Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

All along the lanes by our house grows a lovely, large shrub covered with fragrant flowers.  Brunfelsia bonodora is its botanical name, but it is more commonly known as yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The plant gets its everyday name from the fact that its flowers last only three days, and during that time change color from a deep purple to light lavender and finally white.

The flowers last only three days, going from purple to lavender, then white

I had never seen this charming plant before, even though it has its origins in tropical South America. You’d think I would have encountered it in my 3 ½ years in Peru. And evidently it grows well in the southern US, among other places.

Doing a little research on brunfelsia bonodora I discovered that though I wasn’t familiar with this particular variety, I was indeed quite well versed in its larger family – the Solanaceae, which includes among other things, the potato.

As many of you know, I recently left my position as head of communications at the International Potato Center in Lima, Peru to move to Nairobi. The job and the center are based in Peru, because it is the home of origin of the potato. Not surprisingly, the Andean-Amazonian region of South America is also center of origin of the more than 3,000 species of Solanaceae, which includes not only potato but also tomato, eggplant, peppers, ornamental plants like petunias, and medicinal ones like Capsicum.

I knew nothing about Solanaceae before working at the potato center, but quickly became a great enthusiast. Just ask some of our friends, who thought I was a bit kooky, until finding themselves hooked by the amazing colors, shape, and variety of the humble tuber that is a key source of nutrition and sustenance among rich and poor all over the world.

So, it’s funny that I’ve become captivated by another Solanaceae family member. There are more exotic and spectacular plants around, including in our own garden. I think what compels me about this plant is its wonderful fragrance and the ephemeral nature of its delicate flowers. They are pretty but fleeting. So each day the bush looks different.

And as its name suggests, yesterday, today, and tomorrow reminds us of the transience of time, as noted by this quote (often sited, but of unclear origins):  

"The clock is running. Make the most of today. Time waits for no man. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it is called the present."

Grappling in the Dark

Nairobi is located just south of the equator. This means the days are pretty much 12 hours long, year round.

When the sun does go down around 6 pm, it gets very dark, very quickly.  There’s not much ambient city light. Most streets outside of the central business district or major arteries are unlit. In our neighborhood, streetlights are few and far between, and often not working. It’s a lot like living in the country.

Power outages are relatively frequent, especially during the rainy seasons, which occur twice a year. When they do come, the rains can be torrential, and this seems to quickly overwhelm the city power system.

We have a generator for such occasions. We didn’t choose it, it was generously provided by Britt’s employers. It is diesel powered and blue and sits squarely behind our house. It’s also far more powerful and expensive than we need, but we’re told not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The generator is set up to go on automatically when the city power goes out. But during a recent extended period without power (coinciding as it happened with the post-Sandy outages experienced by our friends and family along the US Eastern seaboard) I had it set to manual instead. So one night when the power went out, I fumbled my way through the dark and behind the house to turn the thing on.  

I was only a step away from the generator’s on-off switch when, suddenly, instead of moving forward, I found myself going downward. Actually, for the briefest of instances, it felt like I was suspended in mid-air – just like those cartoon characters when they run off a cliff and freeze before going straight down like a rock. It was an impression that must have come as part of the sheer surprise of finding a hole where the path should have been.

The hole was not very deep. It wasn’t an Alice-in-Wonderland sort of set up. But it was sort of deep, probably 16 inches or so. And it was just my size, in other words big enough so that I fit squarely into it. Had it been deeper, it could have swallowed me whole.

Luckily, I wasn’t hurt, only flustered. Who would put a hole in the middle of the path to the generator? The answer is: the technicians who’d installed the thing. In fact, mine was just one of four holes they’d dug with the intention of using them to anchor a sort of shed-like structure to protect the generator from the elements.

Pulling myself out, I made my way to the generator power switch and turned the thing on. Avoiding the hole on the way back, I got back into the house via the now lit kitchen. It was only then that I noticed the thick trail of mud I had created. It stretched through the kitchen door to the place where I was standing, and up the lower half of my body.

Once again, I felt like a cartoon character. And I did the only thing I could do in that situation. I laughed.

I laughed because it was the middle of the night and I was covered in mud. I laughed because I’d fallen into a hole that someone had dug and not refilled. I laughed because it seemed such an appropriate metaphor for a newly arrived stranger in a strange land.

