Here, the sun burns through the tender grass and turns it to rust, the earth red.  The Rift valley is dry, so dry I have never seen a fog roll out in the morning and hang over the top of the mountains like a thick robe, but beneath the surface I can almost hear ribbons of water flowing down volcanic rock and heading to Egypt.  There is no open sea, so whatever moisture plants gather from rainfall leaves them bloated in the morning, but dry by noon.

At 3pm the rains come for about thirty minutes.  Everyone goes abut their business, getting soaked, walking in the rain, not bothering to cover themselves for they know they will not hold the moisture for long.  In a few hours everything will be dry again.  Rain water is caught, for water is so precious here.  I only take sips of bottled water throughout the day, not knowing if I will have enough to last.  Not having access to water makes me anxious.  I hate the feeling of being dry and parched from the mountainous air.  I’m never satisfied by my small sips and I marvel at how little water Kenyan people drink. Sr. Freda tells me they are used to it, but that I must keep hydrating myself or I will become dehydrated very quickly.

I am relaxed today and I think it is because I am always in real time.  There is  no way I can walk into my cottage after working with the children at the school all day and immediately get pulled into e-mail, phone messages, TV or radio news or a Netflix movie.  It is one of the things I’m enjoying most. When I’m home, my need and ability to delay escaping into a movie or getting on the computer is weakened. Easy escape is so difficult to give up.  When I return home I promise myself I’ll try to turn more to the pleasures of dancing, music, writing, reading, swimming, walking, sense and sensuality, instead of  Corporate  escapism.