"This is Not Good..."

I suppose this statement could be made about many of the quirky little things I'm discovering in and about Nairobi lately.  For instance...

• I brought my British hair dryer with me, thinking I'd finally make use of it again. Umm...think again.  Turns out that even though the plugs/outlets are the same, the voltage is decidedly NOT the same.  It worked for a week and then made the most pathetic sound you've ever heard before going completely dead.  Not good.
• I forgot my hairbrush.  Genius move.  No worries, though, right?  Just go get a new one.  Not as easy as you might think.  It took me 5 stores to find a brush.  FIVE.  Seriously, Kenya?  (And don't tell me it's because there are no white people with brush-able hair here.  The UN alone has 15,000 employees here.  There are PLENTY of white people...)
• Aaron was making fun of me the other day because I'd yet to take advantage of the gym classes taking place about 20 steps from the door of my apartment.  Nevermind the fact that this is all his fault because I usually get home from work too late to make them, but whatever...  So anyway, last Thursday, I made a point to get home in time to go to spinning.  I'm very picky about my spinning teachers, but I was determined to try it.  I rushed home, changed as fast as I could, and scrambled down to the gym to grab a bike before the class filled up.  Well...no need to panic, apparently, since I arrived to find a dark, empty room.  I went back to the front desk to see if I had an old schedule, and the (very unfriendly) girl grumbled something unintelligible, walked upstairs (I assumed I was supposed to follow her?), and handed me off to a guy who looked like Mr. T.  Mr. T then pointed, muttered something equally unintelligible, walked me over to a treadmill, and pointed again.  "What are we doing?" I asked.  "I thought we were going to spinning class."  "There is no one," he said and pointed at the treadmill again.  "Umm...ok.  Well, I don't have my knee thing, so I don't want to run on the treadmill.  I can do this by myself anyway.  Thanks."  So I spent an hour on the elliptical machine instead...while Mr. T glared at me in the mirror and attempted to fold his steroid arms across his chest.  So much for taking advantage of the classes at the gym.  And thumbs down to the duo of rude people who work there.  
• Something else I figured out on my maiden voyage at the gym: elevation in Nairobi?  NOT A JOKE.  Here I am, elliptical-ing along, thinking, "Geez, I know I've been slacking lately, but should this really be that difficult?  I just ran the Peachtree a month ago!"  Then I go back home, Google the elevation of Nairobi and learn that it's actually farther above sea-level than Denver is.  Fun times.  So high-altitude training it is!
• Sometimes, you may or may not find yourself in a situation where you've walked into one of "those bathrooms."  Some of the public bathrooms here don't have toilet paper dispensers in the individual stalls, but rather one dispenser on the wall (near the hand dryer) for the whole bathroom, where you're meant to pull the pieces as your turn comes up.  Not a bad idea, really.  Probably less paper going to waste this way, and I'm sure the person in charge of maintaining said bathroom appreciates not having to refill multiple containers, but...say you're me, and you're not aware of this rule?  You're just thankful that you keep a pack of Kleenex in your purse...  So if you're reading this and you ever visit Africa, you can't say you weren't warned!

None of these things are good.  It's true.  But the title quote comes from a funny/slightly unnerving incident that occurred on my way to work the other day.  It could have been far worse...but it wasn't, which is why I can tell you about it now and laugh. 

So, my very lovable driver, John, comes and picks me up every morning for work.  The other day, we were sitting in the car at about 8:30 am, waiting in traffic, when we got up to the always-problematic roundabout by my street and he saw something that bothered him. 

"This is not good," he said.  "This is really not good."

"What's not good?"

"See those guys?" 

He pointed to a bunch of guys dressed in fatigues holding big machine guns, walking all around, in between cars, in the middle of the road, etc.  The closest one was right outside our window.

"Yeah?"

"Those are cops.  They must be looking for someone.  I don't know if it is a robber or what, but they can shoot at anytime.  This is really not good.  The problem is, the bullet does not know that you are not the bad guy.  And the other problem is that they are not always a good shot.  So that is not good.  This is just not good at all.  This is really not good."

"Umm, ok.  So what do we do now?" 

Traffic was basically at a stand-still at this point, because the gun guys were blocking all of the traffic with all of their walking and gun-waving, and no one could go anywhere.  People were also, of course, stopping and staring in all of the parking lots and sidewalks, which wasn't helping anything.

