I'm Married.

These two words are my savior and the bane of every Kenyan man’s existence. Also, I got my residency card. I am officially an alien within Kenya. Go me.

So, remember Big Brother, that reality show I mentioned a few weeks ago? The one where a bunch of people from various countries get stuck in a house for three months and the last one standing wins $200,000? Well, this guy from Rwanda won. The runner-up, Uti, returned home to Zimbabwe and promptly received a $300,000 consolation gift from his dear president Robert Mugabe, to stave off emotional trauma. Yes, I wrote that right, and yes, it’s half again as much as the prize money itself. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you corruption at its finest.

I moved out of Nairobi and to my internship site yesterday. As we drove northward we passed through an area that reminded me of cornfields in Wisconsin that stretch as far as I can see, except here it’s brilliant green rice paddies. Farther north, in the hilly country, slopes are covered by tea and banana plantations. Everything here is harvested by hand: I’ve seen a total of two tractors, both trundling down the road. Workers, no doubt many of them children, dot the fields with sacks slung over their backs. People drag entire banana trees over their shoulders. Next to the road men unload truckloads of heaps of bananas, all still clinging in clusters to a central stock.

I’m stationed in a small town called Nkubu on the NE side of Mt. Kenya, right smack on the equator. The area is stunning. I live quite literally in the shadow of the mountain, surrounded by banana and tea plantations. (Side note: I’ve eaten at least four kinds of bananas here. I didn’t even know four species of bananas existed.) The commercial center, if it can be called that, is a strip of stores along the main (two-lane) road. Not, mind you, that the road gets any bigger for three hours in any direction. There’s an outside market, a supermarket, a chemist (pharmacy), a couple banks, and a few miscellaneous shops. And the Nkubu Consolata Mission Hospital, which is where I’m stationed for my internship.

I live in a beautiful compound five minutes’ walk from the hospital. There’s a large garden with flowering shrubs and trees surrounded by a hedge. We have goats, a couple dogs, and a few acres where my host mom, Jacinta, grows bananas, maize, beans, arrowroot, sweet potato, sugarcane, some stuff I don’t recognize, and a certain hallucinogenic leaf that, although illegal in surrounding countries, is extremely popular in Kenya. Potted plants surrounding our entryway include daylilies and jade plants. There are flashy birds and lizards everywhere. I have a private room that consists of a sitting room, a bedroom and a bathroom. I feel sane again: maybe something to do with being back in the hills and mountains and breathing clean air, and the rain: yep, the rainy season hath come, and we’re on the ocean side of the mountain… however, it’s still warm. Take that, Portland.

In addition to keeping up the crops, my mom is also a nurse in the provincial hospital in the nearby town of Meru. My host dad, Sebastian, is a businessman. He claims he’s retired, but he still runs a hotel/bar/restaurant in town (aka. a five minute walk from the house). The bar is more often than not filled with guys who have come to watch soccer and drink. He’s a busy man: he rarely comes home at night, sleeping instead in the hotel. In addition, I have a younger sister living at home, as well as live-in house help.

Meals are special. Jaunia allows me to serve myself food, but then heaps more on my plate. “We live to eat,” she tells me. I reply that there is no way I can possibly consume that much food without being sick. She, however, has made it her mission to see me gain at least five kilos before I leave the place. I’m doomed.