of mariakani.

Mariakiani, a little town about an hour outside Mombasa, is paradise. I am staying with a friend’s “adopted” mother. She runs a small shop selling biscuits, butter, soda, eggs and other basics. The corridor behind the shop leads into a compact and organized heaven with a swing large enough to fit three abreast and an open-air dining room. When I return from work in the evening, she serves me dhal and cardamom rice (boil water with salt, oil and cardamom until perfumed, add rice) and sweet, spiced chicken. The grandmother watches Transformers and fiddles with her prayer beads. Her husband, son and herself sit around the table and talk about Facebook while I eat. Bedtime, she tucks the mosquito net around me. At 4 a.m., breakfast is served for those fasting. The call to prayer begins shortly after. I wake up two hours later and watch a fleet of pigeons being fed grain on the metal rooftop.