I’ve just noticed there are lizard droppings on my bedroom floor.
The view from the plane was rough fleece and cumulus. Dawn brought combinations of pink/navy, blue/ethereal white, then a submersion in golden mist as we sank through a cloud into drab, yellow-tinted Nairobi, all ragged wet shrubs, an array of tents, and a soot-stained building site where International Arrivals used to be.
No more sipping on Java House passion juice while waiting for flights. Instead, several sluggish buses. The bus which waited when I dragged my 20 kilo hand luggage down the steps was captained by a guy in military fatigues who had to be shaken awake. Apparently the roar of an arriving 747 wasn’t sufficiently alarming to rouse him.
Finally, sleepily, I made it to Kisumu, where Mum and Buddha the taxi driver picked me up and took me to our new home. I napped, rode in a tuk-tuk (not sure how to describe this – a cross between a motorbike and Mr. Bean’s car?), picked fallen frangipani and saw Lake Victoria from above, a breach in the clouds pouring orange light down onto the water in straight sweet shafts.
Then the sky turned cloudy-lemonade-yellow, the papaya tree standing out sharp and black.
Now I’m lying in bed, trying to decide if I'm imagining a faint bad smell, or if there’s another lizard taking a sneaky dump behind my bed.
There better flipping not be.