Brooklyn Meets Nairobi

So far, my kids are ROCKING their new lives in DC:

When we left Nairobi, there were a few things I was very sad to leave behind.  Namely, JKM Dance -- Zahra's ballet studio;  Kitisuru Riding and Rescue -- the kids' horseback riding classes;  and Lasona, their amazing little preschool.  (Also the weather and the pool and  of course, our friends, the elephants, the beach and the PARTIES!!! :-))

But, my biggest concern was their preschool.  We worked so hard to find the right school for Zahra and Jari.  And once we found it, we were able to give Zahra such a wonderful PreK experience.  She came home happy, covered in mud, thrilled about her day.  For Jari, there couldn’t have been a better introduction to school than playing outside in a garden with chickens and rabbits!  

And I was very concerned that our move to DC would pull Jari out of his happy nature school and leave him stuck in an academic environment for PreK4.   I felt like he was the one losing out the most in our move because, not only was he leaving everything he knew -- he was only nine months old when we moved to Kenya, but he wasn’t going to benefit the way Zahra did from our relentless search for the perfect nursery school.  

And yet, somehow we were able to find the most amazing, wonderful school for him in Washington DC that was more perfect than I could have imagined.  

A school where he plays outside everyday:   sledding, swinging, and running around....  a school where he is legit getting excited about learning...  and a school were he’s making great friends!  This is the first time in his life where he’s really making his own little besties and not just hanging out with his big sister’s friends. He goes to school beaming each day and I pick him up in the afternoons with a big smile on his face!  We could not be happier.

The emphasis on outside time, for a 4-year-old was what we wanted the most.  And while going outside in all kinds of weather in Nairobi is one thing, going outside in all kinds of weather in DC is something else.   I couldn't have been happier on Tuesday and Wednesday when I went to pick him up and, despite the snow and rain, I heard sounds of laughter and fun when I walked down the street.  Both afternoons, despite the cold and questionable weather and threat of snow squalls, kids were outside running around, having fun, and enjoying the school's gorgeous playground.

But today we woke up to 9F ( - 12.8C) before the windchill factor.  I actually hesitated in sending him to school at all.  I didn’t want to go outside, nevermind sending off my 4-year-old who pulls off his jacket every chance he gets.  But off he went.

And so did Zahra, walking half a mile to school in the below freezing temperatures.  She wasn’t nearly as prepared as one of her classmates.

And so, I was thrilled when his school posted on facebook that they set up an obstacle course inside the school!  They also played with balls and parachutes so that the kids could get in their movement and have some fun!

They just totally understand what kids who are 3, 4, and 5 need!  I'm so happy that Jari's first year in DC has been so wonderful and that, even when he moves on next year,  he'll forever be part of this wonderful little school community.   On Saturday, his school hosted a pancake breakfast, complete with an amazing balloon maker, face painting, and live music.  Kids came dressed in their pajamas. Jari and Zahra had a wonderful time.  We’re so grateful this school has been part of our DC experience.  I really think, watching Jari fall in love with school and come into his own, has been the highlight of our first year here.

AND, while we may not have found a way to get the kids back into horseback riding -- that’s still on my list but it’s ridiculous expensive and the experiences young children can have are somewhat limited at our nearby stables...  

After many months, we have finally found a sweet little dance school for Zahra!

Her dance studio in Kenya was such a highlight of our time there.  I could go on and on, and I have, about what a difference it made walking into that studio our first week in Nairobi.  After a day or two alone with a 9-month-old and a 2.5-year-old, where we’d hit up multiple disappointments, and were still jet-lagged and adjusting...  it just felt so normal, so wonderful, and so perfectly appropriate.   Zahra joined a class with several other 2.5 and 3-year-olds and we never looked back.  Her weekly dance classes were where we first started making friends who helped us navigate Nairobi.  We learned about doctor’s offices and playgroups.  Later, her dance studio is where Zahra and her dance friends watched from backstage while the big kids prepped for rehearsal.  It’s where I sat in empty auditoriums with other parents, watching and chatting as dress rehearsals went on forever.  

It was some of the most normal, sane moments I had in Nairobi.  And such a beautiful part of Zahra’s early childhood.  Jari grew up hanging out outside of Zahra’s classes.  Despite buying him tap shoes at age 2, he was never into it.  But every week he’d come with us and hang out and wait while she danced.   And so, when we moved to DC, we wanted to find something similar.  It took a while.  But finally we found a really sweet new studio where there aren’t performances twice a year and Zahra won’t be taking ballet and tap, but the vibe felt right.  On Saturday, Zahra starts hip hop classes (which she chose after sampling ballet, modern jazz, and hip hop this past Saturday after some face-painting) and we couldn’t be more excited!  

When I started this blog, three years ago (see above the babies we took to Kenya three years ago,) I partly wanted to show people that Nairobi wasn't that different than home.  A lot of our friends are well traveled, but some aren't.  For a lot of people, when they think of Africa, an image of mud huts comes to mind much faster than an image of swanky toddler birthday parties with alcoholic sorbet.

And when I moved to Nairobi, I wanted to convince myself of the same thing.   Leaving Brooklyn was HARD for me.  Much harder than it was for Abdul and Zahra and Jari.  I'd recently had kids and we were living in the epicenter of an idyllic childhood.  Say whatever you want, I'll always believe that there's no better place to raise young children than Brooklyn.

It's been over three years now, but I'll never forget sitting in Nunu, a week before we left, getting an email from Meghan (a friend I hadn't met yet) confirming that Zahra could come to ballet that Tuesday.  I remember the feeling of normalcy it gave me as we went shopping for her leotard and ballet shoes that evening.

I remember, a few days later, finding a facebook page for a playgroup for kids 3 and under and realizing that maybe this was all going to be okay.   And in those first days in Nairobi, we took the kids to see elephants and giraffes.  

We took them out for sushi and pizza at a restaurant with a little playground where, less than 24 hours after arriving, Zahra made her first friend in Kenya -- a little girl who ended up in her preschool class several months later.   I took Zahra to a gymnastics class, that didn't actually exist on our first Monday, but our disappointment was short-lived when she started ballet on Tuesday and I met parents who would be at the playgroup on Wednesday.

But those first few months in our serviced apartment were HARD.  Jari was nine-months old. Zahra wasn't yet three.  There weren't any other kids in our apartment building.  We arrived late on a Friday night and Abdul started work on Monday.  I got mastitis a week or so after arriving and I was alone, dealing with a baby and a toddler, with a 103 fever while trying to find an OB who would see me and prescribe medicine.

Zahra's best friend those first two months was one of the guards at our building.  She would go downstairs and sit with him as he waited to open the gate for cars. We took taxis everywhere, which meant dragging two huge Britax Boulevards, in addition to a 2-year-old and 9-month-old and a diaper bag, everywhere we went. But slowly we unpacked and got our bearings.  We found more restaurants with playgrounds. We started researching apartments.   And then we found one.  In our amazing compound full of children our kids ages.  With a playground where the kids congregated.  With a swimming pool.  With gymnastics classes that came to us.  

And those children we met, children who came and went, children who stayed, they changed everything for my kids.   They made their early childhoods magical.

We found one school and then a better school (with a lot of effort.)  

We went to swimming lessons and horseback riding lessons.  

And it wasn't the same as Brooklyn, but it kind of felt like I imagined middle America would feel -- with elephants.  Lots of driving.  Lots of glittery shopping malls with huge grocery stores.  Lots of moderately good restaurants.  

By the time my parents visited, a few months in, we were unpacking our new apartment and they were pleasantly surprised.  

Other than having to flip a switch in advance of showering with hot water, we had a nice sized apartment, a great pool, consistent electricity, water, and wifi, a Clarks and Sketchers to buy the kids shoes, pizza delivery and nearby sushi -- it was as if we'd moved to the suburbs!

And in many, many ways, that is what Nairobi is.  There's lots of green, lots of trees, lots of (privatized playgrounds,) and glitzy shopping malls.  It's often easy to ignore the polluted air and crazy traffic, the dust and the lack of first responders.  

For most expats, Nairobi is a very easy place to call home. What I used to wonder (and what I wonder still) whenever we visited  and drove around in the US, was what my kids thought, looking out the windows.   Because when you're in a shopping mall in Kenya, you might think you're in the US.  

When we're watching PBSKids in Nairobi, we may as well be in Brooklyn or DC.  When we're playing with friends or eating at a restaurant...  

But driving along the roads in Kenya is different.  Yes, there are neighborhoods were you might feel like you're in California or Miami.  But there's also a lot of traffic.  A lot of people walking along the street.  A lot of poisonous pollution spitting trucks. And there are also markets. Food stalls, clothing stalls, people selling furniture.  It's chaotic and unique to what it is.  Riding their scooters along the clean sidewalks of Brooklyn and DC, my kids don't see what they saw in Nairobi. Does the difference phase them?  Is it just so normal to them they don't even recognize it? In Nairobi, we lived about five minutes from a huge Masaai Market.  And we drove by it frequently.  A total ramshackle place, that kind of looked like it was falling apart, called Triangle Market.  Because it formed a huge triangle in the middle of what, arguably, should be part of the road, creating a traffic nightmare in the neighborhood.   From the outside you'd see handmade lampshades and purses, wood carvings and paintings.   When you parked your car and went into Triangle Market, you'd feel shocked at how big it is, how many stalls there are, how many people's livelihoods existed because of the market.  Old women grabbing you, trying to convince you to buy their necklaces or candle holders, people preying on your kids, putting bracelets on their arms and then asking you to pay. It can be a bit much. But we lived five minutes from this market.  And I went all the time.  Whenever we needed gifts for friends at home.  

When we needed bracelets to fill Zahra's birthday piñata.  When we  wanted pictures for our walls and blankets for picnics.  I got name plates for a lot of our friend's children at that market. Bracelets for relatives.  Necklaces.  Little hippos and elephants for my kids' friends.

Often when I went, I took the kids.  Jari used to go strapped in the ergo.  I remember once last year, when I went alone with him one of the women couldn't get over it.  "But he was just a baby, look how big he is now!  Where's your daughter?" Before we came back to the US that first summer, I went with the kids.  Zahra ran ahead of me and I found her sitting in a stall, carefully beading a necklace. 

