Turbulence

"You know, toast?" She looked at me like I was an alien, speaking another language, and asking for something unheard of (all of which were true). "Can you toast the bread?" I made the international hand gesture for toast, which is a flat palm, with the back of your hand to the other person, with your elbow up in the air, plunging downward repeatedly to signify toast sliding into a toaster. It can't have been too tall an order, because I have had toast in other places. I know that they know what it is. I had one slice of brown bread on my plate. Quite spontaneously, as if struck with sudden inspiration after not listening to me at all, she snapped into action. She snatched the slice of bread off of my plate, grabbed three other slices, and darted into the kitchen. "But I only wanted one piece." I mumbled after her. She didn't return for some time, so I began to peruse the other breakfast options. They did have french toast, which I hadn't yet seen in Africa, even in Rwanda, where they even speak french. Yet, here in Nowhereville, Kenya (Eldoret is Swahili for "Nowhereville"), they had french toast. It looked more like country fried steak, but because I also happen to like country fried steak, I decided to try it. They weren't lying. French toast. The girl appeared some 10 minutes later with my regular toast. Four slices, just for me. I buttered only one, and ate it with my omelet.

The comically giant Barack Obama tapestry that had been hanging on the wall in the dining room last night is no longer there. I was really looking forward to taking a picture of it. Kenya is as excited about him as the United States seems to be, and I think that might say a little something about where he really comes from.... Instead, there is a small acrylic replica, nicely framed, of a quaint little waterfall scene - hanging sideways. Correct me if I'm wrong, but water still falls down along the equator, right?

I have found it astonishingly difficult to maintain a worshipful attitude for the past several hours. We'll say I've been choleric. Irritated, infuriated, and irate are also adequate descriptors. It began when I boarded the bus to head back to Nairobi. I was already apprehensive about a 6 hour bus ride, but I felt a little better knowing I had a window seat. At least the ride would not be as long as it had been two days ago, and taking pictures really helps pass the time. Only I sat down to find that my window seat was in the only row of seats on the bus with a view obscured by the giant decal stuck to the outside. Instead of sitting next to beautiful views of Africa, I was going to have to sit next to the inside of a giant red window sticker for 6 hours. I discovered that I could recline my seat and get a little bit of a view, so maybe there would be some pictures after all. But the road has had other plans. The ride has been so turbulent that at least 4 of every 5 pictures don't turn out. Ceiling shot. Seat shot. Giant red window sticker shot. Scenery! Ceiling shot. The road is paved, although I'm hesitant to refer to it as a road. I think I'd call it a 400 mile long series of really bad potholes. Strangely enough, all of the speed bumps seem to be in perfect working condition, and they are abundant. Especially when nearing any type of settlement, it's rare to go for more than a minute without hitting a speed bump, and they are usually in sets of three, about three feet apart. It's just asinine that there are so many speed bumps on a road that is essentially comprised of speed bumps. Where there are no potholes, the ride isn't any better, because the asphalt is laid out so lumpy that you can't tell the difference from inside. You have to concentrate really hard to scratch your nose without poking yourself in the eye, and napping is impossible. Although miraculously, some people still manage to sleep, miraculously, like Jesus on a stormy sea. If you've ever been on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland - which is wonderful fun for 3 minutes - then you'll have an idea of what this ride is like for 6 hours. I don't remember it being this bad on the way up. Either the other side of the road is smoother, or I had a better attitude about it then. Probably the latter. So it's a good thing that they're re-paving the road.

Except it's not a good thing. Re-paving means we're forced to drive off of the already abhorrent road for hours on end over the rocks and dirt. This is worse than driving on the road (although you could make a pretty good case either way). And then there's the bus itself, which is a roving dungeon of annoyances. It squeaks all the time. They ought to just dowse the whole thing in WD-40. With every bump, the roof emits the same sound produced by sheet metal when you bang on it, or hold it from both ends and shake it. So it sounds like there's a constant thunderstorm overhead. Of course the squealing brakes - which are used frequently - are the worst. I've never taken a power drill to my temple, but I'd imagine that the experience is similar, and I must admit that if I had a power drill on hand, I'd be contemplating it. At one point, we hit a bump so hard, that it must have thrust Faustin upward into his fastened seat belt, because he immediately took it off. For the next five minutes, the loose seat belt clanged repeatedly on his seat until I just couldn't take it anymore. Assuming control of the one irritation that I could immediately remedy, I reached over the guy sitting next to me, across the aisle and one row in front of me, snatching the belt and tucking it over the arm rest of Faustin's seat. The relief was immediate, albeit temporary. Similarly, whenever we strike that rare patch of smooth pavement, I feel a physical sense of release. My whole body relaxes. This is nice in the moment, but it's not a good thing. To relax is the worst thing you can do, because it means that at the next bump, you will be tossed like a rag doll into the window. I will not be surprised if I find bruises on my right shoulder and elbow tomorrow. The turbulence is simply maddening, and I'm not even on a plane yet. Hey, at least I will be - for 22 hours - after we get to Nairobi. Yippee.