"Well, I will get us out of here as fast as I can, but traffic is bad, so hopefully we'll get out of here before anything happens.  But if not, if they start shooting, our other choice is to lie down very flat.  Just lie down very flat and cover up our heads."

Those were my orders.  Lie down very flat and cover my head, tornado-drill-style...except I didn't have a big school book.  All I had was my Kindle.  Why are these things so small??

Well luckily, it didn't come to that.  No shooting, no street fights, not even any loud cop-yelling.  And still no idea of whether or not my Kindle is bullet-proof.

Now, you should know that I usually don't re-tell these kinds of stories until much further down the road, to keep people (i.e., my mom) from worrying, but I found John's very quiet, calmly panicked reaction to be too funny not to share.  "This is not good."  Ha.  Touche, my friend!

At any rate, potential near-death experience and all, I'm happy to report that things are actually pretty good here in Kenya.  We have a holiday tomorrow (they have a public Kenyan holiday celebrating Idd-Ul-Fitr, the end of Ramadan), so we're going hiking in the Great Rift Valley.  Hooray for mid-week getaways!

Born to be Wild -- and a familiar face from home!

Oh man, you guys.  I really don't even know where to start with this one.  And I definitely don't know where to begin with choosing from the zillions of pictures I couldn't stop taking!  Apologies in advance for the photo overkill...but I hope you love them as much as I do.

When I look back on this experience, I'd imagine that last Thursday will go down as one of my most favorite days in Kenya. Because Aaron had a super long morning meeting and an afternoon baby doctor appointment to go to, we (my DC colleague, Brett, and I) got to play hooky from work and spent the day checking out a couple of the local animal rescue/rehabilitation facilities.  Obviously Kenya is world-renowned for its wildlife, so Nairobi is home to several organizations who rescue injured or orphaned animals in the wild who would otherwise likely fall victim to predators, drought, or poachers.  The mission of these organizations is generally to care for these animals for as long as is necessary and to give them the skills to eventually be transitioned and released back out into protected national parks so that they can join a herd and live freely in the wild.  If only I had my life to live over again, I like to think that I'd work in one of these places.  Quite possibly the coolest job I could ever imagine...

First up was the David Sheldrick Elephant & Rhino Orphanage, named for the founding warden of Tsavo East National Park and run by his extraordinary widow and a very skilled bunch of uber-dedicated elephant keepers. The center has been around for over 30 years and has successfully rescued and hand-raised over 60 orphaned elephants, each with its own sad story.  Every baby is given a name based on where it was found or the tribal connections within that region. Evidently, elephants are very emotionally sensitive and social animals, so their keepers rotate to stay with them day and night (even to sleep), essentially replacing their lost elephant families.  Since infant elephants are milk-dependant for the first 3 years of their lives, many of the orphanage's babies drink specially formulated milk (derived from powdered baby formula flown in from England in giant sacks) in huge baby bottles.  SO hilarious.  There is no set time-table for when the babies are to be eventually transitioned back into the wild, as every elephant personality is different, so each baby is allowed to develop and exercise its independence at his or her own pace.  This is a process that, depending on the elephant, can take up to 10 years...and even after that, the keepers had several amazing stories of former nursery babies returning to visit their human family members in the parks to have poacher's snares or poison arrows removed, injuries examined, or to introduce them to their own new elephant babies to whom they've given birth in the wild.

Baby Elephant Parade - just like The Jungle Book!

Water Cooler Gossip...

Lunchtime!

Elephant Baby Bottles -- 6 pints each!

I think this little guy has spent some time in
Athens -- he chugged his milk in about 5 seconds!

The tiniest baby was very, umm, spirited and got her share of gentle
talking-tos about "being nice" and "waiting your turn"

...but she also got plenty of love and snuggles

...from both the humans AND the other
elephants.  LOVE.

Still hungry, apparently...

Training for the next World Cup...

His actual words (they speak to them in plain conversational English)
were: "Look guys!  Look at the..."

Warthog!

The work that this place does is so touching, I can't decide whether it makes me laugh or cry.  Both, really.  I was just relieved to make it out of there without letting an actual tear roll down my face.  Can't say the same for this movie trailer, though, which came out last spring.  I was so stoked when I found out one of the movie's featured orphanges was here! (The orangutan place is in Borneo, Indonesia -- also too adorable for words).  My sister and I have watched this video an inordinate number of times, and happy tears may or may not have sneaked out a time or ten.  Surely this isn't because I'm overly sappy; I blame Morgan Freeman and that gets-ya-every-time narration voice of his.  Seriously, watch it.  Definitely worth your 2 minutes.  If you disagree, I don't think we can be friends anymore...

