A Moving Experience

Here's how jacked up Sunday was. I spent all morning being ferried around the region looking for empty boxes before finally finding a handful at one of the local Superstores. When I got back home, I realized I needed more and so headed back to scrounge and plead for another handful. But by this point, the lines at the Superstore were so long I almost went starkers waiting to pay for them.

By then it was cool and rainy, so I laid down to take a quick nap and woke up three hours later!!!! Cursing myself for losing so much time, I plowed into the packing and winnowing process. Most of the time was spent knocking off the two inches of silt-like dust that settles on everything in Nairobi, especially when it's tucked away or out of sight. Then I gobbled some take away Indian food too fast and got a wicked case of indigestion.

Basically, I wasted a lot of time refusing to accept the fact that I have far more crap then I thought I had, which really hacked me off. By 11 PM, I was so exhausted, I decided to just pay Phyllis the Housekeeper to finish up what I hadn't gotten to and stumbled to the bathroom to prep for beddie bye. Reached for my toning towelettes (the ones I use to swab the first layer of Nairobi grime off my face and neck before the actual cleansing process begins), I noticed their scent varied greatly from the usual cucumber avocado aroma.

Then I recoiled in horror as I scanned the package from whence I'd just pulled said cleansing cloth. I had just toned and clarified my weary visage with a Mr. Muscle bathrooom wipe.

You know, even though I have only one piece of furniture to move, and not a whole lot of books, moving is still hell, what with the suitcases and dishes and shoes and purses and GEEZ LOUISE!

I should just fling open my apartment door and shout "Come and Get It!!!" The place would be stripped to dry wall in 5 minutes flat. But that rather cynical fantasy aside, I really must think minimalism in the new place.

Not minimal shoes or clothes, mind you, because I'm only human. Just less clutter and clouds of dust. I'm hoping that because the new place isn't right on the main road, there won't be so much constant smutz in the air and on every available surface. I'm hoping I won't hear as much traffic noise, or the incessant shouting and cheesy disco music from the gym that wakes me up each morning.

And I'm hoping I'll meet some interesting neighbors who'll stick around for a while. Most of the folks at the Liza(rd) were serious short-termers--no more than a month or two at most. Oh, and I already know there are a couple of women of African descent who actually live in the new complex, so I'm also hoping there'll be fewer cases where I'm denied entry until I'm forced to get out of the taxi and shake my fist at the recalcitrant guards.

(You see, most of the women of African descent at the Liza(rd) are the housekeeping staff, or they're providing carnal "aid and comfort" to the short-termers. Unless they've been given advance notice of visiting 'hoes, they can be real sticklers about letting you in.)

Anyhoo, it's almost time to head back home and see how much packing Phyllis the Housekeeper has magically taken care of for me. GOD, I'm going to miss Phyllis. I always thought noone could ever replace Pamela, the dear woman in Gulu who washed my shoelaces every day, so detergent-ically devoted was she to me. But Phyllis is just as incredible with my laundry; everything is spotless and perfectly ironed, in ways I couldn't even begin to try and replicate.

(Don't worry. I'm already plotting to double her salary and get her to work for me at the new place. After all, how many times in life do you get to dramatically improve a person's quality of life just by producing enough flop sweat to choke a camel?)

But enough of these disjointed ramblings, already. I guess I'm just a bit giddy about tomorrow. It'll be a moving experience.