Today is a national holiday after Kenya's founding president, Jomo Kenyatta, which also happens to fall on market day, meaning Mutomo has the allotted excitment for the month all packed into one day. I made my usual rounds, visited my egg man, who added in an extra egg to my bag holding it up to the sun proclaiming "for Kenyatta." Further into town there was lots of dancing and singing by school children and old mamas, in addition to some very creative handiwork for celebratory outfits (note the photo with used beer bottle caps which results in a harmonious melody when mamas shake their behinds in unison). I showed up as the festivities were well underway, sweating under the sun, and lugging my purchases from the market. A police officer ushered me to a seat under the shade, but as I looked around to apologize to the small child who was undoubtedly removed from his/her seat on account of my presence, I was told they had been waiting and the chair was saved for me.
This week I travelled to the nearest volunteer (2.5 hours away) to help with a Youth Empowerment Day she was organizing. To arrive there, I rode two different matatus and then a bicycle taxi to arrive at the school (called a boda boda-the name comes from transporting people across the "no-mans-land" between border posts without the paperwork required with vehicles crossing the international border. "boda-boda" for "border-to-border"). It literally involves a guy pedalling on a bicycle while you sit on the back of it and enjoy the scenery. I hopped on board, and immediately after we took off the guy started panting and wheezing. I apologized for being "too heavy", but he shook his head in agreement. Before reaching our destination, I succeeded in breaking a spoke on the rear wheel, which resulted in us having to dismount and walk the rest of the way. He apologized and blamed it on the rough roads. I apologized and blamed it on the peanut butter I've been devouring. Maybe it's a combination of the two.
Last Sunday I played catch with some of the neighbor kids. I'm sure watching a grown person playing with small children rather than attending church was a sight in itself, but since I stand out enough already, I thought I'd take full advantage of this and extend my liberties to roll around the dirt with them. I taught them a hand-clapping game, and they taught me a dance. Afterwards, I made us popcorn. The oldest girl, who also appears to be the self-appointed leader of the neighborhood children, appreciated the popcorn but correctly pointed out it lacked salt. She's 8. Embarrassed, I got her the requested condiment. Sassy little thing.
As a result, additional photos have been added to the site. Enjoy!