 The vendor was lovely,  He let her finish and let Jari play with the beads as I explored.  Every time we went back, he, and his relatives who worked just across would ask about the kids.  They never forgot them and whenever the kids came to the market with me, we'd stop by to say, hi.  I'd always tell them they should considering working at birthdays.  Taking their beads and having the kids make necklaces -- they were so good with children.

One stall, I discovered two years ago, seemed totally out of place.  Really unique jewelry that doesn't look like most of the jewelry you find in Kenya's markets.  The woman who runs the stall is wonderful.  She always remembers me and remembers the pieces I've bought.  I've asked why she hasn't tried to branch out and sell her items elsewhere.  They look like they belong in Wasp and Sprout or Spinners Web -- more upscale cafes and stores.  She said she doesn't want to price out her customer base.  I bought a necklace from her a few weeks ago when I went to say goodbye.  If she tried to sell her items in the US, she could probably sell them at three times the price.  

For over a year I bargained with a vendor just across from her who sells gorgeous hand carved drums.  Ever since Jari's third birthday with a drum circle, I wanted to buy him a drum.  But the vendor wouldn't come down in price.  I walked away several times.  But once we knew we'd be taking a container home, I went back in February and sealed the deal.  Jari and Zahra couldn't have been happier when I came home with a big drum, carved with giraffes.  And I felt like the price couldn't have been too bad if he let me walk away so many times.

The stall we spent the most time in was full of paintings.  I bought my first Tinga Tinga painting in Dar es Salaam  years ago -- it's currently hanging above my new couch, and when we moved to Nairobi I knew that (trite though the paintings may seem in East Africa) that I wanted them for my kids.  We read Tinga Tinga books, watch the television show, watched the amazing musical performance in Nairobi a few years ago, and own lots of paintings.  

Three years I ago I wandered into the stall and found name plates that they personalize.  I started buying them up for my kids and their friends at home.  I've gone back several times as our friends in the US have had babies.  There are a few people I wanted to send Abdul to buy name plates for when he travels in Kenya soon. I've taken my parents to the stall and my sisters.  The man who runs it, treats me like a friend.  A few weeks ago, I found a painting, that I didn't buy from him, that I'd never had stretched.  I knew I didn't want to pay to have it framed at home so, while our container was being packed, I rushed to the market and asked if he could have it stretched over a frame for me.  He said, of course, and said I could pick it up the next afternoon. But I couldn't pick it up the next afternoon.  By then everything would be packed.  He took down my address.  The next morning at 8:55am, he showed up at my door with the stretched painting.  He urged me not to forget him and to continue to send people to his stall when they visit Nairobi.  I promised I would. But I can't.  Because yesterday, the entire market was razed.  Completely torn down.  Vendors were put on notice this could happen months ago but...  how can you imagine that the place where you've always worked, the place that provides your livelihood, is going to be destroyed.  

They weren’t given a definite date until the night before.  Not everyone had time to move their belongings, their life’s work.  And even if they did, they had no where to take them.  The government failed to provide adequate notice and also failed to provide an alternative venue for them.   Why did this happen?  For a bypass.  Another road that will probably help alleviate traffic but lack a drainage system. Nairobi needs better roads.  It needs to alleviate traffic.   But it’s horrific traffic and poorly regulated air quality aren’t the only things that make it the city that it is.  While in so many ways it already feels like anywhere else, there are still things that make it different.  The elephants, the National Park, the markets.  These things that make it not middle America.  That make it Nairobi.

But things are changing.  The Nairobi I lived in the summer of 2008 was sooo different than the Nairobi we moved to in 2015.  And the Nairobi we left last month was so different than the Nairobi we moved to.   Currently the plan is to extend Nairobi’s shiny new rail system through Nairobi National Park.   Development happens fast.  And we're grateful for the water playgrounds and restaurants that made us feel at home in Kenya.  

But it’s a shame that some of the things that make Nairobi, Nairobi can't stay.  And that one day, when we visit or move back or my kids take their kids...  The Nairobi we knew won't be there anymore.  It will progress into something more like everywhere else.   And it’s a shame that when things change, people’s lives are literally steamrolled over.  Without a thought.  Without consequence. When I told Zahra and Jari that Triangle Market was destroyed, that people lost everything they’d worked for their whole lives, they were upset.  They asked what we could do.   Not much, it seems. As we settle in and adjust to a new life in DC, I hope the vendors at the market and other disenfranchised people in Nairobi find a way to deal with all this “progress.”

In the meantime, we’ll hold onto our memories, and the necklace Zahra made several years ago.  And we’ll keep all the people whose livelihoods were just destroyed in our thoughts.

When Zahra was about twenty-months-old, she was obsessed with the Mars Rover.  We'd gotten her the Nat Geo Big Book of Space and she just loved the page about the Rover.  To the point that one of my best friends bought her a "rover" for her second birthday.  She was both intrigued and terrified by it.  It lived on a shelf in our closet for a year and eventually made its way to my parents' basement.  (I think today my kids would love it!)

So imagine our excitement when, before moving to Nairobi, our good friend Vivian told us that one of her Kenyan friends, Susan, was pretty much the top astronomer in Africa.  Better yet, Susan lived in Nairobi and had a son the same age as Zahra.   It was an amazing connection to have.  Being friends with Susan, and her husband, Chu, has enhanced our time in Nairobi in amazing ways.

My kids have examined the craters on the moon and the rings of Saturn through the most high-powered telescope in Africa.  They've attended multiple planetarium shows and done various, child-friendly activities relating to space. Susan and Chu run a company called The Traveling Telescope.  

Through The Traveling Telescope they're bringing the magic and wonder of space to children throughout Kenya.  Along with their telescope, which is the best in Africa, they also possess Kenya's only mobile planetarium.  They travel around the country visiting international and local schools alike, giving kids who have (literally) never left their own small villages the opportunity to look at the skies and stars and constellations and planets and gain a much broader perspective than they could have imagined. They also take their telescope to hotels and venues throughout the country, so tourists and Kenyans can stargaze in places where there's zero light pollution. We've been lucky enough to have Susan and Chu visit our compound several times.

Last summer, at the end of Ramadan, we threw a party at our compound, "Eid Under the Stars."  Eid is the celebration that marks the end of the month of Ramadan.  We had a potluck and invited everyone in the compound to participate.  For $5 per child, Susan and Chu hosted multiple planetarium shows and brought their telescope.  Chu also brought his guitar and together, with the kids, came up with space-related songs!

Sadly light pollution and cloudy skies kept everyone but the first lucky few from seeing much through the telescope, but many of the children were excited enough just to see the telescope and listen to an explanation of how it works!

A few weeks later, Susan and Chu came for the little compound camp we ran for a week.  The last day of camp was "space" day and they came equipped with a mini solar system, a smaller telescope the kids used to see sun spots, and Chu's guitar.

More recently, they ran planetarium trainings for recent astronomy graduates at our compound and were nice enough to invite the children of the compound (and their parents) to come for planetarium shows!

Before we left for the States over the summer, they invited us to their apartment for dinner and took the telescope to their rooftop where, with clear skies, Abdul, the kids, and I were able to look closely at the moon and Saturn.  It was amazing.  It felt like we were looking at computer generated images!

Nevermind that Susan's just a cool person and her kids are lovely and get along well with our kids, having her in our lives has been such an added bonus to living in Nairobi!  One of my biggest concerns leaving New York (which has proved true on many levels) was that we were leaving behind cultural and educational opportunities for our kids.   But having access to a planetarium and an amazing telescope, nevermind an actual astronomer, has been fantastic!  

We're so impressed with the work they're doing, through The Traveling Telescope -- introducing space and the stars and the sky, not just to expat and middle class children in Nairobi, but to children throughout the country -- kids who wouldn't otherwise visit a planetarium or ever even encounter a telescope.   And in some of the rural areas of Kenya, where girls' education is still evolving, how incredible for young children to meet a female, Kenyan astronomer!  

It feels like forever ago now, but back in August, Zahra, Jari, and I boarded a plane in Nairobi bound for Brooklyn.  

We're fortunate to be able to live abroad, to travel abroad, and to come home for a few months each year...  We're not fortunate enough, however, to fly business or first class.  Thus, the thought of traveling with two small tired children across numerous time zones and a few continents was daunting. But, about a year ago, I was added by a friend, to a facebook group for traveling families.  Unlike a lot of facebook groups which seem to quickly descend into chaos (yes, I'm looking at you Lawyers on the Left) or don't do much of anything at all, this one has been a pretty great resource.  There are lots of tips on traveling with small children and it's nice to see how many parents travel with their kids solo. A few months before we left for the States, someone in the group posted about an item that had been invaluable on there last long-haul flight.   The item, a fly-tot, is basically an inflatable pillow that, using a pump, you inflate after the fasten seatbelt sign comes off to fill the space between your child's seat and the seat in front of them.  They went on and on about the fly-tot.  I thought it looked cool and then promptly forgot about it.  

Fast forward to a month before take-off.  Suddenly lots of parents were singing the praises of the fly-tots and, as I booked our tickets home, I realized what an asset they would be.  Not only was this my first long trip alone with the kids, but it was also our first time not sitting in the bulkhead seats. Some people hate the bulkhead seats.  I love them.  I love that there's space, especially on 787s, for my kids to play and move around in front of the seats.  I love that you're close to the bathroom.  I love that you have extra legroom.  I knew I was going to miss the bulkhead seats. So, I made it my mission to somehow get two fly-tots to use on our flights.  It wasn't easy.  But eventually we found a friend of a friend coming to Kenya at just the right time -- before our departure, but late enough that the company that produces fly-tots, which was back ordered at the time, could fulfill the shipment. And off we went.  On a 24 hour journey.  Armed with our fly-tots, which took up half of one of our two carry-ons, a set of crayola watercolor paints, and a bag of chocolate chip cookies and several changes of clothes, diapers, and water wipes.

The fly-tots were everything I hoped they would be and more.  Once inflated, they created a small double bed.  We got an extension seatbelt and my kids slept for almost the entire first flight.  The lovely flight attendants even let us keep them inflated for the descent so they could continue sleeping.

The part of flying alone with them that I was most afraid of was the layover.  It was only a few hours in Amsterdam, but I knew the kids would be tired.  Really tired.  And so, despite being 4 and 2, I carried our small stroller and our trusty ergo.  I put Jari right into the ergo when we landed and let Zahra use the stroller. Combined with carrying our two duffles, it wasn't my favorite part of the trip but we got to the food area, ordered some smoothies and croissants, for the insane price of 40 euros, and relaxed before heading to our next plane.

