As the sun makes it way up, revealed are the shades of green proudly displayed from outside each of my many windows. Banana, eucalyptus, mango, papaya and avocado trees are responsible for many of these greens greeting my sleepy eyes. There is green all around me and an excitement brewing inside to explore the newness of my surroundings. I tie my running shoes tight, give a morning nod to the turkey busily searching our school yard, and head out to see just where my road can take me. Down the dusty path hugging a fairly busy road, I run. Just beyond the first turn quietly awaits the Indian Ocean, the morning light flickering in its surface, stretching deep into the distance. This is my new neighborhood. (!!!!!)
I realize the Sesame Street song “these are the people in your neighborhood” song is in my head and is looping on repeat. I do not know the words to this song, but embrace it anyway. The people in my neighborhood, I see, are also busily getting started on their Sunday. Many are working their way to church, many are sweeping the dust of their front walkways into perfectly manicured arches, others are sitting at the roadside observing, like me, the unfolding morning. One man is also out for a morning run, wearing black dress shoes and cut-off jeans. He gives me a thumbs-up. I smile and continue running.
Soon, after my shower, half papaya, and fresh coffee, I find myself on a bus heading north to a beach with other newly arrived teachers. I’m transfixed by the passing landscape and deep in thought as we drive north. I catch myself thinking of the dance classes I’d be missing in NYC and smile at the thought of all those beautiful faces. On we drive... when we reach the beach, my jet-lagged body is ready to crumble upon the warm white sand. Dhows decorate the water in the distance, waves gently wash ashore, and a band begins to play from the hotel behind us. They cheerily sing covers of Lionel Richie, Michael Bolton (yes!), Whitney Houston, tourist favorites (Jambo, jambo bwana? Habari gani? Nzuri sana...), and the much cherished song Malaika. This last song shoots memories through my body, and I fall asleep in the sand.
I have a few hours to continue sorting and organizing my apartment after returning from the beach. Frustrated with myself for neglecting to take my sandy shoes off prior to my sprint to the bathroom, I spend much of this time sweeping sand out of my apartment. My new friends pass through my place and all comment on its coziness and warmth. “Damn, you and your sister look exactly alike.” “Who is this?” (pointing to Eric Cremeans). “Oooh, I’ll have to borrow some of these books.” “Cute shoes...”
After making our rounds to one another’s apartments, we make our way to an uppity oceanfront shopping area where we may choose from a variety of restaurants. Three tables are pushed together to accommodate this massive group of wazungu, Kilimanjaro lagers dot the table, and I indulge in conversation with Nora and Cody, the sweet sweet couple from the Midwest (Nora from Minnesota, Cody from Wisconsin). They make me smile as we laugh about Dansko obsession, Mason Jenings, the UW terrace, kickball, and Brooklyn.
The energy of these people surrounding me tell me that this is going to be a truly great year.