 

 

So anyway, now that my life feels totally incomplete because I'm not a keeper at the elephant orphanage, I can tell you about the oh-so-creatively-named Giraffe Centre.  This center (complete with Giraffe Manor, a boutique hotel where the giraffes can poke their heads into breakfast...or your bedroom window!) makes its mission protecting and educating the public on the plight of the Rothschild Giraffe, an endangered species whose population numbers were at one point down to 120 (now happily up to about 500).  This place is also very cool, in that you get to feed and pet the giraffes as they walk right up to you, but if I'm being honest, not near as heart-strings-tugging as the elephant orphanage.  Definitely closer than you're likely to ever get to a giraffe anywhere else in your life, though.  And I do mean that!  See the last photo below for evidence...  

The little one on the left is only a month old!

Just in case I was ever worried about my Bucket List being
incomplete, I can go ahead and cross off "kissed by a giraffe."

In addition to the animals we saw on purpose, we also encountered a few bonus animals on our Day O' Wildlife...

As we were driving down the road to the elephant orphanage, what
our driver called "the biggest group of baboons
he'd ever seen" (probably 45 of them) came pouring out of the woods
and ran alongside the car!

Stare-down...

!

Baby Baboon Piggy-back Rides!

Herds of cows randomly walking down the side of the road...

How weird & sad do skinny cows look?  Perhaps they should re-think the name of that ice cream...

Also in keeping with today's animal theme, I should mention that Aaron and Kaarli decided to give their parenting skills a little test run before Baby Boy Sundsmo arrives in a few weeks and, last weekend, bought two tortoises from some dude off the side of the road.  This, of course, is a totally normal thing to do around here.  I, as the backseat passenger on this particular day, was assigned to be the keeper of the turtles as we drove home.  I'm not exactly sure how well I did my job, but they were still alive when we got home, so at least there's that.  Since then, however, it seems something has gone awry, and they've evidently been spending their days doing everything they possibly can to escape from the yard!  The turtles may not be thrilled about their new living situation, but the guards are reportedly enjoying the new residents very much, as they now have a fun game to occupy their time during the day: keeping tabs on the runaway turtles, now affectionately known as Thelma and Louise.

The bandit tortoise duo & the salad that Aaron tried (unsuccessfully) to feed them

Now for the familiar face from home!  Yesterday, I excitedly mentioned that Emily was going to be here, and I know that many of you were probably thinking, "Who's Emily?"  Emily is my baby sister's best friend from high school.  I cheered as they played years of softball together, they never cringed when I was "that big sister" who brought them Chick-fil-a for lunch at school on my way to the airport, they've held countless sleepovers at each other's houses (plenty of which I have happily participated in -- especially the ones which included chocolate-covered strawberries and Emily's mom's famous back-scratches!), and they've melted so far into each other's families that it's hard to tell where one stops and the other begins.  Our parents are friends.  The jokes about my sister marrying Emily's little brother are numerous...and slightly creepy.  Emily's awesome aunt and uncle hosted Anna and I on part of her spring break in NYC a couple of years ago (thaaaat's right; I still go on spring break).  They loved us so much that they've now moved down to Atlanta to join the rest of the circus.  It's just that kind of family.  

Em & Faith, Nairobi-style  :)

So Emily is in her 8th month of a year-long mission trip called The World Race, where the teams spend each month in a different country doing different projects.  Her squad has so far been through the Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Peru, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Thailand, Kenya, and Uganda.  Next month, they're off to Tanzania (where I hope to go visit them, if our schedules work out), then Laos and Cambodia, then home again!  They never quite know what they're going to be doing until they get there (and even then, maybe not, it seems!), but life is never dull for this group, that much is certain.  For all of you blog-reading fiends, Emily is a crazy-good writer with some stories to tell, so if you want something interesting to read and/or some good kids to keep in your prayers, add her blog to your list.  

Our days didn't consist of much -- a walk to the mall, lunch and milkshakes, grocery store, sitting around the living room, Skype dates with our families, nail painting, cookies and Nutella -- but I think it was a good break for Emily and her teammates to just sit and hang out for a bit.  Hoping for the chance to catch up with them again in Tanzania, but if not, at least we both got a little glimpse of home right here in Kenya.  Who'd have ever thought...  

