En Route

I have now proven that stress is a trigger for my migraines.

When I left the guest house in nairobi at 710 PM, I did not have a headache; when I arrived at the airport at 755 pm, there was an ice pick in my right eyeball

There is nothing quite like driving through Nairobi…especially at night; think survivor meets extreme sports.  The city has few traffic signs, fewer still traffic lights and there are no painted lines indicating where anyone should be driving.  In addition, the entire flow of traffic thru the city at rush hour is dependent upon the magic of several strategically placed roundabouts – where huge one way highways will suddenly merge and diverge like a giant stampede.

All this madness is punctuated by the glaring and large electronic billboards that display ads for pampers, cooking oil, cell phones and lotion.  Total sensory overload.  Then you have the street vendors who cruise their wares between the waiting 3 or 4 lanes? of cars at intersections (controlled by suicidal police not lights).  You can buy anything while waiting in traffic: produce, snacks, kittens, puppies, chickens – live or dead, harmonicas, wall maps, clothing, harmonics…..   Other people sit along the curb or median with a tin cup – looking for a spare shilling.  

Children wander the streets too – as both beggars and vendors; I would think they should be home, hopefully even in school.  No adults with them, cars and trucks whizzing all around.

Thankfully, we arrived to the airport without mishap and my flight to Paris went well.  It was a nice moment, stepping through Parisian security and catching that first whiff of fresh coffee and expensive perfume from the airport shops – the smell of commercialism.  To be caught between two worlds, constantly reminds me of how lucky I am: to have safe drinking water, indoor plumbing, parents that kept me safe.  Things I am learning more and more should be a right, but for many is a privilege.