The Diary of a Kenyan Village girl in Europe…
Jo napot, greetings from the land of cayenne pepper!
Yes, so far I know ten Hungarian words. So, let me continue with my story of how this village girl arrived at the airport of this far away land.
After my arrival, I was shown the bus to my city, and outbound I went. Two and half hours later I reach my destination. Being the village girl that I am, I had luggage that would put the pastoralists to shame. My mother could hear nothing of not giving her only daughter enough food to feed an army for a year. I mean, how can she go hungry in Hungary if she ran out of food?
My loving mother packed neatly everything Laikipia has to offer in terms of food and covered it with a white kitambaa on top.
My friends had helped with the luggage in the capital, but now I find myself alone, with no English speaker near me. In the first place, I think the bus is alighted from the same door I got in through. Turns out, there are other doors to use for exit.
Well, this is when being black is useful, since you don’t have to explain why you don’t know where the exit is. Anyhow, the driver is kind enough to show me how to get out and he comes to take my luggage out.
I am now left literally alone in a bus park that looks like nothing I have ever experienced. Am looking right and left for the bebabeba guy that I’m used to at tea room on the rare occasions I find myself in Nyairofi. Lakini wapi, nothing like that happens here. I remember am a granddaughter of a freedom fighter and if she defeated the Nyakiero, what do I have to fear?
I drag my bags like the Gikuyu woman I am and reach the taxi bay. I have sort of mastered the art of speaking in sign language by now. I show him the name of my dorm and off we go.
On reaching the dorm, the real drama unfolds. What they call a dorm here versus what we had at Kenya Science are like night and day. I flatly refuse to get out of the car! I try to explain I need to go to the dorm, not a hotel, he shows me the name on my picture and the name on the wall.
I still refuse to get out. Luckily, a student helps in the impasse and I get off after having to pay by reading a metre on his dashboard. At least I have watched American feel good movies to know the taxi metre. I get in, start the check in process, and am shown my assigned room.
This is where my ancestors start speaking in Hungarian! Right opposite my room are six boys! Since when did girls and boys share a dorm, leave alone a floor? I try to find out where the girls’ dorm is, and am told we all live on the same floor, use the same kitchen and chill out at the common room.
That’s when I know for real, am in the land of pepper. All the stories of how I can get pregnant by shaking hands with a boy flood my mind and I start getting ready for the protruding tummy.
Well, it’s been ten months now, and no increase in girth in the mid-section has been witnessed. I guess my ancestors must be working overtime.