On the second flight, they used the fly-tots to rest their legs and nap a bit.  By the end of the second flight they were getting a bit restless, but overall, it was so much easier flying alone with them than I expected.

When we landed at JFK, I knew enough to have a $20 in my pocket.  We paid someone to help us with our bags and carseats.  He got us right through customs and out to the parking area where my parents were waiting for us. And thus began a magical few weeks in Brooklyn and a wonderful two months in the US!

Last Christmas, one of our neighbors, Kathy, asked if we were interested in making a gingerbread house.  Full disclosure...  I'm in my thirties and I've never made a gingerbread house.  But it seemed like a fun activity and gingerbread is tasty, so we agreed.

Off we went with absolutely no forethought or planning.  And it was a pretty dismal affair.  Burnt gingerbread and all.

Eventually we got the house to stand by leaning it against a strawberry container.  But it was pretty much the saddest gingerbread house you've ever seen.  You could see the strawberry container though the corners.  The icing totally failed.  Nothing about it seemed successful.

But our little bakers/decorators didn't care a bit.  They had a great time, were happy enough with the end result, and probably never thought about it again. But I did.  I love baking.  Usually I'm pretty successful.  I was sad we failed. 

People all over the world make gingerbread houses that stand on their own.  Of course, we didn't use a ruler or measurements.  And our recipe seemed a little underwhelming.  So it's not really a surprise that we weren't met with success.  But still.  I wanted a redo.  

And so, fast forward a year.  I asked Kathy, if she wanted to try again and she quickly answered, yes. This time I was determined not to fail.  I found a better recipe.  I bought unsulphured blackstrap molasses. I googled gingerbread house measurements.  I bought a ruler.  

And last Friday we tried again.  

It was a resounding success!

Seriously.  Last year and this year.  Night and day.  

With the help of Zahra and Jari and their friends, Mukene, Keli, and Sneha, we created a beautiful, eclectic gingerbread house that totally stood on its own.  In fact, its still standing.  On the top of our refrigerator.  A relic of 2016 just sitting up there.  I have no idea what to do with it and the thought of throwing it away makes me sad.

Decorating a gingerbread house with five kids with the average age of 4.5 is kind of like herding cats, but somehow it worked!  Each kid got a piece of the house to decorate.  As expected, Keli, the seven year old, was the most successful, and Jari, the two-and-a-half-year-old immediately tried to eat his piece.  But in the end, it was beautiful.

Looking at Zahra and Jari in last year’s pictures and this year’s...  it’s crazy how much they’re growing up! 

And now they’re growing up with a new tradition.  Gingerbread houses are fun and easy enough when you plan.  So wherever we are in December of 2017, 2018,  2019, and beyond, I hope we remember to make gingerbread houses that represent my kids and their friends. 

This weekend, JKM Dance Studios, the very best dance studio for children in Nairobi, put on a lovely production of The Nutcracker!

Several months ago, I wrote a blog post lamenting that Zahra came down with a bacterial infection in the middle of her dance studio's dress rehearsal of Beauty and the Beast this spring.  She's had so much fun going to ballet since we moved to Kenya and was excited to dance at the Kenya National Theatre!  And alas, she spent the day sick in bed.

Fast forward several months to the 2016 production of The Nutcracker.  Thankfully, this time, Zahra got to dance.  Sadly it wasn't at the National Theatre.  Despite booking the theatre and paying for it months in advance, the theatre pushed JKM Dance Studio out in favor of a dance studio that was, no joke, importing their lead roles.  As in, rather than casting their own students in their own recital, they hired dancers from the United States to fly in and perform.  They also booked under an American rather than Kenyan name. Basically, for reasons that were completely wrong, the National Theatre told JKM, that they were out and this other studio was in.  JKM is fighting it but there wasn't time to resolve the issue before the production.  And so, Zahra performed in The Nutcracker at a junior high school instead of a national theatre.

She didn't mind one bit.  A stage is a stage to a four-year-old.  And Zahra could not wait to get on stage!

Being four, and totally inconsequential, Zahra only attended two major rehearsals prior to the big day.  But what loooong rehearsals they were!

On Thursday she and her friends practiced at their dance studio and on Friday they were on stage!  Thursday's rehearsal lasted about two hours.  

Friday's rehearsal went for over three.  And on Saturday, dancers, including four-year-olds, arrived two hours before the three hour performance was set to begin.

This left Zahra and her friends with lots of downtime.  During which, at the theatre, they were sectioned off into classrooms.  The four to six year olds in one, the slightly older students in another.   They ran around, played with toys, ate cupcakes and pretzels, watched older students warm up, and generally caused mischief.  They had a blast.

Zahra came home beaming after Friday's rehearsal.  She couldn't wait to get on stage on Saturday.

Luckily for her, she and her friends, Kaitlyn and Evelyn, were in two different dance numbers.  In the pre-show they tap-danced to "Run Run Rudolph."  In the second act, they performed in Mother Ginger along with other little ballet students, peeking and then coming out of Mother Ginger's skirt.

Here is what I'll say for my daughter.  She may not have had her part down cold (because she's four and there's zero expectation that she would -- she and her friends did a great job regardless,) but she had the biggest smile I've ever seen when she came onto stage.  As Abdul noted, "she looks like she's up there without a care in the world!"  She was thrilled to be on stage, in front of an audience and we were thrilled for her.  

The whole experience, from the long nights and unruly children, to Jari handing Zahra a bouquet of purple roses when she came to our seats, was wonderful.  

And the maturity I wanted to witness a few months ago, was all there.  Gone were the little girls tentative but happy to be on stage with teddy bears a year and a half ago and the 3-year-old little girls who danced to “We Are Santa’s Elves” last year.  Instead there were pre-kindergarteners, happy, excited, and totally comfortable with themselves and their roles.

The entire performance was beautiful and thankfully didn't experience any of the technical difficulties that are the norm in Kenya.  It was a wonderful show for Zahra to be a part of.  And ballet and now tap have been such wonderful experiences for her ever since we moved to Nairobi.  

The best news is, Zahra's adorable and adoring little brother, who watched (somewhat) patiently to see his big sister on stage after her first song and cried out, "I see her, there she is, there’s Zahra!!!!!" once she came out in the second act, acquired his first pair of tap shoes just before we left the States.

With any luck, right around his third birthday, Jari will follow in Zahra's footsteps and dance on a big stage in their studio's spring production.  I can't wait!!!

A huge thank you to Meghan for giving all of her students such amazing experiences!!!!

This was Zahra and Jari’s first Halloween in Nairobi.

I was a bit apprehensive as we boarded our flights from DC in early October, their Tiny and Buddy Pteranodon costumes, safely backed in our suitcases, along with an Elena of Avalor dress and an adorable fireman costume serving as backup if, at the last minute, they refused to be dinosaurs for the third year in a row.

What if Halloween in Nairobi was as disappointing as I imagined?  What if it couldn’t rival walking in and out of the shops on 7th Avenue in Brooklyn or wandering around Oregon Ridge, as they did last year when we were at my parent’s house, receiving candy as they learned about falcons and vultures.

Certainly nothing in Nairobi could come close to the epic Brooklyn day that occurs once each year when start out at the Brooklyn Bridge Park Harvest Festival and stop at home for a breather before heading to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden’s Ghouls and Gourds Festival.  Why the two have been held on the same day for the past three years is still beyond me, but it’s absolutely one of my favorite days of the year.  We’ve been at Ghouls and Gourds with the kids each year since they were born and I was really sad to part with tradition.

When we landed back in Nairobi in early October, all I could do was hope for the best and hope that the spirit of Halloween had crossed the ocean and the international community would be ready to celebrate! The thing is…  Halloween in Nairobi exceeded all of my expectations.  On November 1st, Zahra woke up and asked if it was still Halloween.  When I answered, no, she looked at me sadly and said, “But, why is Halloween only four days long???” You can’t really ask for better than that. The weekend long extravaganza started on Friday, October 28th.  Our good friend, Pri, whose daughters are the same ages as Zahra and Jari, threw a fabulous Halloween party.  On the way there, Jari kept exclaiming, “It’s my first Halloween party!!!!” over and over.  He was very excited!  

I love Pri.  But neither she nor her husband are American and, in a xenophobic stupor, as we sat in Friday evening traffic for an hour, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.  (Though I did make the cake.)

The party was AMAZING.  Kids were in costume, there were decorations, and scary ghost stories, and trick or treating, and, in a nod to Diwali which fell at the same time, there were fireworks.  At one point, scores of little children in costumes, filled Pri’s backyard holding sparklers.  The effect was beautiful and magical and if that had been the only event we’d partaken in, it would have absolutely been enough.  

Somehow Pri had managed to convince lots of houses in her compound to answer the door when the kids went around trick or treating.  To see my kids running around, holding their friends’ hands, jumping up and down as they cried, “trick-or-treat,” was perfect.

On Sunday, we had our own compound’s Halloween party.  

We had a bouncy house and snowcones and a pizza vendor and, lots of wonderfully grilled meat.  I made a pinata cake.  When we cut it opened, M&Ms spilled out to the delight of children.  

All the kids came in costume.  There were mummy races, a cookie decorating station, pumpkin painting and carving, and, rather than un-hygienic apple bobbing, people attempted to eat donuts hanging from trees.  

The next day was Halloween!  At 6:30pm, the children of our compound, at least 25 of them, met in one of our grassy areas, decked out in their costumes.  An email had circulated warning everyone to expect trick-or-treaters between 6:30pm and 8pm.  

Despite the notification, I was surprised at how many people answered the doors and were delighted to find 10 to 15 children (we split up into groups) at their door screaming trick-or-treat!

The culture gap was, however, evident at the first door we knocked on.  A European man opened the door and just stared (possibly in horror) at the children outside his door.  He looked shocked and confused and a bit stoic. I nicely reminded the children, “Okay, everyone, if people don’t have candy, we just say ‘thank you’ and move onto the next house.” Suddenly he sprang to life.  "Oh, they want candy???“  He ran into his apartment and came back with handfuls of candy to distribute.

