One of my more waggish loyal readers, who shall go unnamed because he really ought to be ashamed of himself, suggested that a possible reason the blog hasn't been updated lately is because I must have been too busy servicing Kenyan men who'd endured a week-long sex strike by women activists protesting rampant crime and corruption in the country.
Two weeks in my "Homeland" had ended much, much too quickly. I love America so much right about now, it makes my teeth ache. But while I was there, I'd noticed wire stories about a group of Kenyan women activists who'd urged women to withhold sex until the Powers That Be cleaned up their acts.
Or at least for a week.
My initial reaction was utter disdain. After living in Kenya for 10 months, and having read hundreds of stories about men beating and murdering women for any manner of reasons, real or imagined, I wondered how many women outside this group of female intelligentsia would have the power or courage to negotiate this sex ban. (In fact, the majority of females in the developing world don't even get to decide when they'll have sex, or with whom.)
My next reaction was relief at being away from Kenya, because I could just imagine the range of crude commentary that ensued after the ban was announced. (I'm told the newsroom I work in attained lockerroom status shortly thereafter.) Let's just say Kenyans have a less nuanced interpretation of the male-female dynamic. Women exist to fulfill male sexual needs, birth children, and keep house. Period. Beyond those activities, they should shut up and do what they're told.
That's only slightly exaggerated, unfortunately. That kind of attitude, along with some of the other psychic adjustments required to move from American society to African culture, had taken a heavy subconscious toll on me. My two weeks in the US reminded me of all the ways I've had to pull in the reins a bit to function here. Truth be told, one of the most taxing aspects has been pretty much dismissing the possibility of any kind of intimate relationship with a man here...at least, with a Kenyan man.
Now, I've been victimized by negative stereotypes, so I shouldn't automatically conclude that all Kenyan men are callous brutes. But the relentless sexual/cultural sturm and drang in this society, coupled with the appalling greed and selfishnessness of political leaders, just left me emotionally drained. By the time I returned to Nairobi, where a stack of newspapers awaited to reinforce all of those negative stereotypes in my jet-lagged brain, all I wanted to do was tune out.
What's worse, jet-lag kicked my natural ass this time. For four days straight, I simply couldn't sleep. I've battled significant insomnia off and on over the past decade, but there was something especially insidious about this stint. The grogginess and other adjustments your body clock has endure in a 7-hour time shift are bad enough, but when you can't even catch the occasional catnap, it's just agony.
But I'm pleased to say I've finally passed the worst of it. Last night I even managed about 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep! And I've decided that I'm NOT going to plow through that stack of newspapers, because all it's going to do is piss me off. Besides, there are enough new Kenyan corruption eruptions every day to keep me preoccupied.
In other words, it's time to get down to business, at work and in my personal life. I'm committed to being here at least until July 2010, so I need to make the most of this time. My recent trip was a good reminder that America is HOME, and no matter how long I live abroad, that won't change. Now the big challenge is being at home in myself, wherever I am.
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