".....And The Eyeballs' Red Glare...."

Okay, there were three reasons why I woke up this morning with fiery red eyes. First, my allergies are kickin', which means for the past few days my peepers were crusted shut with ocular snot. Believe you me, I acknowledge that it's almost as disgusting to read about as it was to actually experience it.

Second, last night I polished off the rest of the bottle of champagne I'd bought on Tuesday to toast my new digs at 46 Rhapta Road. Let's just say a snootful of the bubbly goes directly to my head, does not pass Go, does not collect $200.

That explains why, thirdly, I had a bit of a crying jag last night. I wanted my big sister; I can't explain it, but I missed her so desperately. Besides that, I wanted somebody to hold me all night and tell me I'm not completely insane for uprooting myself once again and plopping down in another African country, away from everybody who gives even the faintest damn about what happens to me.

So I boo hooed a while. A good long while. And after seeing myself in the mirror this morning, I just knew the folks at the Nation would think I'd caught a beatdown from somebody. Still, I couldn't call in sick on my second day, so I drained half a bottle of Genteal, slapped on some make-up, and headed downtown.

Two things that happened today make me believe Julie must have heard my sobs and managed to find a way to show me everything will be okay. First, during my lunch break, as I was threading through the throngs of people on Kimathi Street, I turned a corner and saw a big yellow sign, with red letters bearing the words,

"WINKY TRADERS." Winky was my sister's nickname.

A few hours later, I went up to the Watatu Gallery, around the corner from the Sarova Hotel. My friend Debbie had purchased some fabulous artwork from Watatu last fall, when she was in Nairobi as part of a medical mission. She encouraged me to meet the owner, Morris, and see some his client's paintings.

Well, I absolutely plotzed over three incredibly vivid, textured oil paintings by a young Ugandan artist named Anwar. They're startling yet somehow dream-like at the same time. I wanted them so badly, I was almost drooling. One in particular stood out, of a woman with an asymetrical coif and traditional jewelry. Though I wanted all three, I knew I had to be fiscally prudent, so I focused on just the one. After talking Morris down to my price, he told me the painting's name....

"You Are Not Alone."

I won't be crying tonight. There's no need to. Big Sis has my back. So, have a happy Fourth of July, y'all. Mine will definitely be a lot happier than I expected it to be.