So glad to see you here, Em, and I am so proud of you -- can't wait to see what big, brave things you do next! 

Emily and 2 of her World Race teammates, Tiffany (L) and Joy (R)

Kenya Dig It?

Well, I don't know if the new digs will be gracing the pages of Southern Living anytime soon or anything, but I will say that they're better (and bigger) than I'd expected...

Kidding.  This is Aaron and Kaarli's house.  Pretty sweet, eh?  Guess being an ex-pat in Kenya for 5+ years has its perks.  I'm also told that you can (and are almost expected to, or it's considered insulting because you're "not employing Kenyans") get a live-in nanny for around $400 US/month and a full-time housekeeper/cook for about half that.  I'm sorry...WHAT?

All's not storybook-perfect though.  You still have to have guards, a gate at your driveway, bars on your windows, a mandatory panic room in every house, and this cozy stuff...

So, now that I've successfully set you all up for utter disappointment...I give you my humble abode:

Living room & dining table nook, from whence I
usually compose this masterpiece -- Note the rockin
Masai painting thing I got the other day!

Kitchen -- And yes, those are 2 giant water bottles next to
the sink; you can't drink the tap water here, so I generally go through
about one of these a day.  Not counting the water cooler
water I drink at work.  Is this normal?

Bedroom -- Yes, that is a mosquito net; no, it's not necessary in the city.

Closets -- Two of them!!

Bathroom -- Nothing terribly interesting to report here, except...

Who knew they had rain showers in Kenya??

My building also houses what Aaron exclaimed on our tour must be "the biggest gym in Nairobi!," so I suppose I'm pretty lucky in that regard.  They teach spinning, yoga, bootcamp, & core/stability classes every day, so if I can just escape from the office in time to get there, I'll be a happy girl!  Of course they also have all of the normal cardio/weights equipment, so...I basically have no excuse but to come home skinnier and more toned.  Crap...forget I mentioned any of this.  The bonus: the gym also has a spa part, where a massage costs a whopping $14-ish US.  This is exceptionally good news for me, since I had to cancel 3 months worth of massage appointments just before coming here.  Waaaaaaaaaa!

Big news tomorrow...Kenyan animal encounter(s) #1, plus Emily's here!  WIN!!

Planes, Trains, & Automobiles -- only without the Trains...

So, you know those days that just never seem to end?  Well, a little word to the wise for the geniuses in charge of Delta and KLM's flight schedules: that's what you're creating for people when you have US > Europe flight routes that leave in the middle of the day.  No bueno, guys...

When I lived in London, my flights always left Atlanta somewhere around 10 pm and arrived at, say 8 am.  Sure you were sleepy when you got there, but at least you were kind of ready to go to sleep decently soon after you took off.  My flight to Amsterdam this past week left Atlanta at 5:30 pm (clearly nowhere near bedtime), so regardless of the fact that the flight was about 9 hrs long, I didn't sleep a wink.  I did, however, enjoy my 3 movies far more than I usually dig plane movies.  Rio was super cute, The Lincoln Lawyer was far better than I'd have ever expected out of Matthew McConaughey these days, and Country Strong was pretty good...although Gwyneth was a total mess, Tim was the opposite of someone I ever hope to be married to, and someone could've warned me about the end!

Anyway, we landed at Schipol around 8 am Netherlands time, so roughly 2 am, according to my brain.  AKA, the middle of the night.  3 hrs of attempted layover naptime-in-an-airport-chair later and we were off to Nairobi.  

FYI, if you must, I highly recommend this method of attempting to sleep in the airport!  Snag the seat on the
end, with the little table -- no arm rests between chairs to keep you from stretching out, somewhere to
stash your roller-board, and if you're a munchkin like me, you can almost actually curl up on your side and
sleep quasi-normally...if, of course, you're able to ignore the elephant herds of loud people who don't care
that you're so obviously trying to sleep.  Even if you strategically place yourself in a deserted corner, have
your eye mask on and ear plugs in, and continue to shoot them evil looks as they let their 6 children run
around like wild donkeys at what amounts to 4:00 in the morning.  So rude.
 (Shout out to you, Julie :)