Thanksgiving outside of the US is hard.  Even in this new era of fascism and racism courtesy of the most depressing election in US history, it's hard to be 7,000 miles away this time of year.  

I love Thanksgiving.  I realize that its foundations are abhorrent.  And I realize that this year, it's even worse because of the reprehensible government response to the water protectors at Standing Rock, but I think as long as we teach our children our true history, we can try to divorce the holiday from its origins .   I had a long conversation on Wednesday with Zahra about Standing Rock.  It wasn't really what I hoped it would be.  I explained what it means to be an indigenous person and the genocidal conduct of Europeans in America and how that ties into what's happening right now.  She seemed relatively, almost disturbingly, unfazed by most of what I said, though she did widen her eyes in horror when I explained that the Europeans cut down trees, "Mama, that's horrible, trees give people oxygen!!!" and when I explained that people want to poison our water, "But why would they do that???  We all need water to live!!!!"  (I'm realizing that, if her tea shop and hear surgeon plans don't work out, she's more likely to find her true calling at an environmental organization than a humanitarian one.) For us, though, Thanksgiving is secularized, so to speak.  It's about friends and family and food.  It's about watching the parade on TV while a turkey roasts in the oven and cranberries boil on the stove.  And, since we're so far away from our family and friends at home, it's about sharing the holiday with the people we've met over the past 18 months.

We started with a pretty small invite list.  A few families in our compound and one or two families we've known since we moved here.  We ended up watching an 11.5 kilo (25 pound) turkey be completely devoured in a few short hours.  I'm not entirely sure what happened, but somehow we ended up with over 30 adults and more than 20 children descending on our apartment.  And.  It.  Was.  Awesome.

We cooked a lot, but everyone who came brought food as well.  

Living in Kenya in 2016 is sometimes even easier than living in London in the year 2000.  The world has changed and shrunk and come together in ways that are almost unimaginable.  There was not one ingredient we wanted for. Yes, there was a close call with cranberries which are imported fresh each year in Nairobi.  A week before Thanksgiving, I was at the Kenyan coast frantically calling organic food distributors and supermarkets and secretly stocking up on canned cranberry sauce in the event of the worse case scenario.  But then, with 48 hours to go, the cranberries arrived in the city and were quickly distributed all over town.  

I bought enough to make two kinds of cranberry sauce (orange ginger and mango,) a cranberry upside down cake, and sugared cranberries!  

I bought enough imported cream cheese to successfully make a pumpkin cheesecake.  

We had green bean casserole, pumpkin bread pudding, kale and onion stuffing, carrot bisque, macaroni and cheese (with old bay, of course,) spinach crostinis, and more.  People brought everything from a delicious chick pea curry to pumpkin pie to butternut squash lasagna, to lots and lots of wine.

We honestly could not have asked for a better group of people to share the day with...  It was a fabulous mix of people, there were great conversations, everyone seemed to have a good time, and children were everywhere. 

I initially intended for the kids to hang out in Zahra and Jari's room -- we moved most of their toys in there -- we also moved their bikes outside and their scooters into the closet.  

But it wasn't long before kids were zipping around the living room on scooters and Jari's balance bike.  When Zahra came to me looking for her roller skates I couldn't imagine why, until I noticed four different kids each wearing one roller skate, rolling around the apartment on one foot.  

My only regret afterwards was assuming, as I often do, that everyone celebrates like us, and not inviting more people, who we later learned spent the holiday alone. Like I said, we started with quite a small list and I feel sad that people we care about may have been left out, even as it snowballed.

Despite the success, I still miss Thanksgivings at home.  I miss the year I strained to watch the parade from my roof in midtown before going to my aunt's house, for what was Abdul's first American Thanksgiving.  And I really miss 2014, the first, and only, year I hosted in our Brooklyn apartment for my mom's whole side of the family.  I miss the many years we celebrated with Kaja in New York and Maryland and her fabulous 7-layer-dip that I have yet to replicate.  I'm sad that my kids have yet to sit in front of a television and watch the parade's Broadway dance numbers.  I'm sad that, on Black Friday, I didn't take them to Hershey Park in the evening to see all the Christmas lights.

No matter how lovely Thanksgiving can be abroad, it's never quite the same, and I long for the day Zahra and Jari celebrate in American again.  Until then, I'm thankful for the wonderful community in Nairobi that celebrated with us and helped my kids make different kinds of memories that hopefully they'll remember as they get older.

Last week we ran a little camp at our compound.  We have so many kids ranging in age from around 2 to 9, who play together and get along so well, we thought it would be fun to let them bond and hang out in a slightly more structured way.

While I've mentioned before that there are seven girls Zahra's age in our compound, they all go to different schools.  So, for us, it meant more time for her to hang out, outside, with some of her best friends.  

And time for Jari to get used to participating in activities with lots of other kids.

Some families were traveling and others had already signed up for one of Nairobi's many summer camps, most of which take place on school campuses, but we found a crowd of about 10 kids who showed up each day for our little compound camp!

Throughout the week we had a few outside "teachers" come for tae kwon do, modern dance, and hands-on space activities.  

But for the most part, the kids played games like dodge ball and hide and seek and did science and art activities.  

They had an amazing time, thanks to fantastic websites like The Artful Parent and The Imagination Tree, which have great craft suggestions for kids -- everything from recipes for homemade slime and chalk paint to marbleized milk and homemade volcanoes.  (These sites are particularly useful in Kenya where it’s hard to come by ordinary nontoxic art supplies -- it’s amazing what you can do with cornstarch!)

(The homemade slime was, understandably, a hit for all ages.)

They spent the week painting leaves with glitter paint and chalk markers, making nature crowns, decorating the sidewalks (and each other) with chalk paint, and covering themselves and each other with slime.

We also finally got started on our children's garden -- something we've wanted in the compound for some time.  After a lot of indecision on the part of management, the gardeners helped the kids plant strawberries, peppers, kale, and mint in a little plot between trees.  We're planning to add a few more items like tomatoes eventually.  For now, each kid got a chance to "till the soil" and plant the fruits and vegetables.

Our family took the opportunity to (finally) start a small garden on our balcony, planting many of the same things, plus lots of herbs.  

While we were at it, after seeing how much fun all the kids had with the craft activities, I turned half of our balcony into an art station.  Most of the supplies are accessible, if not to Jari, then to Zahra, if she reaches, and everything is in one place ready to go when they want it!

Aside from the kids having fun and learning new skills, like how to properly look into a telescope, my favorite part of our little camp was seeing how well all the kids got along.  

One of Zahra's best friends has a 9-year-old brother.   When it came time to pick teams, he always picked Jari first.  While we had limited supplies like glitter markers and paints, the kids took turns sharing and rarely did they argue.  

Camp ended last week, people started traveling, and on Monday Zahra was thrilled to go back to the sports camp she loved last year.  Yesterday, though, she and Jari went to the little camp run by her school.  (It was Jari's first drop-off experience, and he had a great time.)  In a few weeks we'll be visiting the States and before we know it, summer will be over.

Our kids have made such amazing friends in our compound, I'm so glad we were able to put our little camp together before people scattered far and wide!   

A few weeks ago, while my parents and sister, Mandy, were visiting, we went on a safari to the Masai Mara.  

Kenya's Masai Mara is the same body of land as Tanzania's Serengeti, just on the other side of the border.  It's the gold standard of East African safaris.   We've taken the kids on several safari's since moving here last year.   Amboseli:  Home to the elephants (where we went last year with my parents)

Ol Pejeta:  Home to the last remaining Northern White Rhinos (that we were amazingly, fortunately, lucky enough to see)

and Naivasha:  Home fun boat rides and  lots of giraffes and zebras

But the Mara is "the place to go" and we were very excited to finally take Jari and Zahra.   It was actually my parents second visit to the Mara -- they went on their own when they visited last year and were eager and excited to go back. I think our location and perhaps our driver prevented us from seeing the amount of animals my parents saw last year -- the Mara is vast and the location of your hotel often informs how much you see.   But we were still lucky to see lots of animals!   Hippos playing in the water, elephants walking across the savannah at sunrise, lions feasting on a poor dead buffalo, cheetahs and more.

The landscape was beautiful and as we spotted an elusive baby lion cub or a baby elephant following along with it's herd, it was easy to forget that we weren't watching moving pictures in a storybook.  The idyllic savannah stretching on for miles, giraffes and elephants in the distance...  It was beautiful.

Until, that is, we got stuck.

Now, it's important to understand that pretty much everyone who goes on a safari gets stuck at some point. On my very first trip to East Africa, over ten years ago, I wasn't in a safari jeep for more than an hour before we got stuck in a ditch.  It literally took a village to pull us out. It's common, even for strong four-wheel drives, to get stuck in the mud in the Mara or Serengeti.  It happens all the time.  And all it usually requires is another jeep and a few chains to pull you out. We had a flat tire on our way to the Mara, so when we got stuck in the mud on our last morning safari, we weren't worried or concerned.  We figured a car would come along, or our driver would radio for help and we'd be out in twenty minutes.

But without any other cars on the horizon, our driver's first inclination was to simply get us out himself.  Odd, sure, but I figured we probably weren't that stuck and he probably didn't want to bother any other drivers.

When he asked for us to clear out of the car, however, I paused.   Really?  In the middle of the Masai Mara in an isolated area he'd intentionally driven to because he seemed sure we'd see lions?  

He wanted my parents, my sister, my husband, my children, and I to get out and frolic among the tall grasses while he figured out how to move the car? My parents, husband, and sister dutifully got out of the car.  Though Mandy registered a bit of appropriate protest.

I narrowed my eyes at the driver and then looked importantly at my children. He told me I should stay in the car with Jari and Zahra.

While that seemed like a victory, it was a small victory.  What use was our survival if the rest of my family and our driver were eaten by wild cats?  We'd hole up in the car until what?  We ran out of water?   I don’t think my parents were terribly concerned at first...  they’d gotten stuck last year and their whole ordeal lasted 15 minutes.

I pointed out to Mandy that it actually seemed fine -- after all, the only animals we saw were elephants a bit in the distance.   She astutely countered that the threat in the tall grasses in the middle of the Mara wasn't from the animals we could see...

But either way, our driver, along with Abdul and my dad, attempted to free the car from the mud.  To absolutely no avail.

