechanics and the shop where I sometimes buy fresh milk. Several full matatus whiz past on the road headed toward Karatina. I start down the hill and hear some hissing. Across the road is a stream of primary schoolchildren just leaving school in their navy blue shorts, plaid blue shirts, and navy blue sweaters (that they’ve worn all day even though it’s at least 80 degrees still at 5pm). The hissing is coming from them. Here in Kenya, hissing is an acceptable way of getting the attention of a waiter, or apparently a mzungu like me. I actually prefer the hissing to the “howareyou” chant we got in Loitokitok because it’s much easier to ignore. I stop at the lone produce stall just above my house to get some mangoes. I feel like I should buy from her whenever possible because she’s my neighbor, so I bought three huge mangoes for 60 shillings. I say goodbye and walk toward my gate. There are a sheep and a goat tied up along the road to graze. Still not sure who they belong to, but they’re there often. A new addition, though is a tiny kid. As I walk past, it jumps, skips, and hops over to its mother for protection. I open my gate and come around the side of the building. I scan the yard to locate the turkeys and chickens (to make sure I’m not going to get attacked), then check to make sure they haven’t left any presents on my steps. I unlock the door and step inside. I’m home.