So I’ve decided not to change my plans after all. I’m staying the course. What does this entail, exactly? Well, I plan to stay at work until December. In October, my parents are coming for a visit and I will be taking two weeks off to travel with them in Tanzania, which will be wonderful. In November, I may or may not be traveling to Southern Africa to take part in a few women’s rights workshops, and attend the “Power of Movements” forum in South Africa. All of that depends on funding which is not yet confirmed, and I have no idea what our chances are of actually getting it. December will be report-writing and wrap up.

I’m hoping to head to the coast for the holidays. I’m a die-hard traditionalist when it comes to Christmas – there must be snow, a turkey with mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce and gravy, and mandarin oranges at the toe of stockings – but I suppose if I can’t have that, Christmas on the beach will have to do. In January, I’m hoping to visit both Ethiopia and Rwanda. In February, I’ll likely head home, and hopefully work for a few months before returning to school.

After the break-up, I had considered coming home early. I could be making a lot more money at home than I am here (where I’m munching away at my savings, really!), and I’ll need that money for school, especially if I go abroad. And there are a lot of things I miss about home. My friends and family are at the top of the list, of course. There are new additions to the family, and my friends’ families, who I haven’t even met yet! I also miss the food. I’m pretty sure my system will be in shock when I return, just because of the variety that it isn’t used to here. I miss fresh, crunchy salads, sushi, pho, imperial rolls on vermicelli with that tangy dressing, nachos, salmon, really good bread, gyros, cheese, pierogies, ice cream and gelato in all of its glorious flavours… mmmm. Not to mention fruits like peaches, raspberries and blueberries (all berries, really), plums and pears, and all manner of vegetables. Other things I miss are bike riding, yoga, movie nights, the freedom to walk by myself at night almost anywhere I please, easily accessible, clean and relatively safe parks, and secularism. Montreal in general. Big art galleries and museums. A reliable supply of water and electricity. I miss living in a place that is not so openly and deeply homophobic (though Canada still has a long way to go in that regard as well).

But despite all of the people and things that I miss, I couldn’t see myself leaving Kenya anytime soon. It became clear to me that I didn’t just come here for a relationship, but because I love Kenya, and Nairobi in a peculiar kind of way. Nothing is ever dull here – the city is big and loud and chaotic. At times it’s exasperating, and it can also be frightening. But it is never boring. I love Nairobi for its ambition, its attitude and ridiculousness, its showiness and contrasts and cynicism. Nairobi is con men and politicians, sex workers, aid workers, preachers and street kids, refugees and country folk. It s almost too much to imagine. Nairobi makes me laugh and sigh and rage.

And Kenya – Kenya I love because I can’t help myself. Just the variety of cultures is absolutely astounding. It’s hard to believe that so much richness can be packed into one tiny country. Everywhere I’ve gone in Kenya, I’ve found people to be incredibly hospitable. I also love the fact that nearly everyone is very opinionated, especially when it comes to politics. Kenyans are also storytellers. Stories come in the form of song, in the elaborately-crafted scam, in a tale told to friends over drinks and roast meat. Everyone has a story about their identity: their family, their tribe, where they come from, what they stand for, what they’ve been through. Everyone has a story about their dreams.

I though about leaving here and what I would miss. My daily life isn’t all travel and excitement, but there are many moments of wonder. Here, small children chatter away to me in Swahili, and shyly play with my hair in the matatu in the morning. My daily commute is down a major road lined with acacia trees, in which maribu storks make their nests. They’re giant birds, simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying. Here, I can easily access diverse communities full of fascinating people; from those who live in slums to those who move through deserts, from pastoralists to hunter-gatherers to agriculturalists. I certainly don’t have those opportunities in Canada. And as much as I complain about the food here, there’s a lot that I would miss. Chapati, mandazi and smoky chai. Sukuma and ugali. Nyama choma. Mokimo. Stony. Whole fried tilapia. Even the ubiquitous chicken after a long night of dancing.

No, I’m not ready to go. There’s still so much to see and do. Kenya’s hold on me is still strong.