Being a fledgling expat in Africa is exciting and rewarding. But it’s also full of surprises. You can’t get too comfortable or think you are in control.  Instead, you have to be flexible. You have to keep exploring and learning. Adapt, adjust, and be grateful for the luxury of running water when you are covered in mud.

Dust

Dust from a passing car turns pedestrians into silhouettes in the lane by our house

 

We live off a dirt road here in Nairobi. It’s part of a small network of dirt lanes that make up our immediate neighborhood. When it rains, they become quite muddy, and the thick, red dirt sticks to our shoes, our car, and our dog.

When it’s dry, it becomes very dusty, particularly if a car drives by. Though the lanes are dotted with speed bumps (there are three schools in our micro-neighborhood), cars still tend to pass more quickly than they should – kicking up quite a bit of dust. It gets everywhere, in your eyes and lungs and teeth. And it sticks to all the surfaces of your skin and clothing.

This got me thinking about dust.

Looking up the definition in the (Webster’s) dictionary, it was interesting to see all the different usages of the word dust. There are the predictable definitions of  “fine, dry particles of matter” or “a cloud of fine, dry particles.” This certainly describes the stuff we see regularly. But looking further there are other definitions, many of them negative: “a debased or despised condition; something of no worth; rubbish; or agitation, as in 'waiting for the dust to settle'."  You can leave someone “in the dust” if you have a competitive streak. And you can say “dust” for “see you later” (not that I ever have, perhaps I’ll give it a try). Dust can be a verb with opposite meanings: to dust as in removing dust with a feather duster, or to dust as in adding a fine layer of sugar or flour to a cake or pan. It can be an adjective, as in a dusting of snow. Or it can be slang for drugs.

As humans, we tend to do what we can to avoid and eliminate the effects of those fine dry particles of matter we call dust. We hate dust as a source of embarrassment, irritation, and electronic malfunction.

But a visit to the David Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage here in Nairobi is a fun reminder that not all animals despise dust as we do. On a dry day, you can see the baby elephants there give themselves dust baths with great gusto and glee. The dust helps ward off insects and keep them cool. It also gives them a reddish-brown color.

Baby elephants giving themselves a dust bath, David Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage, Nairobi

Elephants embrace dust as a good thing. Having those long eyelashes helps.

For us, it not only has negative connotations but also serves as a reminder of the precariousness of life, and how small we are in the bigger scheme of things. Dust to dust, dust in the wind. These are part of our human condition.

Hippo prints in the dust, Lake Naivasha, Kenya

 Dust, by Frank Ocean

who's that talking in the library
who's that talking in my library
is that you
no i won't put you out
cuz what would this place be without my muse
nothing special
every book in here i wrote
some i'm not too proud of
some i wish i could burn
so many pages i wrote
wish i could revise them
but there's no erasing
and the best advice i got
was keep writing
and keep living
and keep loving
(oh lovin lovin lovin)
and when the ink dries
and the pages turn to dust
so will we
turn to dust
so will we
dust dust

Arriving in Africa

We moved to Kenya in September 2012.

It's the beginning of a big new adventure for us.

Britt and I are empty nesters now, having sent our younger son off to university and watched our older one finish his B.A. and start his first post-college job.

Kenya was my idea. When we were still living in Lima, Peru, I had the chance to come to Kenya on several different work-related trips and just loved it.

The colors and landscapes are beautiful. There are exotic animals and spicy smells in the air. There are people of many different tribes and origins. They bustle along the Nairobi streets and shopping areas with their myriad, often brightly colored clothing: saris from India, Masaii bracelets, women in brightly colored headscarves or fully veiled in black with just their eyes showing. There are children in their school uniforms, women balancing heavy loads on their heads, and stick thin men hauling huge loads on bicycles up and down the green hills of Nairobi. The streets are rutted and twisty, and lined with vendors selling hand made furniture, clay pots and plants, or big bunches of bananas. 

The skies are filled with the sounds of hadada ibis and other birds. The marabou storks stalk the median strips of the major avenue that links downtown to the airport, and eventually Mombasa if you keep going. The traffic jams are infamous, frequent, and liable to lead to hours of delays. 

There is dust when it's dry and mud when it's not. But the red earth and green vegetation offer a stark and striking contrast.

Nairobi is dangerous and in some ways difficult. But it is also wonderful, and lively, and welcoming.

So, stay tuned. And we'll tell you more about it.