Same... Same... But different

Sometimes I forget... That I am a 24 hour flight away from home. The sea of brown faces, dusty, bumpy roads, crazy traffic and strange looking markets is becoming an all too familiar sight. My compound house feels like home although my bedroom is far less messy then my normal one. I have become used to people dropping round to ask me things, say hi, or check that I am alright living in this house by myself. I am learning that nothing here happens on time and now expect most people to turn up about half an hour later than expected. It seems normal to have to squish more people than seats into a vehicle, to protect your belongings while on public transport to take pills to stop myself getting sick and to filter water before I drink it and soak vegetables before they are eaten. Things which initially surprised me but now are just part of my life.

I spent Christmas and Boxing day with an African family and all their extended relatives. Sometimes it was hard to remember that they weren't mine. Their children are a similar age gap to me and my younger brother. I remember the tricks to get my own way but making him feel like he was getting the better deal. I remember the 'shows' we used to put on for our relatives where I knew all the words and the actions and he would know some of them but best knew role of looking slightly cute and confused. I watched the younger brother follow his sister and try and do everything she was doing- he thought she was great. Sometimes they made a lot of noise and I'd wish the fighting would stop- then they would fall asleep on my lap and all irritation would vanish instantly.

The cousins and kids from other houses who came to hang out with us on Christmas day. We spent happy hours tramping through the corn fields and by the dam, watching the fishermen and roasting maize. We played soccer and endless ball games and soaked up the sun on the grassy hill putting cabage leaves on our heads and making bracelets out of dead grass. The older ones who help their Uncle slaughter and break up the meat and the babies who get passed from Auntie to Auntie and are spoilt with games of peek- a- boo, silly songs and being bounced on a friends knee before they too fall asleep in the arms of their friend.

The grandmother, all soft and giggly who took such glee when I squealed when she tickled my feet that the next four people who walked in heard the story. A mother who is constantly checking I am happy and have had enough sleep as well as bustling around helping with cooking and cleaning and looking after the beautiful handful that are her children. The father who made me stop playing with kids for a bit when he saw it was hurting my back, who showed me how to bite into sugar cane (harder than it looks!) and on seeing me flinch at a dung beetle brought it right up close to me and then took it outside to play with it with his daughter. When it flew away he came in and looked all sad. He told me he was sorry that my beetle had flown away and that he would get me another
one.

The 20 year old girl with a 1 year old baby, going into her second to last year of high school, who roasted me maize and was my friend. My age but a life that is radically different to the one I have lived.

Despite that most of them spoke very little English and lot of the conversation was in a completely unfamiliar language and that they jokingly tried to sell me for 40 cows to a young guy they had just told me was "not OK", a conversation which I was completely oblivious to. Luckily the guy could not afford me. Although I was warned about the dangers of hyenas, buffalo and cows if I were to go to the bathroom at night (possibly not the best way to settle a mzungu on their first night up country) and being told of the many dangerous insects and bugs that lived in the country. As well as being offered to eat enough food for 4 people and watching the faces of my new family light up at my obvious culture shock, I was welcomed and accepted.

Sometimes I forgot they weren't my family..."