Kisii - town, First Impressions

September 29, 2012

The steep and muddy path from our house

Having arrived in Kenya yesterday, a few observations from my first 36 hours or so: 1^st and most relevant: I can sleep! Being able to sleep in a place is a pretty important quality, given the fundamental role that sleep plays in our health, and is also a marker of a number of other things. One is the climate, for me a climate needs to be sufficiently cool at night to allow for the highest quality sleep. Sleeping in a pool of one’s own sweat, is, simply put, not really sleeping at all. The air this time of year in Kisii is deliciously cool, just warm enough during the day to be relaxing, not too hot to cause sweat without effort. In the shade it is cool and the presence of clouds in the sky promises respite from the powerful sun at regular intervals. Night brings a cooler climate yet, like a refreshing breeze, the dark chases away all vestiges and swelter and leaves the atmosphere refreshing and crisp. Just enough so that long pants and a sleeved shirt are comfortable, but not so much as to provoke the need for a blanket or any idea of shivering. Warm tea becomes appropriate during the hours of sunset, as the sun withdraws its heat and leaves only bright colors painted across the shards of cloud as a remembrance of its earlier presence.

Woken by the mooing of cows mixed with the crowing of roosters the strong light streaming through my window nonetheless kept me transfixed to my bed for several minutes more as I struggled to open my eyes against the glare. Arising with no knowledge of time or purpose, I wandered forth into the light and set about exploring items fit for consumption.

A view of Kisiitown from our hill

Though I did relatively very little during the day today, I settled into living in this house with some alacrity, first making my own breakfast and lunch from materials found in the kitchen, next shaving myself in the yard, being bitten by ants, and then peaking in on the litter of puppies squirming and squeaking in the small ramshackle shed. The rest of the afternoon saw me reading out on the back porch as dusk settled in, listening to the great hubbub of African life taking place all around me in the hills and down in the city below. Pop music, engines, running, cheers from a football game, and the chatter of neighbors all mingled under the pink and yellow sky to isolate the serenity of the backyard and highlight the message that things were happening elsewhere. When it became too dark to read outdoors, I retreated to the foyer, where my continued literary exploits were interrupted by a disappearance of the power. Unfazed, I retrieved a candle stuck in a beer bottle from the interior, fished my lighter from Somaliland from my luggage, and continued to read by the quaint flicker of candle until an hour or so later the lights reappeared and the preparations for dinner commenced.