The dog’s call to prayer

I left for Mombasa on May 30^th, exactly five years after I left for my trip to the DRC. Before my trip to DRC, I remember feeling afraid and anxious: excited to share stories when I returned, but worried I would not come back. Now, I realize how exaggerated my emotions were before my first trip. But what can I say? It was my first time away from the reach of my parents, my first time living in a foreign country, and my first time being in a war zone. My departure for Mombasa was filled with different emotions: I am grateful that I was afforded the opportunity to study Kiswahili, to venture to Gulu for a research internship, and to explore potential topics for my dissertation. I am no longer afraid. If I have learned anything from my mistakes over the last few years, it’s to listen to my gut (and to my heart). If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.

I am anxious this time around, but for different reasons: I am away from a family that has finally come to terms with the fact that I’m not meant to be a country girl, and that my dreams take me far from home; I am away from a wonderful man, who makes me so happy that I am grinning ear to ear as I write this sentence; and I am also away from many wonderful friends, ones who supported me before, during, and after my trip to the DRC, and ones who I have only recently met. As Sarah reminds me the one day a year we see each other, “True friends are those who you haven’t seen for years, and when you finally meet, you pick up where you left off, as if no time was lost.” #magical

Since my last trip, I have been preparing myself for this one: academically and emotionally. To borrow from a professor’s phrase: “You need to fill your toolbox with all of the skills you have, and continue to add to that toolbox.” I know Betsy was referring to my academic research toolbox, but I think the lesson can be applied elsewhere. Not coincidentally, I am increasingly surrounded by amazing people who have taught me how to be brave when I am scared shitless, to be honest even when it hurts, and to be grateful for everything. I am continually surprised by how incredible my friends and family are; and they constantly challenge me to better myself (even if they are unaware). Don’t get me wrong, I do my fair share of bitching, but almost all of my worries are entirely superficial. My immediate world is not threatened by anything of significant magnitude, so I am forced to complain about superfluous shit. My apologies to those who have to listen J

After two night of sleeping in airport terminals, I arrived in Mombasa. Nearly delirious from sleep exhaustion, I went straight to my apartment to sleep … for 15 hours! I woke up the next morning, to the call for prayer. The dogs and cats were howling in harmony, as if they too were praying to the gods. I walked along the streets in Old Town on Mombasa Island, dodging the tuktuks (auto rickshaws), listening to children running and laughing on their way to school, and watching women walk through the winding and narrow alleys selling fruit. I am sitting in the dining room of my apartment (which is the color of a crème de menthe milkshake, the same as Emily and Kelly’s apartment last year), finishing my last paper of the quarter and drinking a “delicious” cup of Nescafé. Oh how I “missed” Nescafé …