So, yeah, I was all about the boda-bodas, but as we got walking, we didn’t see any of them milling about. We did happen upon a poor guy driving a three-wheeled taxi… thing. I really can’t describe it adequately. No words can do it justice. I think it’s probably a scooter-type thing with a seat built on the back and covered in a rickety frame with canvas strapped over it. Whatever, just know it was an incredible experience. We were bouncing all around in the thing, sticking our heads out of the canvas window cover things and howling as our poor bottoms were jolted with every bump. I’ll send the video home sometime soon, if I can. It’s great. Perhaps then you can appreciate more fully the greatness of this ride into town. I think the driver got annoyed with us, but I’m sure that was neither the first nor last time that will happen. (Whoops.)
I did get my boda-boda experience on the way back from town. It was so cool, just riding along and looking at the countryside. Sure, there was some squealing as the guys nonchalantly took us through the busiest roundabout in town or as giant buses full of African’s screaming “wzungu!!!!!!” roared past, just inches from my elbows. But, still… so great.
You can probably tell I’m still in the very “romantic” stage of my cultural transition here, so I look at everything with eyes of wonder and am still very open to trying (and yea even eating) new things.
I’m sure I’ll soon hit the next stage of adjustment, as I’ll probably cocoon back into any little Western thing I can find. We did some of that today, actually, as we raided the Naivasha (grocery/stuff store) for chocolate and biscuits (aka: cookies). I got so excited at seeing a KitKat, I bought three. And that was on top of four Cadbury bars. Yeah, I won’t lie: It was a bit of a buying frenzy. It was Craig, Kim and I—there was no calming force, just two hungry Americans and an impressionable (and equally famished) Aussie.
It’s a little strange, being a minority. It’s more of an issue here in Machakos, as it’s very rare to see one of us wzungus on the street. There are times when I’m more aware of my skin color than I’ve ever been! I wish I could say I understand some of the discrimination people go through here in the States, but, really, being white in Africa sets you apart in a different way. More than anything, it means you have money—money you can give them. (Apparently they didn’t get the memo on my being broke.)
No comments:
Post a Comment