The first page of God Bless the Children of Tanzania, a memoir I am considering writing:
When people ask “What was it like to grow up in Africa?”, I want to tell them about the sun.
They are usually our family and friends from Minnesota, so they will think I am talking about the weather. I never understood how the weather could provide conversation material until I went to college in Minnesota. In Mwanza, Tanzania, the sun was an assumption. You depended on it waking you up just before the BBC news on the radio at breakfast. Its predictable leave was accompanied by the buzz of a mosquito and the scent of Queen of the Night.
Sometimes, provoked by the sun’s long harsh reign, the sky would throw a party with a strobe light and a thumping beat on the tin roof. My sister and I would run outside to join the downpour dance. Or when I was little, my siblings and I would jump up and down on our beds and build blanket forts for our stuffed animals, snuggling and giggling. In comparison to the power of thunder-lightning, the drizzle in America feels like someone spitting in my face. So if I say “rainy day” they will think I mean something sad.
But here I am being dragged into a discussion of the weather. I want to describe the sun. I want to describe opening my eyes on Saturday under a mosquito net shot through with sunlit dust. Only then, they will think my childhood was magical. It is tempting to be lulled into nostalgia.
If that were the whole truth, I would not be coming to talk to you.
I pour myself a cup of chai – by which I mean regular tea with milk, not the lattes with Pumpkin Pie Spice – and stir in a spoon of (cane) sugar. I settle into one of the wicker chairs with my back to the reception desk. The books on the display shelf are to do with Christian marriages, raising cross-cultural kids, and grieving. Outside the windows is a vibrant garden, bursting with the life of this Green City under the Sun, Nairobi, Kenya.
Yes, the sun was bright. But there was also darkness in the daytime that I am afraid to look at alone. I am waiting for you to examine my sunburn.