After about twenty minutes we all started wondering why our driver wasn't radioing for help.  But he seemed encouraged by his lack of progress and kept trying.  I couldn't tell if his tenacity was optimistic or just moronic. Over and over the driver hoisted up the car and messed around with the mud and sticks and leaves under it.  Over and over he got back in the car and attempted to free it.  Over and over he failed.  Abdul and my dad were not amused!

Why hadn't he used his radio?  We asked, but instead of answering he just kept at his futile attempts.  To say we were confused (and pretty annoyed) was an understatement.

After a while, I really had to pee.  And so, I got out of the car and peed in the middle of the Masai Mara.  A little scary considering a cheetah could have preyed on me in my vulnerable state, but thankfully I survived. Time went on -- a lot of time...  and eventually, using binoculars, we spotted a safari camp in the distance.  Our driver nodded, seemingly aware that it was there and told us the name.

WHY HADN'T HE CONTACTED THEM? Thankfully there might not be people in the Mara but there's a fairly decent 4G network.  I found the contact for the camp and called them myself.   There was a lot of confusion though, as I apparently contacted the Nairobi office of the camp and they didn't seem even slightly interested in helping us. During all of this time... there were absolutely no other cars. This seemed kind of weird.  If our driver was correct and we were in lion country, why wasn't anyone else there looking for lions?  In the end, of course, that was a blessing... Had there been lions the day would have ended much differently.   Which is probably why I spent a fair bit of time envisioning the headlines.  "American Family Mauled By Lions."  Or a Baltimore Sun headline ten years from now.  "Brother and Sister Raised by Lions for the Past Decade Finally Come Home," with a story about how after mauling the adults, the lionesses decided to adopt my children and raise them as lion cups, but my sister, Rachel never stopped searching for them and was eventually reunited with Zahra and Jari in 2026.

Thankfully we weren't eaten by lions.   But as amusing as it may be in retrospect, it was actually a much more dangerous situation than we were willing to accept at the time.  Because anything could have happened. Minutes literally turned into hours.  And our driver never used his radio.  He did, at one point, make a phone call on his cell phone.  But he never radioed for help.  He was insistent on freeing us himself even though he repeatedly turned the car in the wrong direction over and over trying to get it out of the mud.  My dad and Abdul were aghast.

After an hour and a half, we spotted (or maybe Zahra spotted) a car in the distance, but we failed to get its attention -- it was pretty far off and it never noticed us.

At this point I came to an upsetting realization.  Most people do two to three safari's in a day.  After the morning safari, which usually starts around 6am, they typically head back to their camps for breakfast.  Glancing at my phone I realized there wouldn't be many cars anywhere in the Mara, let alone one anywhere near where we were, over an hour from our camp. But then, after two hours...  no really... TWO HOURS we saw another car on the horizon.  This time, I started waving a scarf from the roof of the car.  

I thought my actions were glib or silly, but the driver quickly demanded the scarf and climbed onto the roof of the car to do the same thing! Register my horror that this was actually our driver’s chosen way to save us.  Rather than radioing for help or doing anything actually useful, he agreed that waving a scarf was our best option!  

But what else could we do?  Abdul took off his shirt and started waving it in the air.  I put Jari and Zahra on the roof, armed with scarves and we all waved furiously.

It's 2016!!!!  Was this really the most conducive way to seek help?

Fortunately, it worked. From a speck on the horizon, the car grew bigger until we were certain it was heading in our direction!  

Slowly it approached.  It was another family from our safari camp.  They must have been on an all day safari.  When they got close enough for us to see them, I literally almost burst into tears.  I was so grateful.  Jari and Zahra cheered and clapped for them as their driver and our driver attached the chains to our car and within a minute or two, we were free.  

That’s all it took!  (At that point I finally let my kids out of the car for photo ops!)  

Why didn't our driver call for help as soon as we got stuck?  Why didn't he use his radio?  Why did he drive us so far out that we literally only saw two cars off in the distance the entire time we were stuck?  Why didn't he try to contact the camp we saw on the horizon?

In the end, it was all an adventure.  We ended up with a lot of great pictures of my family standing in the middle of the Mara and a story to tell.

And at the time I refused to really accept that our situation could possible be dire. But, on our way back to camp that morning, we encountered three lion brothers feasting on a buffalo.  Not terribly far from where we'd been stuck.

It's easy to imagine that safaris are worry and risk free, that nothing bad can happen.  That getting stuck is all in good fun and the eventual outcome will be silly pictures and a good story. But a week after our adventures in the Mara, we saw the awful headlines from Florida, that a two-year-old baby, a little boy Jari's age, was dragged into the waters in Disney World and eaten by an alligator.  

Then today, I read the story of a hyena sneaking into a safari camp in South Africa and mauling a 15-year-old who was asleep in his tent with his parents. Our adventure was fun and we'll have amazing pictures to share with Jari and Zahra when they're older.  But it could have ended differently. We're so lucky that they are having the opportunity to interact with and experience wildlife.  From fostering baby elephants, to spotting the three remaining Northern White Rhinos on the planet, to watching brother lions eating a buffalo -- I hope it forever informs their lifetime perspective on conservation and the environment.

“When I was two I was still quite new!”

We've had a very busy few weeks, or months, more accurately, full of friends, family, and holidays!  In the midst of it, we celebrated another birthday!   Jari, our amazing, brilliant, adorable, little guy, turned two on May 5th!  We celebrated his actual birthday on a rainy beach in Mombasa, and had a birthday party for him when we got back to Nairobi.

We again fused American and Kenyan style but didn't go quite as big as we did with Zahra, opting against a waterslide, because of cool weather and against cotton candy, because, frankly, it wasn't that tasty. Instead we had a bouncy castle with a great slide and stuck to pizza, juice, and snowcones.  We supplemented with cookies, cupcakes and cake!  

I bought the cake pan for Jari's birthday, as well as the table clothes, plates, and napkins, before he even turned eighteen months.  Like Zahra, we knew we wanted to have a Sesame Street themed second birthday party for Jari, so many moons ago I went to the Party City on Atlantic Avenue, and bought all the supplies.  I informed the disinterested salesperson that my son was no where near two and I was just buying items in advance because Elmo doesn't exist where we live.

And so here's the interesting thing...  Elmo does not exist where we live.  No, really.  There is no Sesame Street in Nairobi. There is Bob the Builder. There is Thomas the Tank Engine. There is Micky Mouse Clubhouse and Doc McStuffins and Lion Guard. There is an awesome British show called Pat the Postman. There is Barney. But there is no Sesame Street. How is this possible?  I assumed Sesame Street was everywhere there was cable television.  But, no.  Apparently not in Kenya.

And so, as I prepared Jari's Elmo cake, and as I prepared his Elmo and Cookie Monster cupcakes, and as I prepared his Oscar and Elmo veggie and fruit platters, I did so with the knowledge that most of the kids at his party would have absolutely no idea who Elmo and Cookie Monster are.

Imagine, a generation of two, three, and four year olds, with no idea of Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch.  

I know there's a lot of controversy at home over Sesame Street gentrifying and moving to HBO and, sure, it sucks, but at the end of the day, episodes will still play on PBS and children with access to television in the US will be able to watch, albeit with a few month delay.  It’s not the purpose or intent of Sesame Street, but... Kids without access to PBSKids or Hulu in Nairobi don't even have that option, despite having access to hundreds of cable stations. I don't know why Kenya doesn't have Sesame Street, but I do think it's a disservice to the country's children.  

I'm incredibly grateful that my children are coming of age in a time of apps and AppleTV that allow us to continue to monitor their television intake and ensure they have access to the amazing shows Zahra grew to love on PBSKids before we ever moved to Nairobi.  Dinosaur Train, SuperWhy, Daniel Tiger, WildKratts, and Sesame Street.  And to shows we've discovered since like Jepper Postman (otherwise known as Ready Jet Go) and SciGirls. Either way, Jari had a wonderful second birthday and was thrilled with his Elmo cake and cupcakes!  

In lieu of the water slide, we set up kiddie swimming pools and brought out our water squirters.  We had beach balls and a huge canvas for kids to fingerpaint.  Between that and the bouncy house, the kids had a great time!

We ended up celebrating Jari’s party on Abdul's actual 35th birthday -- May 15th.  So we added a key lime pie and banana cream pie to the mix.  

I was a little sad when the weather turned beautiful and sunny that we'd forgone the water slide, but things worked out perfectly!  And Jari's only two, after all.  Two-year-old's don't need water slides at their birthdays -- even in Kenya.  (Snowballs and bouncy houses are plenty!)

It's amazing to me that Jari's two.  I remember so clearly Zahra's second birthday party with friends and family and even a surprise dusting of snow!  

It really doesn't seem that long ago.  But now, as I write this, Jari is older than Zahra was when he was born.  Time flies.  The good news is, as they get older, Jari and Zahra are staying as close as they've always been -- and now they can play and talk to each other and bond over the things they love.  It's so incredible to watch them grow up whether it's here in Kenya or at home!

One of the many things we miss from Brooklyn is ice cream.  

Especially at this time of year, when our friends' facebook statuses are filled with trips to the Botanical Gardens and Brooklyn Bridge Park and all of the other lovely outdoor spaces New Yorkers embrace in the summer. While it's slowly getting colder and colder in Kenya, at home it's getting warmer.   There are two ice cream shops in Brooklyn where we were pretty much regulars.  Blue Marble, which is the only certified organic ice cream shop in New York, and Ample Hills, which has since become fairly famous with their Star Wars ice cream flavors and upcoming shop in Disney World, but was, when we first started going, just our local ice cream shop, a block and a half from our apartment.

We took our kids to one of these two places ALL THE TIME.  They both have play areas for kids-- Blue Marble's with all wooden toys and Ample Hills with a large variety of children's books about ice cream!

While we definitely ate a lot of ice cream in Brooklyn, we were and are pretty selective.  And when we moved to Kenya, this selectivity proved an issue.  We tried out a few different options.  But like everything else, ice cream and frozen yogurt here taste pretty artificial.  Even the "Delia's" brand which is supposedly the best ingredient wise, tastes, if not of chemicals, of lots and lots of sugar.   And because we're not horrible, mean, terrible parents, we do sometimes let the kids have Delia's ice cream but we're not excited to do it.  Eating ice cream in our apartment isn't that fun anyway.  One of the best parts of visiting Blue Marble or Ample Hills (or Culture for their fantastic frozen yogurt) was walking there, hanging out, walking home...  

