Exhausted but happy. Had the Combined Mosquito Army of East Africa attacking my head last night. Crashing on a friend’s couch and without my trusty Net O’ Protection, my precious white flesh was ripe for the conquering, and though the Battle of 30/10 fell in my favour, the War is far from won.

Their strategy, far from all-out-assault, is predominantly one of intimidation. Like some airborne guerrilla army, they weave in and out of your sonic field, little wings buzzing relentlessly in the darkness hour upon hour. The genius of this tactic is that your main defense means beating yourself about the ears in the hope that their fate will be sealed somewhere between your palm and the side of your head. And of course, nine times out of ten, you are in fact inflicting injury upon your delicate noggin, and the regularly-ensuing deafness raises confusion over whether this has been successful or not. So then you can only lay and wait, hoping silence and sleep will engulf you.

Alternatively, you can apply coverage to your head with a blanket or pillow in an attempt to deter their savage hunger for blood, but seemingly once they have picked up your scent, their resolve is unshakeable and the aural assault resumes. That’s if you haven’t run out of air first.

And then there is the option to go on the offensive, jumping up from your repose in combat stance, lights on and eyes darting for any sign of the enemy against the varying shades of wall and furniture. As a response to wiping out a two-or-three strong Mosquito Reconnaissance Team, this can prove to be a success, but with wave-upon-wave of combatants involved last night, this too can be taxing on the sanity as you find yourself scouring the room every five-or-so minutes.

So despite my eventual victory - the reason for their withdrawal yet unknown - the devious CMAEA managed to carry on their campaign for a solid four hours, whittling away at my constitution so here again I sit, albeit with my will weakened and nerves thoroughly terrorized. I know little of their simmering endgame, but I do know that tonight I must regroup and find respite in preparation for the inevitable follow-up sortie, or suffer a fate too terrible to be imagined.

Arriving in Matuu to distribute relief food and assist in the recovery process, the local ladies and men of the village were lovin’ life. This is a traditional Kamba dance.

Helped me to remember to be grateful for what you have!

Existential crisis in the shower, caught myself staring at the wall and had to laugh - am I still a 15 year-old boy? Do alot of thinking in the shower, but I’m pretty sure everyone does. I’m a Pisces though so I like to think that’s something special. Watched a documentary on George Harrison today. He was a cool guy, I think he got it - the ‘two personalities’. So much to be angry about, which is just a reminder that there’s no great point to any of it so why not just get spiritual and be at peace. I think that’s the way to go. Maybe need to go surfing like Patrick Swayze (not like Keanu - sorry mate).

Don’t expect this blog to be at all regular. In fact, I may never post again.

I was putting myself under pressure to start a blog, or some kind of journal, from the minute I arrived in Kenya. I thought it was the traveller’s way - record the tastes and sounds and smells of a foreign place, something for your peers to enjoy (or in the Facebook age “Like”), something for the grandkids to take to show-and-tell. Then I guess I just didn’t - something didn’t feel right. I told myself I’d wait a week until I arrived in Machakos Town where I’d be living for the year.

I should explain very briefly that I’m here on behalf of the Australian Government via AusAID via Australian Volunteers for International Development via the Australian Red Cross (breathe) to work alongside the Kenyan Red Cross, specifically in the Machakos Branch/Regional Office. I’ve had a good bit of experience managing this-and-that, and working with Indigenous communities in Australia and really needed to get a move on in building a career. Doesn’t really matter why it took me until I was 30 to do that - I’ll explain it later if I have to. Oh, and there was a girl involved too.

So anyway, here I was arriving in Machakos Town. And then it was my first night. Then my second night. Then my first week had gone by and I still hadn’t written anything.

Was it that I didn’t have anything to say? Or was there too much to say? Or maybe I was just lazy.

Now, nearly three weeks in and after a malaria/typhoid scare that is more likely to be food poisoning or giardia (the hospital couldn’t/wouldn’t tell me), I’m sitting with a clear mind on the floor of some friends’ apartment in Junction and bashing this out. And I can say with that little bit of hindsight that it is a combination of all three that is holding me back from describing the assault on my senses that is Kenya.

Think of it like Sensory Overload (too much to say) —-> Brain Shutdown (Lazy) —-> I don’t hav’ nuffin’ to say.

Of course now that I’m feeling somewhat clearer in my thoughts, I could try to piece together the contrasts of the past few weeks, but I feel my recollection would be filled with judgmental language on the level of “craziness”, “chaos”, “poverty” and “corruption” - all loaded with my Western bias of experience. 

Funnily enough, I was just about to describe that Western bias as “shallow” and “moddy-coddled” - you see how easily it is to slip into these frames of reference?

Okay, so that’s more than enough to kick things off in the most vague, totally not-shedding-light-on-anything way. Maybe this blog is going guilty of “verg[ing] on banality” as David Messer put in his review of Marieke’s You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead - “while this might be fascinating for those involved, to an outsider it comes across as self-indulgent” (http://www.theage.com.au/entertainment/books/selfreflections-with-an-esoteric-chaser-20111007-1ldbm.html).