good morning

its morning, my third morning in nairobi. i have learned to wake up with the sun here. and the morning has become my time to write, to try and press something on paper as beautiful as the kenyan sun that woke me up and the land i'm hovering over at the top floor of this apartment building. i spend a lot of time at the window, watching kids play, people roam about, women cook and hang their clothes and rugs to dry on clotheslines. kenyan women are beautiful. the people here are loving, happy, at your service. there is a maid that comes here every morning. she does the laundry, cleans the bathrooms, does the dishes, sweeps the floor with her back nearly bent in two. our driver, every restaurant server, every gate keeper is a native kenyan. when i am here i feel like i have intruded on their country. that i am a trespasser on someone's property. that people like me have turned this country in on itself, and now its natives have learned to cater to everyone but their own people. i don't like being a trespasser. but when i watch from the window i feel that i could only ever be a watcher. i could never be a true kenyan, i could never see true nairobi. the life i was born into will always keep me inches away -a safe distance away- from the truth of this country.

i don't want that. i don't want to always be a watcher. i don't want to be a product of the life i was born into. i will choose the life i live. and this new one will not separate me from this country. i will not turn this country in on itself. i will reach the heart of the matter. somehow, i am bound to find it.