Host Family

I spent the better part of the day teaching the kids how to use a laptop. It’s not really what I set out to do today but you can’t really not show them when they are sitting on your shoulders. Even as I write this they are fighting over who can use the earphones which are playing Abba at the moment. The oldest girl really likes it, which I found surprising. I know eventually these kids will drive me crazy, if the look on their mothers face when I complemented them is any indication. For now though they are a welcome distraction. This is my second day at my host families. I was encouraged by my organization to spend the first few days with them. I was dreading staying with a host family. I didn’t like the feeling of imposing on them. I still don’t, but it’s not as bad as I thought. In a few days maybe I won’t even care that my host mother gave me the biggest room in the house, and half of the living room couch and if that wasn’t enough she gave me the dresser from her own room. Saying that you don’t need it or it’s not necessary does nothing, so why bother I guess. It still feels like I am some kind of prodigal daughter returned from her wayward ways. Speaking of wayward ways, explaining what a tattoo is to a bunch of kids is very hard to do. The oldest said I should draw the same thing on her, and I said that I wasn’t the one who drew it, she did not believe me. I was worried that this was looked down on in the strict Islamic culture of the coast but when my host mother saw she seemed to think it was funny. She is a very nice person, quiet but full of all kinds of useful information. Over tea today she told me about how her marriage was arranged when she was my age. She wears a buibui when leaving the house, which is like a full Burka. I was really intensely interested in whether she wore it in the house, whether she felt that women who don’t wear it are wrong. The answer to both is no. Before my group left for their host families we were warned that our family would probably have a “house girl”, like a young housekeeper. Even with the warning I’m still thrown off by it. The girl is really young like 15 maybe younger. I can’t tell if she lives at the house or not. She doesn’t speak English but even so, she doesn’t speak much at all anyway, even in Swahili. It’s super awkward but I’m told that even lower class homes will have a helper. That doesn’t really keep me from feeling like crap but at least she has a job which means she is doing better than something like 20 percent of the country.

A quick note on Swahili food…
I really wasn’t expecting this much Indian style food, but I’m really excited about it. Everything has coconut milk in it, from a fresh coconut. Awesome.