A chaotic bus ride and I am back in Nairobi. Leaving Garissa and its sunshine and drought. The bus managers – Commander and Vice-Commander – kept the ride entertaining. The Vice-Commander chewing on khat and drinking Coca-Cola, jumping in and out of the moving bus to coax in new customers. The Commander, from a long family of doctors working in Nairobi’s top hospitals, briefly grabbing my hair to point out that I was Somali because of its long texture. My neighbor, an older woman fitted in a brown hidjab, giving me spearmint gum and sugar cane, as well as a pen.
