I am now at that point where I am smitten, completely head-over-heals in love with this mysterious and beautiful and breathless and thirsty place: Kenya.
And I am looking back in my memories of the past few months and wondering, what was the moment? What was the moment I fell in love with Kenya?
Was it that day when I was in the car on the way to Nanyuki for the very first time, when a rainbow appeared over the yellow plains?
Was it the first time I sipped that hot milky chai, poured from a thermos and combined with a diabetes-inducing amount of sugar?
Was it when I planted a tree in the rich dark soil and the women from the village surrounded me with singing?
Was it the day we found a chameleon at an old woman's house, and she would have given it to me to take home, because of how fascinating I found it?
Was it that moment as we sat underneath the shade of a tree, eating bananas and laughing at our poor attempts to speak Kikuyu?
Was it that walk on the way back from Muthaiga with the young girls, singing as we crossed the river: "Way-maker, miracle-worker, promise-keeper, light in the darkness..."?
Was it the Saturday at the hotel, watching football and drinking sodas?
Was it the day at Ol Pejeta, standing up in the car to watch the regal elephants cross the road?
Was it the moment we met Susan for the first time, that woman who has the joy and strength of a hundred women, as she takes care of street children and orphans?
Was it the time a woman said I was the first white person who had ever visited her home?
Was it Sunday morning, waking up with time to spare, and hearing, faintly, the singing from the nearby church?
Was it the day lingering in the classroom with my new friend from the village?
Was it the moment the street youths started singing "Hakuna Mungu Kama Wewe"?
Was it the time we surprised Monicah, our Kenyan mother, on her birthday?
Was it the day Florence taught us how to make chapati, together belting out "All of Me" as we became covered in flour from rolling the dough?
Was it the day riding to Nairobi, seeing the fog rise over the tea fields on the hills?
Was it the day at Wasini Island, swimming with those big flippers and that ridiculous-looking snorkel, and discovering a whole new undersea world in the reef?
Was it Christmas dinner at the hostel, people from all over the world at the table sharing fresh fish, and a Tusker to fight off the heat?
Was it each morning, walking to the gate, the little dog dutifully following us, and jumping on us, under the shade of the guava tree?
Was it that Saturday visiting the disabled children's home, when little Austin grabbed my wrist?
Was it the morning on Mount Kenya, exhausted in every part of the body but watching as the sun rose, illuminating every corner of that majestic mountain?
Was it that day, walking along the market stalls filled with fresh mangoes, cabbages, tomatoes, onions, spinach, avocados, potatoes, and more in all colours, that day when a thought just entered my head: 'I don't want to leave here. I want this to be my life.'?
Soon, my time here will only be a memory. Can I bear that? I don't know. I feel like there is still so much more to learn about this diverse land. There are so many languages I still don't know. There are so many dishes I still can't cook. I miss my Nova Scotia home, of course. Nowhere feels like home like those rugged shores. But here I am. I don't want to leave. I have visited a few places on this vast planet, but have rarely felt like this. I am preparing myself to leave a place I love, and I don't know when I can return. I know this whole post just reeks of sentimentality. But guys, our stay on Earth is short. Let's appreciate every moment. Today in church, as I listened to the wise teaching of the guest speaker, a thought occurred to me, a truth that Jesus speaks throughout the Scriptures, I think, but that I never put into words, until now. The thought is this: On my deathbed, I don't think I will be wishing that I had loved less. God has been showing me lately that though love is usually the difficult way, it is always the best way. So, though it is painful to say goodbye to this country and its residents, many of whom I can now call friends, I know that the time here and this love was worth the pain.
Well now I'm in love too! And I was thinking today that all we are really here to do is to love. It will look different in every life, and I guess that is the gravy on the top: the variety of places and people and careers and homes and churches and ways to love.
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