This holiday weekend was busy! Although technically we had four days off, the only sign for me that Easter was here was that hawkers were selling palm leaves on the street. I spent most of the long weekend at the computer, banging away furiously and attempting to get the reports for both the Nairobi and Bujumbura workshops done in time for Tuesday night. I made it, but only after being in the office for about twelve hours yesterday. The full-length reports (30+ pages each) are sent back to the organization that funded the workshops, the International Alliance of Indigenous and Tribal Peoples of the Tropical Forests (quite a mouthful, innit?). I got some positive feedback from them today, so I’m quite satisfied with that. The recommendations and a summary will then be published by us for release at the CBD Conference of Parties, and for wider distribution in our magazine.

There was one even this weekend that I couldn’t miss, though, and that was the Mathare Roots second anniversary celebration. It’s hard to believe that it’s already been two years since a group of friends from Mathare decided to get together and form their own group to address youth issues in their community. The organization has grown enormously since then. They had decided to hold the celebrations indoors after all, which was a wise decision as it rained for most of the afternoon. The location was Mambo village, a little theme-park type place about forty-five minutes out of town. It’s mostly for kids; there are boat rides and really horrifyingly frightening clowns, and those big inflatable castles that I always want to jump into. The major attraction, though, is the crocodile enclosure, where these prehistoric beasts lie around all day, somehow managing to look lazy and ferocious at the same time. The Roots crew had all jammed themselves into a matatu hired for the occasion, and for some of the younger children, the trek out of town was probably the first time they’d ever been that far out of Mathare. I must say that it was a bit strange to see all these people who I normally see in a very basic classroom in the slum, in such a clearly middle-class setting. Everyone loved it, though. As the chairman and one of the founding members of the group, George was ecstatic. I was so proud of him and glad that everything worked out smoothly.

We had a little bar all to ourselves, so the kids could run around to their hearts’ content. There were speeches, a hearty lunch and a cake. And of course, this being a Kenyan youth group, there was a dance competition. I have never seen such jaw-droppingly shameless dancing in my life. Pelvis thrusts, fancy footwork, booty-shaking, a bit of break dancing… it was truly awe-inspiring. When I asked Brenda, one of the winners, where she had learned to dance like that, she declared that her talent was God-given (I love that, the Lord gave me hips to grind). But it’s easier to be a good dancer, or at least an unselfconscious dancer, in a culture where pretty much everyone dances. There is no stigma about male dancing here, which is one of the things that always makes me so happy about Kenya. I love to see guys genuinely getting into dancing. I’m not ashamed to admit that George is a way better dancer than I am. Even the little eight year old boys have more style than me on the dance floor. It just comes with the territory, I guess.

After a long day of celebrations, about a dozen Roots kids trooped out to Buruburu to see where the chairman and his “wife” are living. It was nice to have people over – living so far out as we do, we don’t get that many guests. We may have a new apartment soon, though. When I was away, George was working hard to find us a new place, and made a verbal agreement with an agent in South C. Though we’re hopefully going to meet the landlord and sign a lease soon, I’ll believe that we have the place when we move in. I don’t trust those agents.

I also have some Western company these days. Melissa, one of the people that I traveled with on my first trip to Kenya with the Canadian Field Studies in Africa Program in 2005, has returned to Nairobi to volunteer with Roots for the next five months. She has just come from teaching English in Korea, and has brought another ESL teacher, Tracy from the UK, along with her. It has been really nice to have others around who actually like vegetables and understand what I mean when I complain about peoples’ flaky time-keeping.

I’m not complaining too much these days, though. It’s been two months since I’ve arrived, and I feel as though I’ve finally hit my stride, made some good connections and am developing more of an ear (if not quite a tongue yet) for Kiswahili. Work is hectic and takes a lot of energy, but I’m loving it. George and I are settling into a routine, managing to juggle both of our crazy schedules. Even with all of its frustrations and absurdity, Nairobi feels like home again.