Mosquito Nets Are From Heaven

In the morning we went to meet
The chief of Nyalenda, the elders
They sat in plastic chairs in the shade
Their suggestion box was a beehive

First, Bea spoke
About home based care, about sickness, about community
Next, Francis – a health worker – answered questions
The elders listened.
I think we have their blessings

It was my last time in the “field”

That night I sat on the kitchen floor
To share a bar of chocolate with my new roommate, who goes
to the district hospital during the day. This week is surgery.

There were two patients:
1) A bloody cancerous tumor was removed from a man’s leg
2) A guy with HIV, and tons of infections, was too week for anesthesia. So the operation was cancelled
What chiefs did my roommate work with?
Hospital elders to settle disputes in the wards.

We are in the three unluckiest weeks of the year –
Until August 10th
Which must be why my anxiety skyrocketed
And I only slept for two hours

It’s a long crowded journey home
Three vans, one bike ride
I’m pressed against a window
There are people arguing about luggage.
One woman has her chickens in a plastic bag

I fall asleep to Swahili bickering, poultry clucking, and Kenyan pop on the radio
Just before I’m gone, I think, “you’re budget traveling alone in Africa. You deserve this.”

I. Putti
In the morning, from the hilltop
You can see to other hills
Just as high, but distant

I was the first one awake
Adina fed me bread, fruit, hard boiled eggs and tea.

We left at 8:00
Drove 25 minutes
To the smallest synagogue I’ve seen:
Walls of mud, Roof of grass
Their torah lives in a blue locked cabinet
Their prayer books are piled on a low table by a window
– The pages every morning with dew
I wondered about an eternal light.
If they had one, would the roof catch fire?
Services began at ten
Women sat on the left. Men on the right

We were treated like royalty in this African congregation
Even asked to speak.
When it was my turn, I said, “In Kisumu there are no synagogues. Only churches.”
I thought of the hill where I stood;
Remembered looking to others just as high, but distant
“So,” I said “Even though I am a visitor to you from far away,
You have given me something that reminds me of home.”

We did Kiddush with Jackfruit and homemade liquor.

II. LaShone Harah
Back on the Hill

Picture chairs in a circle under a tree.
We studied “Lashone Harah”—trash talk.
How do we manage our words so they aren’t harmful?

A man said, “I’ve told a rumor. How do I fix it?”
The advisor took a pillow, and brought the man outside.
He told the man, “Rip it open.”
Down exploded from the cloth.
“Now,” said the advisor “Go collect the feathers.”

III. Havdallah
The sun set at about 7:30
We watched it like a movie

By the third star, the ritual began
The candle
The spices
The wine
Songs from my childhood

Kids scream
SHAVUAH TOV!
And jump on me to save themselves from
Being tagged.
It’s not easy being base

Look up. The stars are unbelievable tonight.

It takes 8 hours
Walk through the slum
The bus is 2 hours late (as usual)
Cross the Ugandan border on foot at Busia
Take a bike ride through the dust
To a van aimed towards Mbale
Corn fields on the left, Sunset on the right.
Finally, a motorcycle to the top of the hill

We sat in the guesthouse
Sang songs for shabbos
Pounded our fists on the table
Passed passion fruits, shared tunes
–Some from Africa, others European
Until it was time to sleep

At four a.m. there is no point is sleeping
Hunter S. Thompson, distract me from insomnia
In five hours I will be at my desk,
Handing out sea shells from Swahili paradise,
Imagining which water I like better:
Lake Victoria, the Indian Ocean, or the New York Bay

A romantic evening in Nairobi –
Pizza with capers, parmesan, tuna, pineapple, gorgonzola, olives, onions, corn, rucola
rose-colored wine
chocolate cake, a banana split
Then, engorged and woozy,
Music at a club called Simmers

Hundreds of Pink crabs are on the beach
Each the size of an egg.

A tsunami, 6 feet tall, Breaks.
The foam pulls back
The crabs are all there,
Waiting for the next disaster.

It costs 500 shillings to hitch hike around the island on a sailboat
The Dhow is called “Helpless”
It carries sand from the northern beach to the southern village

The young man takes us to his antique store/ his father’s home
We don’t have a choice.
Please, my friends.
The family bed is 100 years old – he is proud of this fact.

The village has 1500 families
Most of the people are children
Who stare at me while I stare at them
The ground is dirt without grass
The buildings are bricks without paint
Woman weave palms into anything they can
While men work on building more boats for
Northern Sand and tourists like us

It takes one hour to walk back to Lamu
With the help of a 23 year old.
He reminds us along the way that he
Is walking slower so we can keep up;
He usually stops work at 4 and already it’s 5
He’s missing a football match to guide us home
I give him 100 shillings more than we agreed
And buy him a soda to make it up to him

Maybe I am a bad companion
We are all less lenient than we wished we were –
Self introverts at heart

There are mansions on the way, bigger than dreams
That one belongs to a German Prince
Next to it is for a Japanese heiress
And the one across the bay is where a French producer takes his vacations
Keep Walking
Think poetry not mansions

But I am worries about money
My money
The cost of a mansion (60,000,000 shillings)
The cost of a rum drink (450 shillings)
The price for a boat ride back if it gets too dark to walk (not sure)
I am worried about student loans and the tuition
And I am angry that a mansion in Lamu is worth enough
To put 1000 Kenyans through four years of high school.

But I keep walking
Trying to think poetry not money
Given the opportunity, would I choose an isolated palace?
Being a selfish introvert at heart.

Finally our walk loses the luxury
Which is replaced by dunes, palms, and the Indian Ocean