Our plane was late arriving to Amsterdam and delayed in taking off, so despite making up a decent amount of time en route, we got in about 45 minutes late, and by the time we got out into the bustling airport, the immigration line was moving at a snail's pace.  I mean watching-paint-dry slow.  I could see the desk with the guys at it from where I was standing at the back of the line (could NOT have been 50 feet away), but for whatever reason, it took over an hour and a half to get up to where it was your turn...which, for the record, took less than 2 minutes.  If everyone's turn was that fast, I have no idea what the holdup was.  Not all was lost, though.  I had ample time to make a line friend: a French PhD student who's been living here for a couple of years studying "art geography" (??) and seems like a perfectly fun/normal person who knows the city & surrounding areas well enough to show us newbies around.  We switched emails, and I figure I probably need to start collecting new friends for when Aaron and Kaarli's baby is born and they're too busy to play anymore.  (sad face)   

So after escaping from the uber slow immigration line and going through customs, I snagged my bags and went outside to say a prayer of thanks to the heavens above.  If you know anything about my last trip to Africa via Amsterdam, you'll understand why.**  I found the sign with my name on it amidst the sea of poster-wiedling drivers, and John and I made our way out into the surprisingly chilly Nairobi night.  He parked me and my bags at one end of the sidewalk and told me to wait there, that he was going to go get the car.  10, 15, 20 minutes went by, and he still wasn't back yet.  My French line friend came by while I was waiting and wanted to know if I was ok, did I want him to stand with me while I waited.  I told him I was ok, and right about that time was when John came back with the news that his car had been towed.  Naturally, right?  Apparently they're doing all sorts of construction around the Nairobi airport which essentially forces everyone to park illegally.  I'm sure the fact that my flight was an hour late, plus the absurdly long immigration line didn't help matters either.  I hope he wasn't waiting there all that time!  He called another driver to come get me and headed off to the police station to go fetch his car.  How badly did I feel right about then??  I was too tired to really comprehend what was happening at that point, but...not good, I can tell you that.  And he was so apologetic that it made it even worse...

So I finally arrived at my new apartment building around midnight on Friday night, right at 24 hrs after my flight left Atlanta.  I was running on fumes but made it in one piece...and with all of my stuff, which is more than can be said for some trips!  I got my keys, came upstairs, went to get my toothbrush and facewash...and proceeded to spend the better part of the next 2 hrs unpacking.  I think I have serious issues when it comes to organization and having, as they say, "a place for everything and everything in its place."  Don't ask me why I couldn't just crash and deal with it the next day.  I'm sure Dr. Freud would have a diagnosis for you...

Will carry on tomorrow with pictures of the new digs, etc., but for now, since I'm getting yelled at, let me go ahead and pass on my new local contact info, for those who have asked:

Email: flberrier@gmail.com

Skype name: flberrier

Kenyan cell #: +254 710 822 495

Google Voice #: 404. 919.2644  (You dial this like any other phone number, and it rings to my computer; if I'm not there, you can leave a voicemail, and it transcribes it and emails it to me.  It's pretty rockin, although my internet can be pretty suspect at times, so calls can get spotty, as can my Skype.  Apologies in advance.  I blame Africa...although somehow I'm sure this is all the University of Florida's fault.

I also have a mailing address, an apartment phone # and an office phone #, but I know none of these things at present. I can find out if you'd like, but...I don't expect that anyone is going to be dropping in to see me or calling me during my working hours, which end around noon for you guys :)

**Backstory to The South African Luggage Fiasco of 2009: Despite my pleas to just take the direct flight and get it over with, I was outnumbered by my 2 nonsensical co-workers who decided they'd "want to stretch their legs" on a layover, so we flew from Atlanta to Johannesburg, South Africa via Amsterdam.  I think this is a stupid plan for several reasons, primarily because, given a choice, the last thing you want to do once you get off of a 9 hr flight is sit in an airport for a few hrs and then get on another flight that's just as long, if not longer.  SO DUMB.  But I digress...  Anyway, after a full 24 + hrs of flying, we get to South Africa and wait by the carousel for our baggage.  And wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And whose bag never shows?  MINE.  The one who didn't want to take the stupid connecting flight to begin with.  Turns out it made it to Amsterdam but didn't get put on the plane to Jo'burg.  Awesome.  So they tell me they'll call me when they have it.  I spend the next TWO WEEKS waiting for my bag, calling them and harassing them every day, and all they would say to appease me was, "Sorry, this is Africa."  Are you kidding me?  What does that even mean?  Mind you, this entire time, all I have to wear (to work!) is what's in my carry-on.  AKA, the lightest stuff I packed:  yoga clothes, running clothes, PJs, one pathetic black skirt (which I washed in the sink multiple times), and a ridiculously big pile of underwear, thank God.  I always knew there was a reason I'm such a compulsive underwear overpacker.  We'd try to scramble to the mall at the end of every work day that my bag didn't show, but things close so early there that we'd rarely make it in time (basically, nothing there stays open past dark due to crime).  As you can tell, it's been 2 years, and I'm still holding onto a wee bit of hostility regarding this incident.  Whatever.  I told them we should've taken the direct flight.  And I hate KLM.  Royal Dutch Airline, my ass  :P

