Ugali feels like home.

What I've been told, and what I'm slowly figuring out for myself, is that some weeks in the Peace Corps are harder than others. Most weeks I don't even feel like I'm in the Peace Corps. I just live and work in Africa. Nothing special really. But there are some days that I get so pissed off at people I just want to scream. But I can't, cuz I'm not that kind of person, and that's not what they taught me in training. They taught me to focus on teaching and the things I can change, work on changing them slowly, and most of all to be patient about it. I'm not sure what sort of crucial changes I'll make in two years time, if any at all, but for now I know I just need to remain patient.

Aside from learning more patience, I'm also constantly being reminded what a homebody I am. I've lived in my house on this compound for a little over two months and, surprisingly enough, I miss a lot of things when I spend a night away. I miss my ugly front door and my overstocked bookshelf and my understocked pantry, but most of all I miss my kids. Last night I had the pleasure of being taken out to dinner at the fanciest of fancy resorts in a town called Watamu, close to a bigger one called Malindi. It was more white people than I'd seen in a long time, and definitely a lot more money than I'd seen in a long time too. Dinner was an exquisitely lavish four-course meal, complete with salad that didn't have me worrying about giardia, an extremely decadent brownie thing, and even a gin n' tonic. It was marvelous. But the whole time I felt so out of place, and so much like I didn't belong.

Don't get me wrong, I certainly appreciated every second of it, and savored every bite, but it just didn't feel like home. I know people live like that all the time but I'm not sure I could, even if I did have the money. So coming back home felt good, and it felt right. Back to the house full of mice and frogs and termites and ants and spiders and giant millipedes, back to the chickens and ducks that live next door, and the cows that drink my laundry water, and best of all, back to my kids.

For some reason, today at school was super frustrating, or maybe it just got to me easier than most days. I suppose I'm easy to read, but my kids all notice when I'm not myself, and always ask what's up. I tell them "Eh, don't worry, I'll get over it," which I do, in time. Today one of my boys, Amir, looked at me and slowly finger-spelled "c-h-a-n-g-e h-a-p-p-y p-l-e-a-s-e." So I spent the afternoon reading and chilling out, instead of grading tests, and around 6 went outside to watch the boys play football. And since last night was so unusually extravagant, I decided I needed dinner with my kids again. The dining hall on the compound is huge and old and dirty and at mealtime is filled with hundreds of little deaf kids all scarfing down their ugali as fast as they can. When I first ate dinner there they all were super shocked to see a mzungu eating ugali and eating with her hands and actually enjoying it. But now it's no big deal since they see me all the time. So I got my ugali and watered down stew made of some sort of meat, sat down with my secondary students, dug in with my hands as always, and finally felt like I was home. For some reason, even the tasteless consistency of ugali is something I miss.

So I walked back home with Amir and tried to explain to him why just being around all of them makes me happy. He smiled big so I think he got most of it. I can't even fathom how much I'm going to miss them in two years, so I won't even think about it. I have a long ways to go.

I wish there was a way I could explain each and every one of my kids, but I think that would be super boring to read. I spent a lot of yesterday laughing about how some of them try to say my name. There are kids of all levels of deafness here; some who are deaf kabisa (completely) that you could blow a fog horn into their ear and they wouldn't hear it, some who hear a little bit without hearing aids, some who do have hearing aids, some who speak fluent Kiwashili and pretty good English, and everything in between. They know that I'm hearing so when they want to get my attention they just make whatever noise they can, and just like their signing, each one sounds different. The few kids who can hear pretty well giggle with me when they hear the others try to call my name. It's definitely one of my favorite things.

It's 9:30 and way past my bedtime, so the moral for myself from today's story is to just chillax, enjoy the company I have, and appreciate home.

I hope my other homes in America are doing well. Not a day goes by I don't miss everyone like crazy.

Happy almost March!

~ Love, Shub :)