I like him a thousand times better in his usual outfit. He’s already got huge blisters on his heels from the new shoes, which he obviously wears without socks. We get to the show just in time, and I take a place among the white audience, a few of whom give me black looks. I’m still wearing the same clothes that I put on this morning and they certainly haven’t got any cleaner or more attractive. Nor do I smell quite as fresh as these white people straight from their showers, and that’s saying nothing about my long greasy hair. Even so, I am probably the proudest woman in the room. As I watch these men dance I am overcome once again by the familiar feeling of belonging.
It’s almost midnight by the time the dance and show are over. The only thing I want to do is sleep. Back at the lodging I feel I really have to wash, but Lketinga comes into our room followed by another Masai and reckons his friend can sleep in the second bed. I’m not exactly overjoyed by the idea of sharing this ten-by-twelve room with a strange man, but I say nothing for fear of seeming impolite. So still in my clothes I squeeze into the small sagging bed next to Lketinga and, despite everything, fall asleep.
In the morning I get to shower at last, even if it’s hardly luxurious with an intermittent water flow, and ice-cold at that. Despite the dirty clothes I feel a bit better on the trip back to the south bank.
In Mombasa I buy a simple dress because we want to call by the passport office and see if we can get the forms. Today it works. After checking the provisional ticket and confirmation that the guarantee money has been lodged we are finally given an application form. But as we start trying to answer the rows of questions, I realize that I hardly understand most of them and decide to get the help of Ursula and her husband.
After another five-hour journey we are at long last back at our little hut on the south bank. Priscilla has been very worried because she didn’t know where we spent the night. Lketinga has to explain to her why he’s wearing European clothing. I go to lie down for a bit because it’s really hot outside. I’m sure I’ve already lost several pounds.
There are just six days left before I’m due to fly home, and I still haven’t spoken to Lketinga about our future together in Kenya. All our efforts are directed towards getting this stupid passport. I start thinking about what I could work at here. Living on these modest means certainly doesn’t require much money, but even so I need something to do and a bit of income. That’s when I get the idea of looking for a shop in one of the hotels. I could employ one or two seamstresses, bring in a few patterns from Switzerland and run a little dressmaker’s. There are more than enough fine fabrics to be had, good seamstresses too who would work for three hundred francs a month or so, and selling is what I do best.
Excited by my idea, I call Lketinga into the hut and try to explain to him, but I soon realize that he doesn’t understand. But to me it’s important so I call Priscilla. She translates while Lketinga just nods now and again. Priscilla explains to me that, without getting married or a work permit, my idea is impossible. But the idea is good because she knows some people who make good money from made-to-measure clothing. I ask Lketinga if he might be interested in getting married. Contrary to my expectations, his reaction is restrained. With a certain degree of common sense, he says that if I have such a good business in Switzerland, I shouldn’t sell it but instead come to Kenya two or three times a year for ‘holidays’ and he would always be waiting for me.
Now I’m a bit up in the air. I’ve been ready and willing to give up everything back home for him, and he’s talking about holidays! I’m disappointed. He notices immediately and says, correctly of course, that he doesn’t really know me very well, or my family at all. He needs time to think.
It’s almost midnight by the time the dance and show are over. The only thing I want to do is sleep. Back at the lodging I feel I really have to wash, but Lketinga comes into our room followed by another Masai and reckons his friend can sleep in the second bed. I’m not exactly overjoyed by the idea of sharing this ten-by-twelve room with a strange man, but I say nothing for fear of seeming impolite. So still in my clothes I squeeze into the small sagging bed next to Lketinga and, despite everything, fall asleep.
In the morning I get to shower at last, even if it’s hardly luxurious with an intermittent water flow, and ice-cold at that. Despite the dirty clothes I feel a bit better on the trip back to the south bank.
In Mombasa I buy a simple dress because we want to call by the passport office and see if we can get the forms. Today it works. After checking the provisional ticket and confirmation that the guarantee money has been lodged we are finally given an application form. But as we start trying to answer the rows of questions, I realize that I hardly understand most of them and decide to get the help of Ursula and her husband.
After another five-hour journey we are at long last back at our little hut on the south bank. Priscilla has been very worried because she didn’t know where we spent the night. Lketinga has to explain to her why he’s wearing European clothing. I go to lie down for a bit because it’s really hot outside. I’m sure I’ve already lost several pounds.
There are just six days left before I’m due to fly home, and I still haven’t spoken to Lketinga about our future together in Kenya. All our efforts are directed towards getting this stupid passport. I start thinking about what I could work at here. Living on these modest means certainly doesn’t require much money, but even so I need something to do and a bit of income. That’s when I get the idea of looking for a shop in one of the hotels. I could employ one or two seamstresses, bring in a few patterns from Switzerland and run a little dressmaker’s. There are more than enough fine fabrics to be had, good seamstresses too who would work for three hundred francs a month or so, and selling is what I do best.
Excited by my idea, I call Lketinga into the hut and try to explain to him, but I soon realize that he doesn’t understand. But to me it’s important so I call Priscilla. She translates while Lketinga just nods now and again. Priscilla explains to me that, without getting married or a work permit, my idea is impossible. But the idea is good because she knows some people who make good money from made-to-measure clothing. I ask Lketinga if he might be interested in getting married. Contrary to my expectations, his reaction is restrained. With a certain degree of common sense, he says that if I have such a good business in Switzerland, I shouldn’t sell it but instead come to Kenya two or three times a year for ‘holidays’ and he would always be waiting for me.
Now I’m a bit up in the air. I’ve been ready and willing to give up everything back home for him, and he’s talking about holidays! I’m disappointed. He notices immediately and says, correctly of course, that he doesn’t really know me very well, or my family at all. He needs time to think.
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