Adapting

I woke up this morning in my very modest Mwingi accomodations (The Mwingi Cottage Hotel – touted as the best and most expensive at Ksh1800 – just under $26) to find I’d inadvertantly partly stepped on a cockroach. Ack! At least I was wearing my slippers. Turned out I’d only stunned it – must have just stepped on an edge of it and somehow managed to make it flip over on its back. I was so glad that Diane had suggested purchasing the can of Doom (think Raid) in Nairobi before we left for the field. Rifling through my suitcase, I quickly found it and tried to remove the lid as I nervously watched the cockroach begin to slowly stretch and wiggle its legs as it tried to right itself. Damn, the lid was jammed on tight! (I later learned from my driver that the lids on these spray cans are notorious for being difficult to remove – great.) I finally got it off and sprayed the hell out of the disgusting bug. So much for “new and improved fast kill formula.” I had to spray the thing several times and finally continuously for 10 seconds before it finally died. Ugh. I hate bugs, especially roaches.

I assume that thing came up my shower drain, which happened to be, in this hotel, basically an open hole in the corner of the bathroom – no cover. Oh yes, and again, like the hotel in Nanyuki, the shower was not separated but continuous with the toilet and sink in a room. I suppose the roach could have come in through the slightly open window I couldn’t close because of the permanent but torn screens on the inside of the windows. The previous night, I’d seen a small gecko on the curtains – so much for doing his job of cleaning out my room of bugs.

Since leaving Nairobi, as I hop from place to place in the rural countryside, I can’t help but chuckle that my expectations for an adequate place to sleep are changing. Most places are on the dingy side and have plaster and paint coming off the walls, windows that don’t close properly or at all, torn mosquito nets if any, cracked tiles (if there are tiles) or unevenly painted concrete floors, old and usually weak lights, sometimes inconsistent power, sometimes lukewarm showers, etc. I’ve learned to adapt to the foam pad mattresses and flattened foam pillows or torn and worn towels as long as the place is mostly clean with clean sheets. Forget about fulfilling all the security requirements we were advised by the UN security officer – ha! I wonder if some of the doors I’ve had on my various rooms would actually be able to stand up to any true force – one looked a bit warped with the top portion “bent” or warped inward enough to see a very small crack of light at the top left corner.

Still, as bad as things may sound, my situation could be much worse. I’m actually lucky and have it pretty easy compared to my colleagues, I think. For the most part, I’ve had power, most of the lights have worked, and I’ve only had to endure one chilly shower so far (knock on wood). Every place I’ve stayed serves breakfast (usually “Spanish omelette,” toast, a small sausage that tastes more like a hotdog, some fruit [the kind with peels, of course], and milk tea – ack, I’m running low on lactaid tabs already) and provides a reasonable dinner. Thank God for my Ipod in terms of entertainment and sanity at night. Of course, I’ve had no internet access, but still, I’ve not had to duct tape my toilet together (OK, in one place I had to use a liter bottle to tediously fill up the tank so I could flush it) or see five inch long scorpions in the hallway outside my room (knock on wood – only cockroaches, locusts, and insundry other smaller bugs so far, although not really a comfort there) or feel stifled in unremitting heat (well, in Mwingi, my room was a suffocating hot box unless I turned on the “air conditioning” unit, which made such a huge racket that getting to sleep was difficult and staying asleep was a challenge) – those alternative unfortunate conditions are some of the things Diane has been dealt where she is now up in the northwest portion of the country in Turkana. (Thank God, we have cell phones to keep in touch, compare notes and advice about our work, but especially, to commiserate.) Most importantly, what has made my “safari” (Kiswahili actually for journey rather than the connotation we Westerners have attached to it) bearable and even pleasant is that just about every Kenyan I’ve met, whether through my work or in the hotels, has been gracious and friendly. Warm smiles can go a long way.