We have yet to find a lovely little local, organic ice cream shop in Nairobi. So considering all of that, imagine our surprise when we found the best ice cream that we've had in Kenya so far, in Mombasa!

While it's not a traditional ice cream shop, Yul's, a beachfront restaurant in Mombasa has fantastic gelato.  They also have the best pizzas we've had since moving to Kenya.  And a lovely view of the Indian Ocean.

The set up is much more restaurant than ice cream shop, but it really doesn't matter.  There are tables and comfy benches -- all with lovely breezes and views.  At high tide, the ocean reaches the restaurant completely obscuring the beach.  But when the tide is out, it's an easy walk down the beach to many hotels and there are always camels waiting to offer you a ride.  (Note:  I don't advocate the use of camels outside of their native environments, but they're all over the beaches in Kenya.) In the nearly two weeks we spent in Mombasa, the kids and I went to Yul's nearly every afternoon.  Our hotel was half board so we had to pay for lunch anyway.  And the food our hotel offered for lunch was more expensive and not as tasty as Yul's. 

  Our hotel's ice cream tasted gross -- processed and artificial.  Yul's ice cream tasted fresh.  Their strawberry, my children's favorite, was, reassuringly, barely even sweet.  Their chocolate, my favorite, was fantastic.

In addition to the ice cream cones we leaned towards, they also offered a huge variety of ice cream sundaes.  Some of them were amazing looking.  They had waffles and pancakes with ice cream and adorable little children's sundaes.

Their pizza was also amazing.  Whether it was seafood pizza, which horrified Zahra (our budding animal rights activist), or their margarita, we ate it for lunch almost everyday.  There's absolutely nothing in Nairobi that compares.

Mombasa has some amazing food and I had fantastic lobster while we were there, but mostly we were just excited to have access to delicious ice cream -- the lovely setting only made it better!!!

It seems like such a long time ago, before we moved to Kenya, that I sat in our Brooklyn apartment searching for dance classes for a not-yet-3-year-old Zahra. I was worried that we'd arrive in Nairobi, a city seriously lacking in public parks and playgrounds, and have nothing to do.  Zahra had recently started watching "Angelina Ballerina" and had a pair of ballet shoes, so I googled ballet classes in Nairobi and found one that wasn't too far from where we'd be living.   A week before we left New York, I sent a facebook message and reserved a spot for Zahra in a KinderBallet class at JKM Dance Studios. I remember ducking into a little shop on Fifth Avenue in Park Slope and buying her first leotard and tights -- just days before we moved.  

On our fourth day in Nairobi, Zahra, Jari, and I took a taxi to a dance studio and hoped for the best.  The previous day we'd been bitterly disappointed that the gymnastics class I'd signed Zahra up for didn't exist.  So while we had email confirmation, we didn't expect much.   We were so happy to find a lovely dance studio with sweet little girls and a wonderful, talented teacher.

I remember when she walked into her first class, all I wanted was for her to try to listen.  She mostly did, according to her teacher that day.   A few months later, after a dress rehearsal for her first recital where she walked off the stage, my hopes for her recital were simply for her to stay on stage -- I didn't care if she danced or just stood there and smiled.   She did stay on stage at her recital last year.  She and several other little girls danced, clutching teddy bears, to a song called "Me and My Teddy Bear" that Zahra still sings to Jari sometimes.

Six months later, she and three other little girls danced to "We Are Santa's Elves" in her ballet studio's Christmas show.

And today, her studio performed a dance production of Beauty and the Beast at the Kenya National Theatre. We've been in Nairobi for a year and several months and, I didn't realize until I started writing this, that ballet has really been Zahra's only constant here.  She started ballet long before she started school, before sports camp, before we lived in this apartment, before she knew any of the friends she has today.   And it has probably been the most unKenyan thing, in her life in Kenya.  Unlike her overly structured school, and the ridiculously strict swim classes she used to take, her ballet class has been wonderfully, beautifully American.   It's a class for 3 and 4 year-olds.  And the kids in the class get to act like 3 and 4 year olds.  They dance to songs from Frozen and run around pretending to be giraffes and elephants.  They play freeze dance and chase each other around the studio, and in the midst of all of that, they're learning (and maybe even slowly improving.) In January, Zahra started taking tap classes with another little girl in her ballet class.  I'm pretty sure at this point it's all about wearing shoes that make noise when you stomp, but still...   So many things are different here.   The gymnastic classes that Zahra and Jari take are worlds apart from the gymnastics classes that Zahra took in Brooklyn.  They're great classes that focus on skills, but there's no music, no bubbles, no tumble track or fun equipment...  they're fairly serious classes for such little kids.   The swimming lessons that Jari took at barely a year were completely different from the swim classes Zahra took at a year.  One on one instruction with a swim coach in the pool trying to get Jari (who wasn't walking at the time) to kick his legs, versus group lessons with parents or caregivers in the pool, singing songs and playing games...   Things here are strict.  Children are supposed to learn by following instructions rather than through play and discovery. And, so it has been such a wonderful experience to be able to take Zahra somewhere that feels so normal and fun and age appropriate.   We missed her last few dance classes because we were at the coast, but we made sure we were back in time for her rehearsals.  Thursday night, Abdul took her to the dance studio for her first rehearsal.  She came home wearing her new costume, so excited.   Friday afternoon I took her to the Kenya National Theatre for her dress rehearsal.  I left her backstage with the other kids and sat in the audience chatting with a few other parents, waiting for the show to start.  It was pretty delayed, but I was excited when I saw Zahra and her friends peaking out from behind the curtains before their first dance in the pre-show.  And I was even happier when they came out on stage!

They all did great and I was ready and waiting for her tap dance. When she came on stage she looked a bit tired.  Actually, a lot tired.  Pretty listless for a girl wearing tulle and tap shoes.  But we'd just come back from the coast two days before and she'd been shuffling from school to rehearsal... the show was running late, I figured she was just tired.  As Beauty and the Beast started, I realized there were only about 15 minutes before her next and final dance, I figured I'd just take her home as soon as it was over. But a few minutes later, a parent who was backstage, called me and told me to come backstage to see Zahra.  I found her, in the midst of little girls running and jumping around, curled up in a chair with a scarf over her.  She looked at me and told me she felt so cold and sick. She threw up in the car on the way home and couldn't stop shivering.  But Jari had had a mild fever this week so I figured it would pass by morning. It didn't.  This morning she complained of a headache, stomachache, and sore throat.  Her fever was pretty persistent.  When we took her to the hospital for a precautionary malaria test, her blood tests showed a bacterial infection.   And so, rather than dancing as a fairy in Beauty and the Beast, today Zahra started her very first course of antibiotics. She was pretty sad that she didn't get to dance on the "big stage."  We'd talked a lot about what a big deal it was to dance at the National Theatre, where I'd taken her to see "real" ballet dancers dance in The Nutcracker in December.  (I joked with friends that years from now I’d remind her to list it on her college applications.)

But I was even more sad than she was.  Watching her and her friends in their rehearsal I realized how much she's grown up this year.  I was so excited to see all of them in their recital, to see how much more confident they've grown even just since their Christmas show in December, never mind the recital last May.   Kids change so much from 1 to 2 and from 2 to 3, you can’t even really quantify it...  But from 3 to 4?  

I often feel like Zahra's the same as she was a year ago.  The changes from 3 to 4 are more subtle, but not when I watched her on stage.  There was something so much more amazingly grown up about her last night -- compared to that little girl who walked into her first dance class last year. I was also excited to see how much more organized and professional the studio has become.  Meghan, Zahra's ballet teacher, choreographs everything herself.   Which.  Is.  Insane.   She is amazing!  She deals with lots of children at all different levels and manages to stage entire productions with them.  It's kind of incredible.  Just watching the first few numbers of Beauty and the Beast during the rehearsal, I was beyond impressed.  It looked stunning.  I was excited for Zahra to have her tiny part in it. But alas, she spent her day sleeping, and watching Angelina Ballerina.  She took her first dose of antibiotics this evening and we're crossing her fingers that she feels well enough for Jari's birthday party tomorrow.  And, of course, we're hoping that she's all better for her ballet class on Tuesday.

Zahra has a lifetime of dance recitals, soccer games, swim meets, and more ahead of her.  And I can’t wait to cheer her on through all of them.  But whatever comes next, I’m so grateful that I got to watch her dance on stage at Kenya’s National Theatre -- even if it was just a dress rehearsal!   

A few weeks ago I was reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's autobiography, "Wait Till Next Year" for the 98th time.  It's the lightest read on my Kindle and I try to at least skim it at the start of each new baseball season. She writes a lot about baseball, but also about the idyllic life she lived as a white, suburban girl growing up in Long Island in the 1950s.   She writes about her neighborhood friends -- how their street was their world, and the lawns on their block were the their playground and park and community.   

She writes, "the houses on my block were clustered so close to one another that they functioned almost as a single home.  We felt free to dash in to any house for a snack..." and "the position of our houses determined the pattern of our friendships." Reading it this year I felt much more wistful when I read those words and it dawned on me why.

My children are living the same exact idyllic life as white, suburban children in 1950's Long Island.

One year ago this week, we moved from our serviced apartment into our current compound.  At the time I was a little apprehensive.  I didn't love the furniture we were purchasing along with the apartment and the kitchen didn't have any outside windows.  

This is Kenya where, for the price of a Brooklyn apartment, you can have a massive house with a huge garden.  I really didn't know if we were making the right decision at all.

Yet, the woman whose lease we took over, made an off-handed comment before we moved in.  She said, "Someday, when you leave Nairobi, you won't miss the traffic or pollution or anything else -- but you're going to miss this compound.  This is what's made Nairobi wonderful for us and I think you're going to love it too." We live in a compound full of children, and particularly full of children Zahra and Jari's ages.  Zahra is one of six little girls born in 2011 or 2012 who play together almost every afternoon.  

We live upstairs from two little boys, one fourteen months older than Jari, and one nine months younger.   The three-year-old -- Jaylen, is Zahra's best friend.  It's definitely a love/hate relationship of convenience.  They live in the same building and are at the point where they can run up and down the stairs, by themselves, to knock on each other's doors whenever they want.   And they do!

