Deja Vu

Acclimating to different locales while traveling can be a bit of a challenge sometimes, especially wherever we’re staying.  First looks, I check out if there’s mosquito netting, then the bathroom facilities.  Except for a few times we’ve always had the much needed netting and well, those of you who have read my musings before, know that toilets, showers, sinks and I have a long, long history…mostly providing me new opportunities for my collection of photos. However, the past week has proved to be such a unique experience.  Traveling back to Nairobi after being “up-country” in Western Kenya for the past four weeks, we had hoped to stay where we have stayed before.  It’s a place we know and have grown accustomed to (the one without toilet seats).  Unfortunately, they were booked, so we frantically began the search for a new one.  Nairobi can be a very scary place to be, so finding somewhere not only somewhat clean and safe, but also affordable can be a huge challenge. But leave it to my awesome husband who discovered a new prospect.  He asked me, “What do you think about staying at a hostel that’s also a convent?  They have rooms there for $50 a night, plus they give you three meals a day.” $50 compared to the $250 for some of the others, I quickly agreed that yes, even though this could be risky, it’s would be so worth it.  One of the main reasons being that it is very close to the upscale, very western internet café we had found that serves decaf coffees. On arrival, I was happy to see the customary fencing and gate manned intently with an armed guard. So far so good.  Checking in, we were taken to a building with a long hall and doors leading into traveler’s rooms to the left and right. Entering our room, the first inspection passed as I looked at each of the single beds (not even hoping or expecting a double); both had mosquito netting hanging securely over them. Now, I must admit, we did pay the extra $5 to have our own bathroom.   Quite interesting!  Here they had placed a large glass case into the room.  It is about the size of a sliding door closet, but it does have all of the essentials:  shower, sink...only cold water...and toilet...the extra $5 ensuring that we didn’t have to wander down the hall to pee and wash our faces alongside other male and female residents.  All of this for $50 per night in Nairobi!!  The one slight glitch, however, was that the Sister checking us in said to be especially careful of leaving anything in our room as it might be stolen.  There is evidence to confirm this, as we could easily see that the door and the little wardrobe door had both been picked and broken into so many times, there were globs of puddy stuffed into the wood around the new lock.....mmmmm, not too comforting, but at least we were forewarned.  Of course, Roger has had his tiny computer glued to him, along with cell phone and, of course, his Kindle! A quip from a fellow comrade describes our place perfectly:

"The hostel itself is, in a word, Spartan. It reminds me of some places I’ve stayed in the former East Germany just after reunification – run-down but clean. The accommodations, run by the Consolata Sisters, will be fine, but I think I’ll be pretty happy to return to my house after a month here. The bath towel is like sandpaper (no fabric softener here), and there is a very small, rudimentary bar of soap. The bathroom itself has a shower that is configured rather oddly. It has a spigot that sticks pretty far out and looks like something a bathtub would have, with hot/cold water faucets and a shower/spigot selector knob. The only problem with the spigot is that it is positioned directly under the showerhead at a height that, shall we say, requires a certain degree of caution.  Breakfast is at 7 am sharp and apparently the sisters do not like anyone to be late.”

However, I’m seriously wondering how much of Africa this sojourner has traveled in.  Towel, soap, water, AND breakfast!!!!! After two nights here and having the opportunity to check out other rooms, we’ve decided to move into a larger room and forego our built-in bath.  Happy to save the $5 each night for the remaining days here, we’ve adapted to our new digs and don’t mind sharing and visiting with others while making the trek down the hall to the shower or toilet.  The hostel compound itself is very quiet, secluded from the noise of the city traffic and very safe.  Even the gentle singing coming from the sanctuary at 6:30 a.m. mass is soothing as it reminds us we better hustle if we are going to get any of the white bread and “bologna” that will be served for breakfast. A bell rings at 7, 1, and 6:45 inviting us to come to the dining room if we are going to get anything to eat.  Sharing our table every meal with two others, we’ve met the most interesting people:  two young men, one from Scotland, the other from China who have just climbed Mt. Kilamanjaro; a former Kenyan, now a U.S. citizen who has been here for five weeks caring for his elderly father; a girl from Burundi who is in Nairobi for business communications; an elderly couple from Ohio who are here for the ninth time to work in the slums; Lucy, a Kenyan nurse who works at a tea plantation up-county who is here in Nairobi for training to work with terminally ill patients who have HIV-AIDS. Outside of the main stone building is a canvass sign advocating:  "Whatever is good must be done well and quietly."  I have been giving this considerable thought!  However, mostly I’ve been thinking about how incredibly strange it feels to be here.  The long hallways, closed doors to the left and right, the secured gate, the omnipresent authority figures (here they are priests and nuns), the rules one must adhere to (spoken and not), the communal bathrooms, small, tiny yellow or green painted bedrooms with two single beds and a cold water sink in the corner with a miniature mirror and shelf above, community meals, and the formidable desk under the one window.  It’s all so strangely comforting and familiar.  Can it be 43 years ago that I said good-bye to the boarding school that had been home for four long years and is over 10,000 miles from this place?  I peeked out my door, half expecting Miss Lit (the Headmistress) or Miss Hodges (Head Dean) to come barreling down the hall peering into each of our rooms to make sure lights are out and each of us is securely in our room and in bed! To my relief neither of their silhouettes appeared.  Sadly, though, neither did the flash of schoolgirl friends Jenny, Maria, BS, Mary Lee or Marshall racing into their rooms quickly before the final blast of the bell for the day or the dreaded opening of our doors and the unsolicited sing-song “Good-night” from one of the matrons.  These ancient voices of doom were only too happy to exert their authority if we happened to be still dressed or lingering at our desks over the mounds of homework each night.  Little did they know what actually happened as they finally closed their own bedroom doors at night! Memories all built into who we are. Isn’t it interesting how one event in life prepares you for the next.  How could I know, living simply, studying hard, and communal living would give me tools, experiences and even comforting familiarity for what my life had held through the years? One experience leads to another leads to another, all held together with common threads.  Each of our life stories unfold, each chapter continuing into the next in the books of our lives.  Fascinating!