Although this might be more appropriate on my other blog, this email showed up in my inbox. I thought Ex-Beloved deserved a little more than ragging I usually give him on this space. I came home from Kenya about a year ago and this is in response to my question if he looked back in awe that he really was in Africa.
Yes, I remember most clearly my first ride on a matatu. You were sitting down and I was hanging on for my life with my butt out the door as the driver weaved in and out of pot holes. Then we came to a police check when I entertained the police man and all the riders on the matatu. I can still remember their laughing at me and thinking "stupid white american". In that case, bribing and corruption of the police force probably actually saved my sorry ass. And then there was the taxi ride when you argued with the driver so we wouldn't get ripped off when I thought we were going to be shot on the side of the road.
Oh the memories. Sometimes it amazes me that I was really there and I can remember the people's faces, the pineapple and maize selling women on the street corner, David, the safari, the beautiful children...
love ya, jdawg"
Sometimes, these memories hurt.