Sights, Sounds & Smells of Kisumu

On the equator, the sun is intense. I put sunscreen on each morning and always carry my sun hat. It's silly looking (check it out in the photo below on the day we summited Kilimanjaro) but keeps my head cool and the sun off my neck... The heat is unrelenting, except for around 6 or 7 a.m. The only thing worse than trying to escape the sun during the day is finding shade but still smelling fire. People burn leaves in the city and fields in the countryside. At home, work or in town, there's always smoke from a fire finding its way into our nostrils, not unlike a tolerable kind of hell... Because we're on the equator, the sun rises and sets each day of the year at approximately the same time; 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. No daylight Savings time for us. It's always summer here with exotic trees blooming in constant full color... Primary school children (the first eight years of school) learn English and the first words they learn are 'How are you?' and 'fine.' This is usually the only words young children know. So as I walk or ride my bike, there are constant 'How are you' questions coming at me; small children practicing their English. When I respond, 'Fine, how are you?' they fall apart giggling. Sometimes I begin to speak to someone and before I utter a word, they say 'Fine,' which makes me laugh... People, both children and adults, sometimes call us 'mzungu,' which means white person. Or a boda boda driver trying to sell me a ride will simply say, 'Hey, white lady, let's go.' Children in their yards will run to the gate and yell, 'mzungu,' as if they've made a brilliant discover. It's nice to be discovered and my response is a big smile along with the expected “how are you?”... Young Masai men are in town, usually working as security guards in private homes. They wear the traditional red cloth wrapped as skirts and shawls. Ian thinks they look fierce and is always pleased when they respond warmly to 'Hi.' They try not to stare at us as much as we try not to stare at them... No matter where you are, in the city or a village, in a store or a home, there is always a rooster crowing. In the middle of a meeting at work, while I read in the living room, walking into town and now while I'm typing this, a rooster is trumpeting... Early in the morning, while it's still dark, when the city is quiet and even the roosters are sleeping, the song o fthe Muezzin will float across town, from Mosque Road, over our back wall and into my bedroom window. His ancient song is soothing, though it rouses the Muslims to prayer... The only Western food available in Kisumu is at Mon Ami, a bar/restaurant in the Nakumatt 'mall' owned by an Indian family. White people frequent Mon Ami, but so do locals, to watch rugby and soccer and to dance on weekends. Ian has been warned to watch out for the 'ladies of the night' seeking money. We eat pizza, personal size. With a beer, it's almost like being home. They have hamburgers on the menu, so we'll try those next visit... Even though Kisumu has several dry cleaners, I prefer to wash my laundry by hand in a purple wash tub, using baby shampoo as detergent. I wash shirts, skirts, jeans, bed sheets and 'delicates.' Before, I was careful to keep my bras and panties out of sight while they dried. Now, I pin them on the line with everything else. In the heat, even the thickest jeans dry in two hours; so it doesn't really matter if the clothes are wrung out completely or not... People sweep their yards every morning and evening, piling up leaves and seeds. But push brooms are uncommon. Instead, they use a bundle of sticks tied together. These are handmade and can be bought at street markets and department stores. Paul sweeps daily, bending low to pull the branches across the drive. It must take 3,455,698 swings of his small arm to clear the yard... Each morning at TICH, another Paul, a grown Paul, mops the painted cement floors of the school. He mops inside and out, although 'inside' is practically 'outside' here with windows being open and walls not reaching all the way to the ceiling and doors not having seals. The crimson cement floors shine with Paul's mopping. His swish, swishing in the bright morning sun is reassuring. We have the same floors, the same color, in our home. I mop the dusty surface with a 'pot pourri' scented disinfectant. Not only do they shine, they smell good, too... Merchants in street stalls beckon us with 'Karibu, please come closer and look for a long time.' They repeat themselves and block our way, doing everything except physically grabbing and pulling us to their stall. 'We live here,' Ian and I say. 'We'll be back.' And they always, always, always say, 'When? Tomorrow?'