I used to dream about Kenya as a little girl. Lying on my belly, I’d watch the clouds drifting from beyond the ivory lace curtains in my bedroom. Slowly drifting clouds. And I’d wonder if those were the same clouds that children see in Kenya.
In my mind, Kenya evoked excitement and romanticism. And at 13 years old, my idea of romance was sitting in a field of tall grass listening to exotic birds and drinking mango juice. I’d fallen in love with Karen Blixen’s “Out of Africa,” with the lilting guitar riffs and tight harmonies of local musicians, with the beautiful syllables of kiswahili (“hakuna matata”) and with the legacy of Jomo Kenyatta.
I promised myself that I’d go to Kenya and perhaps have a home there. I’ve constructed the home in my mind numerous times. Red in color. Bungalow in shape. Quaint in design. Close to nature.
A decade later, I’m in Kenya. The next three months, I plan to soak up everything: the language, the food, the clothing, the colors of the earth, the smell of the air, everything.
I’m a Nigerian-American in Kenya. You are welcome to share my experiences. Karibu!
For more info about me, visit: www.chika-oduah.com