MASAI BLANKET

It was a chilly November night and the East African breeze felt cool and refreshing on my cheek and shoulders. On nights like these, it made sense to be situated on the 30th floor of the penthouse apartment in Kileleshwa Nairobi. The panoramic view was certainly more impressive up here although the darkness of the night camouflaged the breathtaking view for the moment. However, the night sounds more than compensated for the cloaked sights. The soft tussle of the leaves upon the trees in the fields below created a soothing melody and I reveled in its night song. The stimulating sound of the small brook was a special treat as well. Although the streamlet blazes a watery path at all hours, during the day, its sound is usually muffled above the resonance of the nearby Primary Boarding School when it is in full swing. The happy sounds of children playing and frolicking in the sun were a different kind of refrain….


TO BE CONTINUED

MASAI BLANKET

As I stood holding onto the banister, another sound pierced the night, and that was the sound of my crying baby. I was a little taken aback as I had fed her less than an hour ago. I wondered if she was experiencing gastric discomfort from the baby formula transition we effected less than 24 hours ago. It had not escaped my notice that her feces were more hardened and I made a mental note to switch her back to her previous formula for now. In the United States, baby formula is graded from 0-12 months but the formula we had her on now had four stages: 0-6months, 6-12, 12-18, and 18-24 months. Baby was 7 months old and I had just switched her to the second grade. I rushed to the nursery and discovered, to my relief, that Baby had stopped crying but I picked her up and cuddled her close to my bosom nonetheless. We both settled into the rocking chair in her room and began to rock gently, back and forth. In my mind, I was consoling her from a possible gastric discomfort or even an infantile nightmare. If I was being honest with myself, I was also consoling myself for longing for my emotionally unavailable husband.

As we rocked, I thought about how beautiful Nairobi was. I had quickly fallen in love with the wildlife and the sprawling open market among other things. It reminded me so much of my home country Nigeria and I found that I blended in well until I opened my mouth and it becomes evident to the indigenes that I do not speak much Kiswahili. And unfortunately, even though I am surrounded by a picturesque environment, being away from family, friends and my career was starting to get to me. I could no longer ignore the nagging feeling that I may have lost myself a little since leaving the familiar territory. I was eager to find fulfillment in our temporary base but I acknowledged the fact that these things take time.

I admitted to myself that I felt bored and listless and with this admission came the familiar pang of guilt. Granted, I was in a new space, but I wondered for the umpteenth time why my relationship with Tunde and my children was not enough to fulfill me in the interim.? In the 10 years since I have been married, I have flirted with the idea of being a Stay-At-Home-Mom but have never been able to summon the courage to make such a huge transition. Truth be told, I did consider our temporary sojourn in Kenya as an opportunity to test the waters in this regard. I acknowledged to an unseen cloud of witnesses that I was failing the experiment miserably as the boredom was making me feel enervated and irritable. Why couldn't I be like all the other confident Stay-At-Home Moms who built their world around their sweet families? Why wasn't home life enough for me?

Baby entered into a more languid slumber and began to snore and so I positioned her back in her crib and adjusted the mosquito net securely around the wooden structure. I had noticed that the prevalence of those pesky insects had reduced now that the temperature was cooling down but I still refused to take any chances with the mosquito bites and malaria that can come with it. I took one more look at the sleeping daughter, walked out of her room, and made my way back to the balcony. On my way, I looked in on Tunde and as expected, he was hunched over his computer working hard to meet up with one deadline or the other. I, along with the children followed him to Kenya in the hopes that it would be like an extended vacation but it was yet to feel like an excursion for any of us. He was always busy with work at night and catching up on his sleep during the daytime and we were all reluctant to do much sightseeing without him.

He had told me for years that he wished to invest in real estate on the African continent and this year he finally decided to take the plunge. He had suggested I remain in the United States with our three children but I had declined. I am not even sure why I was reluctant to leave him to his explorative devices in East Africa. He had surely not given me much reason to doubt his fidelity in the 10 years we have been married and perhaps it was insecurity on my part. I was still trying to sort through the murky waters of it all. Regardless of the underlying reason, we packed up the house and traveled to Nairobi. The plan was to remain here for three months and this would give Tunde time to research investment possibilities. Tunde was also working remotely as a Database Administrator and he was constantly working far into the night because of the 8-hr time difference between Kenya and the United States. The long nights and sleep deprivation had made Tunde cranky and his interest in sex had diminished drastically. It had taken quite a toll on our marriage and I was beginning to question the wisdom in following him to Africa. I stood briefly at the door of his study watching him type furiously, willing him to notice me but he did not and I kept moving back to the balcony.

TO BE CONTINUED....