I was brushing my teeth tonight and got hit with a download I had to type down. I have toyed with the idea of writing a book ever since I was a kid. Who knows if I'll ever organize my thoughts to get something published, but for tonight, here is the scene that played out in an instant. I hope you enjoy it: ____________________________________________
I unexpectedly started my period in a rented bathing costume atop a camel on the beach of Mombasa on Christmas Eve while simultaneously getting the worst sunburn of my life due to the terrible combination of the anti-malaria medication you must take when in Kenya and the equator sun. “Oh no,” I thought to myself. “Did I really just feel that? It’s too early. It can’t be.” Another leak. “Crap. This bathing suit isn’t even mine. How weird is it that you can even rent a bathing suit? Correction: bathing costume as they call it here in Kenya. Ugh. This is the worst.”
This was meant to be the fun, adventuring part of the trip, but in this moment I felt that the entire experience was meant to just be hard. I was on winter break during my sophomore year of nursing school and decided to spend the month volunteering. The main mission was to help start a Christian camp for teens, as I had been a counselor at a similar camp in the United States the summer prior. It was something I felt called to do, but the further into the trip I got, the more I questioned my decision. The first hiccup of the journey emerged when the plane landed in Nairobi. I got there safely, but my suitcase did not. The feeling of being in a foreign country, watching the luggage carousel come to a halt, knowing all the bags were unloaded and mine is nowhere in sight is not something I would wish on others. I was starting off in an unfamiliar environment with only the items from my carryon and the clothes on my back– a t-shirt, one pair of jeans, one pair of socks, two pairs of underwear, one bra, and running shoes with over 500 miles on them.
Over the next few weeks, I got into a routine of washing out my socks and underwear in the sink and letting them air out for the next day. I experienced beautiful and terrible things--breathtaking horizons, welcoming hospitality, sickly orphans, and armed pickpockets. I became acquainted with flying toilets (human excrement in a bag that is thrown when the person is done with it) and slept in a hut made out of cow dung. Neither of these were on my wish list for my African adventure.
Even still, the camp went better than expected as it maxed out the capacity we planned for. The campers learned about health, the Bible, sports, and love. I learned bits of Swahili, experienced several tribal traditions and dances, and came to know some harsh realities of these young people. I did not expect to have to teach the importance of hand washing before eating. I also did not expect, nor feel prepared, to counsel young girls that they were allowed to feel upset about being victims of abuse. I told them that just because acts of violence are a common occurrence, does not mean it is acceptable. The days were hot, long, and weighty.
I felt relieved when the camp ended and the vacation part of the trip was to begin. The plan for the final week was to go out to the beach, then on a safari, and end back in the city of Nairobi. Travel in Kenya was an exhilarating experience. The roads were dirt. There weren’t always street signs. The trees look like they are right out of the movie The Lion King. Zebras and baboons were random sightings, like spotting a deer or a squirrel in the States. At times, I hopped on the back of a motorbike. Others would be packed in a van of strangers and sometimes a chicken or two. Being on a bus was my least favorite because I never felt safe. It was crowded, making it difficult to watch all angles. Shifty men would try to get into my bag with a knife or find an opportunity to separate me from my travel companions to do God knows what.
The bus wasn’t the only place I felt threatened on the trip. Once we finally made it to the beach in Mombasa, I knew to be on alert. It was common practice for men to tread water, offer swimming lessons to women, then take them to deeper water where they were able to more easily hurt their victim. I was asked if I could swim four times that afternoon. Each time I would get closer to the local man I was traveling with. His situational awareness in public kept me safe repeatedly; at times he would pretend I was his wife to quickly diffuse situations and protect me.
With the sun beating down on my shoulders, I felt a familiar sting of a sunburn turning from bad to worse. My awareness shifted from reflecting on the past few weeks back into the present. I tried to enjoy the last moments pacing down the sand, and dismounted my large, hoofed friend. In broken communication, I then told the locals I was staying with that I needed to go to the store to buy sanitary napkins before we went to church that evening. I felt embarrassed and awkward, like when you have to tell your mom for the first time that you got your cycle or ask to go to the bathroom again in school. The selection at the local grocery store was limited, but I was grateful to have anything fresh. Living out of a backpack had me accustomed to the soiled, musty clothes that I had been wearing for over two weeks straight in the equator’s heat.
When we got back to the house where we were renting a room, we were locked out. Somehow, there was an issue with the keys, and we had to wait for a locksmith to change the lock for us. My travel companion, Julie, whom I did not know well other than spending a summer at the same camp months earlier and the long flight over to Africa, was irritated as we sat with our backs on the wall on the dirt covered cement. I was indifferent as I had nothing to change into even if I did take a shower. I had been living in dirty, sand covered, sweat stained clothes, and I would be returning to my dirty, sandy, sweat stained clothes. What was the rush to be sitting on the other side of the door?
Eventually we were able to enter and get ready for the Christmas Eve service our local friend wanted to attend. We left the house and walked toward the catholic church nearby. Outside there was holiday music playing. I do not remember the song exactly, but the lyrics may as well have been “You’re far from home, alone, everything sucks, and it’s not getting better. This will be the worst Christmas ever.” I was half a world away from family and friends on one of the biggest holidays of the year. My skin was scorched, I was bleeding, sandy, exhausted, and emotionally spent from counseling and teaching children and teens. I was questioning if I could actually ever serve in this capacity again.
Even with the sun being set, it was humid and stifling. I started sweating soon after rinsing the Mombasa sand from my skin. The three of us entered a stuffy room packed with people. Incense was burning. The smell of body odor and rich fragrance was overpowering. I was unsure if I were more likely to burst into tears, pass out, or vomit. It was the most uncomfortable day of my life up until that point, during one of the most difficult phases of my life. I was 19 years old.
That was one of the many experiences that flashed through my mind as I sat across the table from my interviewers. This story is probably not what they wanted to hear as an answer to “tell me about yourself”. I could describe myself a hundred ways and depending on the story, would seem like completely different people. “Who do I show up as today? What do they want to see?” I thought to myself. I straightened the Apple watch on my wrist as I regathered my thoughts. A middle aged, well dressed Indian woman and a physician of 25 years with a kind smile were opposite of me reading my resume. There were sections describing my undergraduate and graduate nursing degrees ; work experience in home care, inpatient hospital bedside care, and primary care ; volunteer experience overseas in Kenya and Haiti as well as locally for the American Red Cross and a camp setting ; and personal experience in coaching private clients, training for running races, and parenting.
In other situations like this I had felt tense and was calculated with my responses. Somehow, the energy in this room was so comfortable. I felt at ease, like myself. I had never been one for small talk. It always seemed so superficial and pointless. I did not see the point unless a conversation was meaningful and people were honest. So I was. I playfully replied, “I feel like I’ve lived 5 lives depending how I tell it!”
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