A hot shower

When I came to Iringa about a week and a half ago, sick, I splurged on a $20/night safi hotel with a comfy bed, hot shower, Western toilet, soap, mirrors, towels, and omelets with bread and honey, sausages, fresh papaya juice and chai for breakfast. I felt like such a tourist, though I loved speaking Kiswahili to the pleasantly-surprised desk workers, bell hops, and restaurant servers.

But it was oh-so-worth-it, especially being sicker than a dog, and I realized how difficult life in the village really is. I hadn’t had a hot shower since I left the States four and a half months ago. It was heaven. So I decided to stay a second night while I was healing just to experience such luxury a little more before returning to my mosquito-ridden house without electricity or running water, my cold bucket baths every other day, my ever-molding vegetables, my broken charcoal stove, and my foam mattress with a large dent in it exactly the size and shape of my body.

It’s certainly a challenge, but also an adventure and a great opportunity. I’ve never thought for one second that this is not what I’m meant to be doing right now in my life. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be, even if I don’t always feel like I belong or that I know what I’m doing. In fact, usually I don’t. But I wake up every morning and get out of bed to keep trying with my head held high. Someday, eventually, I will truly belong in this community and it will be my home.