I'm writing to you from my tiny concrete balcony, enjoying a glass of fine wine (thanks, Mark!), and breathing Midwestern Springtime air--by far, the best there is, next to Midwestern Fall air. Yes indeed, Spring is in full force here. I hope, anyway. Today was a glorious 60-something degrees with sehr viel sunshine in the sky. Of course, this happy Wednesday came on the heels of the typical and unseasonable April snow shower and its subsequent freezing temperature (thanks, Global Climate Change!). But that was sooo Monday, and who cares now, right? I think we're in for at least two or three weeks of Springy-ness before we're inundated with the swamp-like conditions of Midwest Summertime. But I guess I oughtn't be complaining to you about hot weather, eh?
Here are some pictures I've been taking around town the last few days (save the day it snowed). Feel free to use them to inspire envy in the hearts of Africans and other volunteers not from here.
So, for the record, I patently deny having called DJ an idiot after leaving the airport. I only said he didn't seem affected at all by your departure. But apparently he was. I should've known. He is, after all, my international man o' mystery. Okay, record straight.
Today, I visited a few schools about 50 miles west of St. Louis. Usually, I go out I-44 to get to them, but today I went via Manchester because I had to drop off Deej at the Trickey residence to help Kevin with a painting job. Anyway, have you ever driven the entire stretch of commercial Manchester, starting at I-270? It's nothing but a 10 mile hole of box stores and car dealerships. To sorta quote the great Dr. HST, commercial Manchester is where the whole bourgeois world would go if the Nazis had won the war. And yet, the Nazis did not win the war, and still a large concentration of the STL bourgy crowd seems to flock to this pimple on the face of our fair metro region. I hate Manchester and I hate everything that looks like it and functions like it and aspires to be like it. And I fear commercial Manchester will be--if it's not already--the prototype for the rest of this country. It embarrasses me as an American.
In any case, I thought of you and of how much you must be enjoying the relative remoteness and genuineness of Africa. And I thought of how, only 100 years ago, "going to the city" was supposed to be an adventure and maybe even a vacation. Now, "going to the country" is an escape for people...and those patches of country are increasingly few and far between. Well, I'll be claiming my patch sooner than later, hear you me. And you're welcome to come be the resident physician/man o' science/buddy and entertainer to all when that day arrives. It'll be called Farmony: a farm in harmony with the animals who will find rescue and refuge there, the multitudes of fruits and veggies that will be grown there, the people who will care for this piece of American heaven, and the surrounding nature that shall grow as wild as it damn well pleases. Naysayers of idealism, you can go to hell. Farmony will be, and it will be soon.
Anyway, enough about me and about all the visions of future loveliness that are dancing in my head. Your adventure in the airports on your way to Kenya sounds like it was capital-a Awesome. No, I'm not being snide. I mean it. If the start to your trip had gone smoothly and according to plan, it would've been much more bearable and less frustrating, and equally less interesting and more ho-hum. Yes, you had somewhere to be and a much grander adventure to get started, but the time you spent in the airports only made the landing that much more exciting, no? (You like how I started the sentence on 'yes' and ended on 'no'? English language mastery, my friend.) Those airport adventures and adventures of the like are the shit of life. (I'm coining that term right now: The Shit of Life.) I'm a little jealous. I am, however, not jealous of the fact that you lost a piece of luggage. But I guess traveling through Africa with no First Aid kit will be another adventure, eh?
Kudos on winning your race. And kudos on immediately finding what must be the slowest group of Africans on the continent.
Interjection: There's a cardinal hopping around in our yard. What a treat! (Go ahead and make fun of me for using old lady terminology.)
Anyway, I probably should be wrapping up this post. I'm glad things are going so well and that you've already found "home" in Kenya. I hope your time there continues to go the same way your first week has gone. I miss you a lot and have almost tried to call you on a number of occasions, which instantaneously makes me a little sad...but then I just call Kegan to hang out, and he's a fine replacement.
xo, Alex
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