damn this peace business...i should have joined pepper spray corps

They say time brings clarity but even after two weeks my only hindsight is to wish I had hind sight, as in the capability to have sight behind my, well, hind. Seriously, how intimidating could I possibly be that a grown man has to sneak up behind me? In the sand? With a machete? It’s almost flattering…

…but I’ll get to that. First allow me to rewind a few weeks to a simpler time, a time when I first had a simple yet alarming thought: it’s been much, much too long since I’ve gulped copious amounts of salt water or seen a plus sized Italian man in a Speedo. Having lived in a landlocked country for the past year, I was especially and naturally bereaving the loss of the latter phenomenon in my life. In light of this insight I planned a small trip to neighboring Kenya with another American girl I met here in Uganda. We picked Lamu, on the northern coast, as our final destination and set off early this month with visions of sunsets, Speedos and a very sweaty 26 hour bus ride.

In this part of the world Kenya’s capital, Nairobi, is not-so-lovingly referred to as “Nai-robbery” due to the high rates of, well, I’m guessing robbery? It’s a bit unclear. I think Kenyan tour companies even offer mock robberies for the tourists, you know, so they can get an honest-to-goodness feel for the history and culture of the local people. You get an “I was Nai-robbed” certificate at the end to commemorate the occasion because by that time your Nikon and possibly your eyeballs are for sale half price on the black market.

Alright, it may not be entirely true that tourists sign up to be robbed in Kenya. Not that I think they wouldn’t. My point is I’d be hard-pressed to travel somewhere referred to more often than not as the place you go to get screwed over... alas, Lamu has no such nickname. If it did I’m thinking it would be something catchy like “A La-machete may be used by a La-Muslim man in order to steal all your earthly possessions” or “La-w enforcement mu-stn’t be bothered in case of emergency.” Perhaps I’m still being vague…my friend and I were robbed of all our earthly possessions by a man with a machete and law enforcement couldn’t really be bothered to help us out. That’s about as straightforward as the story gets. It would actually be a funny story if it were actually a funny story but I think the man must have stolen my ability to lightheartedly elaborate alongside my money, passport, phone, camera, ipod and sense of security. That said, I’ll admit when my friend held her empty water bottle up to the thief as if she were confused about what trumps what in the game of rock/paper/crazymanwithmachete, I did smirk somewhere very deep down inside.

When I finally did make it home to Uganda, no small feat with 200 Ugandan shillings (11 cents) and a sunburn to my name, I discovered the tragic remains of a mass suicide of 100 plus crickets on my bathroom floor. I’m guessing they were probably robbed while on vacation in Kenya and decided they had nothing to live for. Poor bastards. I’d like to think I’m coping more gracefully. Even so, I keep wondering why this wuss felt the need to sneak up on us in such an exceedingly discrete manner. He might as well have been wearing Uggs and that invisible cloak from Harry Potter. I really would have preferred a more upfront, honest transaction. A negotiation even. Over Kenyan coffee. Maybe some soft shell crab. I dream of a world where thieves are trained in the ancient art of hospitality, if not for me than for my children. That’s right; I’m just like Martin Luther King Jr.