I left Kenya four times. The first was after being north on Lamu for six weeks of sheer relaxation on a pristine beach. I foolishly thought I needed a change.
From Nairobi, I flew to London. When I arrived, everyone stared at me and I didn’t understand why in the beginning. I sat on the double decker bus with my glowing tan and sun bleached hair, in the middle of winter amongst everyone’s pale faces.
It snowed while I was there. The wispy precipitation swirled to the ground, while I stood, shaking with cold, mesmerized by its beauty. God it was cold after the warmth of the equatorial sun. I needed to return, which is exactly what I did, straight back to Nairobi before I left Kenya a second time. I risked Uganda. (It was during Idi Amin’s rule).