How to pack your puppy -- and 2 months worth of shoes!

I'd forgotten how difficult it is to pack for being out of the country for months on end.  White Girl Problems, I realize, but it's hard work having to effectively plan out being gone until, at a minimum, the middle of October with no switch-outs to my (or my sister's) closet, no CVS down the street, and no Ann Taylor Loft to keep me company when I'm bored with my closet, or having a fat day, or simply having to use the 40% off coupon that showed up in my email.

Throw in the change of seasons that's happening while I'm gone (it's "winter" going into spring right now...and by that, I mean, it was probably 78 today and 60 tonight), and I had no idea what to pack.  Couple this conundrum with a personality already prone to, umm, preparedness (AKA overpacking), and it makes for quite the challenge.  So I sent in for reinforcements...

Some of you have not been properly introduced to my little stowaway yet...and unfortunately, that's not going to change today.  Why, you ask?  Because the poor precious boy has been in our lives for almost a month now and STILL doesn't have a name!  The darling little thing is actually now responding to "Puppy."  Not good, people.  We've tossed around all kinds of ideas that we thought we liked at one point or another, but there's always someone who objects (i.e., no, Mom, we are NOT naming him after a Harry Potter character), or a name that's ok but doesn't floor people.  At this point, I'm not sure anything is ever going to meet the apparently sky-high expectations we've set for naming this little fella, but...any suggestions are welcome!

(For those who are acquainted with all of the canine creatures in my house and are wondering where Gracie was during all of the packing fun, see below.  She was sulking downstairs, because by now, I think she knows what it means when I drag the big grey suitcases out.  Poor girl and her sad, sad face...)

In case you're incredibly observant and are wondering why I have a pair of giant purple wiffle ball bats in my packing pile...there is a reason, and it's not because I'm a completely ridiculous person.  It's because my co-worker is.  Before I left, I asked Aaron, the guy who runs our Kenya office, if there was anything that he and/or his wife wanted me to bring them from home, thinking that he'd likely ask for something along the lines of Oreo cookies & Reese's Cups (his wife is 8 months pregnant).  Oh contraire.  Not ultra-competitive (and generally child-like) Aaron...  

His response: "Hmm...I think we're actually ok, except, what would you say your access to wiffle ball equipment is like?"

Me: "Umm, you know.  I'd say it's pretty good.  That's what you want??"

Aaron: "Yeah, actually.  That'd be really awesome.  My wiffle ball bat has taken quite the beating lately.  It gets pretty serious..."

I just had to ask, didn't I.

So, after several hours of folding, stacking, and rolling, 2 trips to CVS, the quest for the all-important wiffle ball bat (cursed Wal-Mart was the winner), and 2 pharmacy visits to pick up various and sundry prescriptions (ahh, tropical disease precautions), packing success is mine!  Better than the hurricane wreckage that Puppy and I had created earlier in the day, that's for sure.

So off I go, with 2 massive plastic bats in my bag.  Boys and their toys...

However, so as not to appear totally sexist and unfair, here's our  version of toys, ladies.  This is what a basket full of 2 months' worth of shoes looks like...

