Never will I ever

Don't eat it!!!! 

Never will I ever..... Eat at a local "restaurant" where they only charge 15 /= per plate (the equivalent of $0.17)

Incase you were wondering as to why this is such a bad idea, I will share my personal experience/pain.

Last week I ventured to Mombasa, a lovely costal town in Kenya. It is any vacationer's dream, with it's white sandy beaches and tropical festivities. The sun is always shining, the temperatures always boiling, and the people undoubtedly friendly. But what you don't want to do when you travel to Mombasa, is trust local restaurants to provide you with clean quality food. I have lived in Africa for almost three months now, so I should know by now that our pampered stomachs are no match for the roaring African bacteria. Personally I would encounter a lion any day over a microscopic bacteria, but that may just be personal preference.

beautiful beach paradise

While, the details of the story cannot be confirmed or denied, what most likely happened, was that somewhere along the way, I picked up a nasty little bacteria that loved my stomach an awful lot. This bacteria liked my insides so much it thought it reproduced without end -and before I knew it, my body went into hyper-drive trying to kill off this invader and all his little friends. Three days of aches, chills, dizziness and complete lack of motivation to move from my bed later, I decided to see the doc. Turns out sever bacterial infections will do that to you... that and tear up your stomach. End of story, Cipro is a westernized miracle. African lesson, if its only 15/=, then its probably not worth it.

whirl wind

What in the world is going on? One minute I am in the slums of Mathare, and the next thing I know, I am riding a train through the sky scrapers of down town Chicago. "Where am I?" That is the only phrase I could conjure as giant structures of steel cast shadows across my train window.

What was this country where everyone listened to their ipod, so engrossed in themselves that they didn't notice the artistry of the changing colors just outside their window. Nature was beautifully displaying the elegance of fall, but no one would look up from their self-absorbed state. How was everything here so clean, so spacious, so perfectly calculated for efficiency? What would the lowly mutatu driver think if he took a ride on the Chicago metro? would he be impressed by the speed, the organized stops, or perhaps the roominess of the cars? where he would be used to cramming 20 people in a 9 passenger van, here was an entire train with less than 5 people per car. How is anyone ever to make any money? And where is the noise? No obnoxious m-tot music videos blared from the speakers, no incessant street clatter from the vendors, no angry drivers nor talkative pedestrians. There were no chickens littering the floor, no smells of rotten trash to make one hold his or her breath,  and most surprisingly, no one close enough to feel the bead of sweat as it rolls down your arm.

But this is America. Sterile, cold, like the temperature outside as I stepped from the train station. My sandals and shorts that I had boarded my plane with in Nairobi were now insufficient for the American November day, even if the temperature was above average.

I walked down the streets of Lawndale knowing full well that this was the rougher part of the city, but still I was in awe of the architecture, the cleanliness of the roads, and the consistency of the buildings. It had been so long since i had seen structural planning. The streets were paved, and while I am sure most people would find the potholes unforgiving growing problems, I saw them as nothing more than minor imperfections in a road as smooth as glass. I had never thought about how roads were really made, but at this particular moment, I reveled in the artistic beauty and pure craftsmanship that went into the construction of this masterpiece. Two lanes, a consistent painted yellow line down the center, stoplights, no speed bumps -there was order. I felt at peace as I rolled my luggage down the smooth asphalt.

I knew, somewhere in the recesses of my mind that this wasn't Naperville, this wasn't Downers Grove or any other nice suburb, this was Lawndale. I saw the chain-linked fences, the unbridled weeds and unkempt houses, but it was beautiful. America is beautiful. Leaves swirled around my legs as a gust of wind burst from around the street corner. The sky was heavy with deep grey clouds and there was a warmth that was quickly fading with every passing second. America is beautiful, but something is missing. As I watched the sun disappear behind the clouds a brisk breeze stirred me and sent goose bumps down my legs. There was no one to greet me at the airport, no warming smile to melt the tension of a long day's travel; there was no one to help me find my train, no one to lend a hand with my luggage. I am reminded of these things as I walk down this cold, smooth street. America is beautiful, but something is missing.

now that's odd

Do you ever find yourself doing things that seem so uncharacteristic of yourself? In those moments of boredom, when your brain starts to shut off, and your body just tends towards whatever bad habit that it wants to pursue? Tell me, do you ever have those moments where you catch yourself doing something so odd you hope others never see this side of you?

Well, despite embarrassment, I will delve into my personal experience.

In my defense, it has been a busy week (its only Tuesday, but I feel like I have been living in a whirlwind). This evening my brain decided to shut off partially -it was strong enough to encourage me to do what it wanted, but not working well enough for me to be completely aware of what I was doing.

So you might be asking what I was doing. Hmm, well about the time my roommate walked in the room I was sitting on my bed staring off into space. Not exactly strange, except for the part where I had a huge swiss army knife plunged into a tub of peanut-butter that was sitting on my lap. "Listening" to my music which was on mute, blankly staring at a FB screen that was failing to load due to slow internet connection, I must have looked ridiculous. And then I saw the fruit snack wrappers strewn across the floor (all 4 of them), the candy bar wrapper, and the remnants of mango peels and pits that were neatly nestled in the corner of the room. When did I eat all that and why?!?! The majority of my secret snack stash was gone in one night! It was like my brain decided it wasn't getting enough glucose, so it did something about it.

Well, after cleaning up the remnants of my eating spree and removing peanutbutter chunks from the intricate crevices of the knife, I have realized that however organized I am, at some point, chaos will surface. No matter how much I conserve and ration, there will be a breaking point. I hit that breaking point this evening. The damage is almost too much to bear. Almost half of my bees knees American honey peanut butter is gone!!!! I know, devastating.

Despite the tragedy, a lesson should be learned. Don't restrict yourself on the things your brain craves, or if you do, make sure that those precious possessions are locked away where it takes significant brain power for extraction.