Often, Zahra's still in pajamas, on weekend mornings when she starts asking if she can go to Jaylen's house -- and when I message his mother, she usually replies that he's been asking for Zahra since he woke up.   We spend so much time in each other's apartments that Jari has started referring to some of Jaylen's little brother's toys as "his" toys.  When I tell him we're going to Jaylen's apartment he says, "Yay!  My truck!"   Each afternoon, the kids under eight, congregate in one of three different grassy areas of our compound and spend two hours running around, chasing each other, playing, telling stories, etc.  Every single afternoon.  They ride bikes, play ball, attempt to climb trees, listen to older kids tell scary stories, race each other, take gymnastics lessons, and more.

Over spring break, Zahra spent most of her time in and out of other little girls' apartments.  She didn't think twice about spending the entire day somewhere else.

Our situation isn't totally unique, lots of people in Nairobi live in compounds.  But we're just lucky that we found a compound with lots of families who have kids the same ages as ours.  And one that has lots of green space for them to congregate and play in.

Another huge bonus --  While our compound is full of expats and our kids have made friends with kids from places like India, Israel, Somalia, the Netherlands, and more, many of their friends have ties to Kenya. As American-Kenyan kids, I think this is incredibly important for them, to look around and see other kids with Kenyan parents, kids who may spend their lives in a variety of different places, but will always feel a tie to Kenya. Overall, if we can't be in Brooklyn, we couldn't have asked for a better place for Zahra and Jari to be spending their time.

Weekends at the pool with their friends, crashing each others birthday parties, running in and out of each others apartments, and growing up in a community of children who are from all over the world but have this time and this place in common.  

People come and go from our compound, but thanks to the magic of facebook, I hope that the friends Zahra and Jari make when they're small will turn out to be people they'll keep in touch in some capacity, throughout their lives.   It’s been one year and we may still regret the furniture, but we definitely made the right decision.

About six months ago, driving home from Ocean City, MD to Brooklyn, my dad played the 1980s Andrew Lloyd Weber, Cats soundtrack in the car for Zahra and Jari.  Little did he know he was starting an obsession.

For weeks, all Zahra wanted to do was listen to "the cats."  Pretty soon she'd memorized most of the songs and learned the unique traits of each individual cat.  She can happily tell you everything you've ever wanted to know about Bustopher Jones or Jenny Any Dots.  T.S. Elliot would be proud. As time went on, we introduced her to other musicals.  Phantom of the Opera, Mama Mia, and Newsies are the ones that have made the most impact.  In the meantime, Jari developed his own Cats obsession. it's not uncommon to hear my kids arguing over whether or not they want to watch Cats (via YouTube which has the entire commemorative performance available, in case you're interested) or Mama Mia, which we ultimately downloaded from iTunes (and sadly does not include Under Attack, which upsets Zahra every single time.)  Jari will forlornly wander around the apartment whining, "Cats, Mama!  Cats.  See Cats!!!" whenever we put Mama Mia on.

Though typically his preference is to just watch “Mr. Mistoffles” over and over and over. In the car, Zahra begs to listen to "Seize the Day" from Newsies on repeat and will often sit in the car long after we're parked to hear the end of a song from Phantom. All of which is to say, I'm very sad that we're no longer living a short subway ride away from Broadway.  We considered taking Zahra to see The Lion King before we left Brooklyn, but decided to wait until the next time we're home.  A decision I think I regret a bit. We're already developing a list of the musicals the kids will want to see the next time we're in New York.  And thankfully for us (if no one else,) Cats is coming back to Broadway this summer!  (And yes, we plan to take Jari as well.) One of our biggest issues with Nairobi (after the bad air quality, lack of organic produce, lack of green space, and the nonexistent EMT and fire department) is the lack of cultural opportunities.

In terms of culture and education, it's probably hard to move from New York to just about anywhere else.  But Nairobi's proven particularly difficult.   These are babies who saw Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson in a field behind their playground when Zahra was two and Jari was three or four months.  And now they live in a city where there isn't even a drop in singalong.

So we were both surprised and delighted a few months ago when we saw an advertisement for "Tinga Tinga Tales -- The Musical."

"Tinga Tinga Tales" for those who don't seek out children's programming with Swahili content, is children's TV show (a BBC production) and series of children's books, based on the Tinga Tinga style of painting from Tanzania.  The show and the books tell the stories of how animals became the way they are today.  

Zahra's watched "Tinga Tinga" (on Hulu) since she was Jari's age and we were thrilled to find the books in nearly every book store in Kenya.

So when we started seeing flyers and getting emails about a musical version, we quickly bought tickets.  We weren't holding our breath for the show of the century, but live theatre is live theatre and the content seemed perfect for little kids.

We bought tickets for the evening performance the day after the show opened.  It was Zahra's last day of school before spring break and just a few days before her birthday.  

We went to the venue not really sure what to expect.  We were hoping for something vaguely decent that would at least hold everyone's attention for an hour and a half.

The "theatre" was a huge tent with a stage in front and crates and blankets for seating.  The kids, and parents with young children, congregated on the blankets up front, and the adults and bigger kids sat in the back on the crates..

We got seats at the front of the blanket section and had room to spread out a bit.

Outside the tent, vendors were selling ice cream, french fries, and pizza.  Some of the pizzas were in the shape of monkeys -- one of the main Tinga Tinga characters.  

The theatre filled up with a pretty diverse crowd, which was nice to see.  Tickets ranged in price from $10 to $25 -- affordable for many middle and upper middle class Kenyan and expat families but still out of reach for many Kenyans. And so, here's the thing.   The show was AMAZING.

It exceeded all of our expectations.  (Which, to be fair, were quite low.) The music and acting was fabulous.  While aimed at children, the content was still engaging enough for adults.  The costumes and set design weren't exactly "Lion King" quality, but they were crafty and innovative and Zahra and Jari were enthralled.  

While performed at a small venue in Nairobi, the production could absolutely go to any open aired theatre in the world and find success.  That's how good it was.  And it honestly makes you wonder at the insane production costs involved in Broadway and West End productions.   The audience was very much a part of the show -- when the other animals couldn't find chameleon, the children in the audience all ran up, pulling on the characters' costumes, pointing and urging them to look in the right place.  The characters encouraged the children to help "pull" giraffe out of a tree she got stuck in.  And all the children eagerly participated.

It was a fabulous show and a wonderful night.

For our children, and many others, I'm sure, who will go on to see a multitude of live theatre in their lives, it was a great introduction.  (Definitely more age appropriate than "Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson" -- though I make no apologies for that.  There's nothing wrong with introducing babies to political satire.) As I noted above, despite it's seemingly affordable price tag, the production was still out of reach for far too many Kenyans.  Just like theatre at home, where the average price of a Broadway ticket has climbed over $100, it's considered a luxury that too many people can't access. The good news is, there are rumors that the production will travel and be performed for audiences that couldn't afford the Nairobi prices.  Lets hope that's true.  

Zahra turned FOUR two weeks ago and we decided to throw a proper Kenyan party.

And by that, I don't mean that we slaughtered a goat.  I mean, we had it catered and hired a water slide.  Because, this is what people do here.

Our first party after coming back from Brooklyn this fall was for one of Zahra's classmates.  It was held on the grounds of their pre-school.  Upon arrival I was handed a glass of white wine.  There was a huge tent under which were several tables, a full bar complete with bartenders, and lovely chefs serving up your choice of noodles or rice with beef, prawns, chicken, or tofu, and of course a variety of sauces.  

For the children there was a clown and entertainer, party games, a bouncy house, and more.

I left feeling completely overwhelmed.  In the weeks that followed we attended several more parties.  They all had entertainers.  They all had alcohol. They all had bouncy castles.  And they all were catered.

To be fair, we left New York before Zahra even turned three.  So I don't know what parties for young children are like at home.  I still get annual emails from New York Kids Club and Kidville in the months before my kids’ birthdays inviting me to drop several thousand dollars on a party at their venues.  We have friends who have rented out playspaces and carousels for parties at home.  But the parties are kid-focused and usually just consist of pizza and cake.

At first, I was vehemently against a Kenyan style party.  It seemed too extreme.  She's four.  Cake and friends seemed totally sufficient.  But after a few more parties, I realized how fun they were.  And so... we decided to embrace the fun of Kenyan parties while staying true to our American roots by not going too crazy.  

The first decision we made was that we were not serving alcohol at a four-year-old's party.  One thing I've noticed at several parties we've attended is that the parents weren't really involved with the kids.  It's as if two parallel parties are going on.  One for the kids who are usually supervised by a creepy clown and one for the adults who congregate near the bar.  I totally understand the appeal and I'm quite happy to be offered sangria or other cocktails at a party.  

But Zahra's birthday party is about Zahra, not us.  I don't need to drink and I don't need to get other kids' parents all liquored up at a child's birthday.   In lieu of alcohol, we ordered 25 liters of freshly squeezed mango and pineapple juice.  I also told several of the parents ahead of time not to expect alcohol -- as it's usually a given at parties and we didn't want people to come and be disappointed.

The second decision we made was deciding on a homemade cake.  Zahra announced months ago that she wanted a chameleon cake.  Of course she did.  Of course she wanted an animal that doesn't have a corresponding Wilton cake pan to order.  I begged her to consider a dinosaur, but she insisted.  

I seriously considered finding someone else to bake the cake but after remembering the disaster that was Jari's first birthday cake (which looked pretty but had one layer that tasted like it was dropped in a bucket of water) I decided to make it myself.

The third decision we made was to trade up from a bouncy house to a waterslide.  #BecauseKenya  

Because we don't know how long we'll be there and why not make Zahra's Kenyan birthday as memorable as possible.  Last year when she turned three, we didn't really know anyone and she fell and split her chin the day of her party.  This may be the only blow out party she gets, so why not celebrate the fact that here in Kenya she can have a waterslide despite having an early spring birthday.

Our next decision was to hire pizza guys we'd encountered at two different parties.  They bring a mobile oven and make all different varieties of pizzas.  Their pizzas are great, the kids love them, and it's much more cost friendly than other food vendors.  It's also much more hassle free than the taco bar I'd been considering doing ourselves.

The next few decisions weren't quite as monumental.  I got nostalgic thinking about how my kids are going to miss out on snowballs in Maryland this year, so I asked around if anyone knew anyone who made snow cones.  Low and behold, I found a vendor who made more of an Indian than Baltimore style of snow cones but they were pretty close!  I hired them immediately.  

