There's a shack in the back

About a week ago I moved into a glorified shack behind my office building, after a few weeks of doing the guest-house hop. It’s not as bad as it sounds, really. Some perks of living at the office:

1) I don’t pay rent. This is important if you’re working as slave labour to begin with. (Yeah, I know. Africa. Slavery. Irony. Poetic justice. Too soon? Most definitely.)

2) I can roll out of bed at 7:58am and be dressed and in the office by 8:00am. If you’re at all familiar with my ongoing struggle against the evil forces of punctuality, you understand how crucial this one is.

3) I have access to free TV and internet, 24/7. It’s like staying at the Hilton (sadly, no pool or room service). More on the joys of Kenyan television later…

4) There’s a kitchen with a fridge, a tank of gas for cooking, and (sometimes) running water, so every day’s a campout! Which is great, as long as you ignore the giant roaches in your muffins and the ants (everywhere!) I’m in the process of making little ant-size chef’s hats to help make things feel more natural. And please, if you care about hungry people in Africa…I haven’t eaten anything but egg and cheese sandwiches all week…I’d do anything for a delicious steak. Nothing fancy, T-bone maybe, medium-rare. The address here is: Africa Now, P.O. Box 2514 Kisumu, Kenya.

5) My own personal around-the-clock security guard. The Queen herself doesn’t have it this good…

So life here is good, nothing really to complain about. My living situation is ideal, my work is engaging, and the greatest thing about being on another continent is that all the stresses of my daily life back home just seem to fade away. Life becomes simpler, it’s easier to focus on doing things that make me happy, relaxed, free. I feel like I’ve been on holiday for the past month, which is nice considering that I have been on holiday for the past month. It may be winter in the southern hemisphere, but this is still my summer, after all.

My weekends are spent hand-washing clothes, wandering around town, lounging in cafés and reading. I usually pick up a newspaper on the way to the Grill House, where I get a pot of coffee, eggs, sausage, toast, the works, all for the equivalent of around $3 US. Sometimes I bring a book along and read for a few hours. So far I’ve ripped through Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer, Jeffrey Sachs’ The End of Poverty (inspiring and well worth the read, if you can get past the cringe-inducing title), and Civilwarland in Bad Decline, a collection of wicked short stories by George Saunders.

On Sundays I wander over to the Kibuya market, where I get my fruit for the week (I’ve also haggled for some pretty boss football jerseys). On my way back home I might pick up a cold Tusker (the local brew) at the Nakumatt in town, East Africa’s answer to Walmart, and then settle in to watch some football, of which there is no shortage on Kenyan television.

I’m realizing as I write this that my life here is pretty brilliant. I’ll get on with describing my leisure-time activities at a later date. For now, though, my bed beckons and I’m in no mood to refuse that siren’s wail. Until the next, we bid you goodnight.