Well, what can I tell you? My house isn't finished yet, so I'm still living out of my various bags and buckets in the guesti. My dada and I spend a lot of time together, I try to understand her Kiswahili and laugh when she chases the huge male duck when it tries to enter her drugstore.
I've met more people than I ever thought would be possible, was introduced to ~180 secondary school students, class by class, by a hilarious and enthusiastic teacher named Jumanne ("Tuesday"), and was taken to see rock paintings similar to some well-known ones not too far away.
I was flipping through a history book of east Africa when the topic came up. "Oh yeah," Jumanne said, "we have paintings like that too. They're just down the hill," he said, in so many Kiswahili words. So I said I wanted to see them, and off three of us went. Through parched creek beds, past bewildered children herding donkeys, through brush, past basking lizards. Partway down a steep forested hill, a large rock can be found, on the underside of which there is a small place to take shelter, and ancient paintings in red, of hunters, weather, and elephants.
On top of the rock, you can see for miles.
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