It’s sad times here in Nairobi, as we say goodbye to our good friends, fellow VSOs and South B neighbours Eddie and Allys, who head back to the UK this week at the end of their VSO placements. Perhaps inevitably, talking with them about their future plans, going to their leaving party and helping with their packing has left Helen and I feeling a bit like we are leaving Kenya as well.
There are other reasons why we’re feeling like our year here is nearly over. We’ve had to give the obligatory notice to our tenants to move out of our flat in St.Albans. We’ve made plans with Helen’s brother to see him in Dubai on our way home – which has necessitated arranging our flights from Nairobi. And we’ve been hesitantly starting to think about trying to figure out our first few weeks back in the UK – moving back into our flat versus London Olympics versus finding meaningful employment! It’s all feeling very real and very soon, all of a sudden.
It’s also because of a more gradual process that many of our VSO friends will recognise. Time seems to move faster and faster as our year has progressed. And it’s in the nature of the VSO thing that you have a constant stream of “hellos” and “goodbyes”. VSO has three ‘intakes’ of new volunteers each year, so we’ve already welcomed two new groups of volunteers since we arrived, and said goodbye to two departing groups as well. Welcoming new people means that you feel like ‘an old hand’ far quicker than you expect to. It feels like no time at all since we arrived, bleary-eyed and confused, at the airport in Nairobi. And yet we’ve given presentations to ‘newbies’ about our experiences and advice for them; and we’ve led tours of Nairobi city centre to help orientate nervous people who, only a few short months before, were us.
It leaves me with a whole mess of emotions and thoughts. Part of my brain has leapt forwards to July and is already on the plane, excited about seeing people we’ve missed, thrilled by the idea of eating 12 months-worth of high quality cheese that we’ve yearned for, worried about finding a job. At the same time, I’m terrified at how little time I have left in my placement at Special Education Professionals, and worried that I haven’t, and won’t, have done enough for them. Then there’s the feeling that I’m kind of exhausted by the continuing ‘newness’ of this life we’re leading. The daily challenges of making oneself understood in an alien country. The endless effort required to try to be ‘Kenyan’, to try to fit into the crowd when, for a million different reasons, you can’t. Sometimes, I can feel my ‘flexibility and adaptability’ draining out of my toes. I’m sick of being hassled just for being white. I’m fed up of Nairobi traffic. I’m done with a country that just seems incapable of playing music at a reasonable volume. And sometimes, I don’t feel like I have the energy to meet another new person, to make another friend who we’ll leave behind in a few months. And then, just as often, I feel sad that this amazing adventure is nearly at an end.
And then, Helen gives me a slap. Ok, not really, but she tells me to stop being such an over-thinking, intense, worrisome person. We remind each other that it aint over yet, that we’re still in the middle of this utterly unique year of our lives, and we need to squeeze every last drop out of it. There’ll be plenty of time for vexing later. Right now, we have things to do. We still need to push things forwards at work, determined to leave behind some small changes, tiny improvements, baby steps of progress. We have new parts of Kenya to see. We have friendships to consolidate, and new, awesome people to meet. We still need to become fluent in Swahili (it’s starting to seem unlikely), and learn to make chapatti. We still need to keep blogging about stuff that fascinates us.
Helen loves her quotes from The West Wing, and this week’s favourite is:
“Let’s leave it all out on the field, old friend.”
I don’t know who she’s calling old.
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