Next up, reports on 24 hrs' worth of flying, 1.5 hrs' worth of customs lines, my new digs, and a partridge in a pear tree  ♫♫

The Wanderlust Chronicles...

wan·der·lust - (noun)  a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about

Those who know me well will tell you that I have suffered from this condition for most of my life.  I've been a squirmer for as long as I can remember, and I get notoriously antsy if I'm sitting in one place, one position, or one time zone for too long.  My brother and I used to make a regular habit of wandering about and finding the best of the clothes-rack hiding spots in the mall, which makes shopping trips a lot more fun when you're little.  It also makes for a very angry mom.  When I was 4, my family lost me at Sea World because I stopped to tie my shoe without telling anyone and then scampered off in the wrong direction once I stood back up, nearly giving my parents his-and-hers heart attacks.  I was frequently scolded in kindergarten for meandering about the classroom to look at our awesome classroom treasure chest books when I'd finished my work early.  My 4th grade teacher used to live in Japan, and I lived for the days when she'd bring in her old kimonos and tea sets to school and tell us about when she lived there.  My favorite TV show when I was younger was Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?, and I still firmly believe that, had I ever actually been on that show, I'd have kicked some serious geography ass.  But I digress...

Then, somehow, when we weren't paying attention, we all started growing up.  And evidently, when you grow up, it's expected that you'll do "normal" things, like jump straight into some boring suit-job immediately after you graduate from college and get married by your 24th birthday.  Of course, these things are fine and fabulous...for some people.  As it turns out, though, I am just not cut out to be "some people."  I suppose I always knew this about myself, but the path my life has taken post-college has really cemented this belief for me.

After about a year of trying the "normal" thing, I escaped a boring law firm job for the coolest UGA job ever.  I made some awesome friends, got to travel all over the place, and I got to stay in Athens for an extra 4 years, sans the school work!  I left that job almost 700,000 Delta Skymiles later, having crossed 46 of the 50 states off of my list, and said to myself, "If I don't leave now, I may stay in Athens forever," so off I went to grad school.  In London.  A bit severe, I realize, but it was a great experience.  Scary, for sure, but I'd do it again.  Plus, if you go to an international school, you don't have to take the GRE.  Bonus  :)

(Sidebar:  If you're bed-ridden and/or severely bored and in need of things to waste your free time on, you can find my old London blog here; and if someone can figure out how to link it to my current Blogger profile, I'll give you $5.  Seriously.  Thus far, it seems to be impossible...)

So I came back to Atlanta after my year in London and have been doing the responsible, grown-up, job-related-to-your-field-of-study thing ever since then, but the wanderlust-ing hasn't waned.  Risking the frequent reaction of "You're going where??," I take advantage of my globe-trotting opportunities wherever they turn up.  I will finish my state list, and I'm determined to conquer all 7 of the continents before I die; current score -- 5 down, 2 to go.  The thought of the boring suit-job still makes me cringe, and I'm probably about as close to getting married at 30 as I was at 24.  But I'm ok with all of this.  Why?  Because I'm free to wander as I please...and I think this is a beautiful thing.  Maybe one day, I'll find a suit-job that allows me to roam freely, and if I'm lucky, I'll find a better half who is game to go gallivanting alongside me.  Until then, I'll just be living my life the best way that I know how:  GO.  SEE.  DO.  That's the only way I can figure that you'll ever truly and fully experience what the world has to show and teach you, and it's been obvious since the days of Carmen Sandiego that I am someone who needs to get out there and see it.  I will never be happy otherwise.  I don't want to be one of those old people who says, "I wish I would've done X, before it was too late."  I want to be one of those hilarious old ladies with the quirky houses brimming with exotic treasures, telling all of the crazy stories.  The ones that make you think, "This stuff can't possibly all be true...can it??"

Anyway, bla bla bla.  I say all of that as background to say, off I go, on another adventure!  Come this Thursday, work is shipping me off to Kenya for "2-3 months," and while I have little idea of what I'll actually be doing while I'm there, I'm pretty stoked about it.  I'm in dire need of a new professional challenge and a bit of a distraction from life as I know it, so this opportunity comes at a good time, aside from the minor detail that I'm now missing my baby sister's birthday, half of football season, Journey/Foreigner, and Taylor Swift.  Don't judge me.


Many of you have asked for a way to keep tabs on what I'm up to while I'm gone, so rather than trying to keep up with a big email list which I'm sure I'll neglect, feel free to follow my blog for what I hope are funny stories and pictures galore.  I'll do my best to be diligent with the updates, and since prior to departing, I know all of one person in Kenya, I don't think my booming social life will be a big hinderance.


I land in Nairobi on Friday night and should have a phone number and internet situated on Saturday.  Should.  After all, as they say, T.I.A.  This is Africa...


Until then, be well.  I wish you all happy wanderings  :)