A month or so ago, we were out and encountered someone with a cotton candy machine.  Despite never allowing Zahra to have cotton candy at a baseball game, I broke and bought her one.  She loved it.  And I couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it would be to have cotton candy at a birthday.  And it just so happened that our water slide vendor also provides cotton candy.  Done!  

Finally, I remembered one of my childhood birthdays where I had a pinata.  The Nariobi Art Center makes pinatas so I called and organized a chameleon pinata -- Zahra and I spent an afternoon helping to decorate it.  

Since Zahra and I had talked about having an "environmental" theme for her party, we decided not to fill the pinata with plastic toys and instead went to the Masaai Market and bought bracelets and beaded keychains made by local craftsman.  

Staying in the vein, rather than giving out goody bags at the end of the party, I went across the street from our compound and spoke with a man who sells plants on the side of the road.  I purchased 40 guava trees to give out as gifts for Zahra's friends.  Guava trees can be planted in the ground or grow in containers on balconies.  

A few weeks before the party, one of our neighbors, who'd been traveling out of the country stumbled upon a woman selling little cut out wooden chameleons.  She was nice enough to buy around 30 of them and bring them home for us.  And so, rather than hire an art teacher (which lots of people do so they can have a craft corner at their party,) I bought a big white canvass and set out the chameleons, the canvass, and several containers of washable crayola paints from home on a blanket.  They wouldn't necessarily be supervised, but considering the paints were nontoxic and washable, I didn't think it mattered much.

In the days before the party, Zena prepared 100 chapatis.  (Seriously, 100.)  As well as guacamole, vegetable platters, and fruit salad.

I made four different kinds of cupcakes:  banana cupcakes with chocolate frosting, chocolate cupcakes with strawberry frosting, and mango cupcakes as well as carrot pineapple cupcakes both with pineapple coconut frosting.

We made scores of decorated sugar cookies in the shape of the number 4 and, of course, endangered sea turtles.  

And, I made a chameleon cake.  I baked the strawberry cake in advance and both Zena and I assumed it would take a few hours to decorate.  With the help of a neighbor's microwave, I made marshmallow fondant in different colors to use as the legs, feet, tongue, and tail of the chameleon, as well as additional decorations. Zena did all the fondant shaping.  I, in the meantime, decorated the cake with different colors of lemon buttercream frosting.  (The center layer of the cake was strawberry buttercream.)

In the end, the cake was awesome.  It took a lot more than a few hours, but it was absolutely, 100% worth it.

The day before the party, recalling that I hadn't ordered tables and chairs for people, I went back to the Masaai Market and bought a few more blankets.  We laid the blankets out on the ground and told everyone the party was "picnic" style.

The biggest issue in the days leading up to the party was the weather.

Towards the end of March, Nairobi got hot.  Really hot.  (Well really hot for Nairobi, moderate for summers in the mid-Atlantic.)  It was in the high 80s and sunny everyday.  We left for Watamu (to celebrate Zahra's actual birthday) the last week in March.  Watamu was equally hot, but the coast is always hot.  We were totally accustomed to warm weather by the time we flew back to Nairobi at the beginning of April.  But when we landed we were greeted with cloudy skies and temperatures in the mid70s.

Just like that, summer had ended.  The rainy season was here.

I panicked.  This is Kenya.  Parents layer their kids in sweaters and jackets when it's in the 70s.  How was Zahra going to have her wet and wild waterslide birthday party with grey skies and moderate temperatures.  I checked my weather app six times a day leading up to her party.  All I saw was clouds and rain in the forecast for the day of her party.

And yet, I told the vendor we were going to go through with it.  I emailed Zahra's friend's parents and told them to dress their kids in bathing suits but to bring a warm changes of clothes.  (I lived in fear that this advice would be ignored and no one would come with bathing suits.)  The grey skies the day before the party nearly unhinged me.  

When the vendors showed up the night before with the waterslide, they also brought along two little paddle boats for the kids, in the event no one would go in the water.

Under grey skies, on Sunday morning, I watched them inflate the waterslide and fill the pool.  The pizza guys arrived and asked if they should set up somewhere else.  They pointed at the storm clouds above and said they were scared of the rain.  

I looked at the sky and felt totally defeated.  But, I told them, no.  I told them it wasn't going to rain, that the sun was going to come out and it was going to be a beautiful day.  They smiled indulgently, but followed my instructions and set up outside in the party area.

We got things set up, the snow cone vendor arrived, the cotton candy machine came.  We spread out the blankets, brought out the food.  And then kids started arriving, in their bathing suits!  Zahra, who'd insisted on wearing her "white party dress" changed into her bathing suit once she caught site of her friends.  More and more people arrived.

And just like that, the storm clouds vanished.  Seriously.  The sun came out and pretty soon, every kid at the party was either on the slide or in the pool.  The line for snow cones was several people long.  The temperature hit 80 degrees.

I was worried that we'd have too many pizzas, but the pizzas flew.  Kids started painting chameleons and had soon painted the entire canvass -- which is now a keepsake for Zahra.

We hung the pinata and let every kid have a turn beating it until finally it burst open.

The pizzas ran out just as we were bringing out the cake and cupcakes.  

Overall, the entire party was a massive success.  No one seemed to notice the lack of alcohol or lack of a clown -- instead the parents congregated near the kids, who spent their time in and out of the little pool and on and off the water slide and the the little boats.  

As the party was wrapping up, I decided that I wanted to try the waterslide.  Jari was too little to go down by himself, so I asked him if he wanted go to with me and Zahra.  He said yes and the three of us went down together.  It was fantastic.  The kids wanted to go a second time, so we did!

The day before the party, Zahra said to me, excitedly, "Tomorrow is going to be the very best day of all the days!"  And it was!

The only downside was that Abdul got stuck in London for an extra night and missed the party -- the good news was that he was definitely more upset than Zahra was.  She knew he'd be home a few hours after the party and was so busy having fun, she didn't have time to miss him!

It’s been 53 weeks since we moved to Nairobi.  One year and one week.  And a lot has changed.  The sweet little nine-month-old boy we brought with us is now an active 21-month-old obsessed with Elmo and Cats (the musical, thanks to his sister.)  Our nearly three-year-old is now nearly four and she’s even more articulate and social than she was when we arrived, if that’s possible.  She too is obsessed with Broadway musicals, but also with space and dinosaurs and the BBC documentary Planet Earth.  She misses home but is loving life here!  

When we were in Brooklyn last fall, I remember telling someone that sometimes living in Nairobi feels like living in America in the 1980s.  At the time, I was referring specifically to the crazy mall culture and the fast food restaurants popping up all over.  (A new Pizza Hut opened yesterday!)  In plenty of ways Nairobi is just as forward thinking as any city in the US. But last week, I was in a grocery store with Jari and my words rang in my ears.  As I looked around the store it seriously felt like 1989 again.   (Now to be fair, all of these things probably still exist in the United States, but living in Brooklyn and shopping at our green market, cheese shop, and bodega I honestly haven’t seen most of them in years.)  

I saw the Swiss Miss with mini marshmallows first!

It was amazing.  I was nearly giddy.  It was like suddenly the store transformed before my eyes and everywhere I looked there were American products that reminded me of my childhood.  

(The irony of course is that these things will never remind Zahra and Jari of their childhoods because I’d never let them eat them!)

Moving on...  I seriously had no idea that Fruit Rollups still existed.  Anywhere.  In.  The.  World.  I assumed everyone had made the transition to dried fruit about 15 years ago.  Wasn’t there a dehydrator craze in the late 90s?

But there they were.  On the shelf at Chandarana.  Which also featured... wait for it...  Spree Candy Canes.  Now these I probably would have guessed were still in production, because Spree Candy Canes!

On the other hand...  I definitely didn’t think that the Green Giant was still a company...  I remember the commercials from early childhood but...  In fact, I can still hear the jingle.  But I haven’t thought about them in over 30 years!

And then of course...  RUNTS!!!  (No artificial flavors -- really?)  How exciting that the great people of Nairobi can by Runts whenever they want!  And Gobstoppers.  Does Willie Wonka live here?  I mean, is it fair that in a country overrun with Cadbury and KinderEggs there are Runts and Gobstoppers available too?  It’s too much!

This next one surprised me the first time I saw it because... lets be honest... there is NO Mexican food in Nairobi.  None.  I recently saw something akin to 7 layer nachos on a menu and ordered them.  I could have cried.  The cheese wasn’t even cheese!  How is that possible?  In a country with avocados on every other tree and local cheese makers and corn and beans and tomatoes... why can’t there be delicious mexican food...  They have cans of Old El Paso refried beans for gods sake!!!!!  Step up, Nairobi.  Step up.

Chex Mix!!!  This stuff is so good, isn’t it?  It’s nice that it’s available here.  I might not be able to satisfy a craving for lobster rolls in Nairobi, but it’s nice to know that I can have Chex Mix if I want it!

Saving the best for last.  Clearly I have to spend more of my time in grocery stores!  How did it take me a year to realize that Nairobi has Pepperidge Farm cookies!  These cookies!!!  They remind me of being eight.  They remind me of my grandparents.  They remind me of Entenmanns cookies and cakes.  They remind me think of Kebbler Elves and all the packaged cookie goodness of the 1980s and 1990s.  

Truth be told...  I bought one of the above.  I couldn’t help myself.  Can you guess which one?

I bought the Swiss Miss.  I haven’t been able to drink it yet.  Packaged chemicals masquerading as chocolatey goodness.  And mini marshmallows made out of who knows what that puff up in when they hit hot water.  The last marshmallow I had was a homemade pumpkin one from Nunu Chocolates.  

And so, instead, the box sits in in our pantry reminding me that pretty much anything you could ever want is accessible in Nairobi, at least when it comes to processed foods!  

And all glibness aside, it is an interesting testament to what we, as Americans, export around the world.  I’m not sure how many middle class and upper class Kenyans buy fruit roll ups.  I’m honestly not sure how many Americans buy them either.   

But I think the difference is that the above products are geared at the wealthy in Kenya.  The only people in Nairobi who can afford any of these items are rich and upper middle class Kenyans and expats.  Whereas in America packaged process foods tend to be cheap and marketed to people who don’t have access to green markets and fresher, local or organic foods.