Alright so a bunch of people have been asking about my living situation here in Kenya. I'll answer the specific questions first.

No, I don't live in a mud hut.

Yes, we have running water and electricity (guess i have to blog somehow).

Yes, the disparity between the kind of life I'm used to and those of some of our neighbours is disconcerting, if not outright disgraceful.

Our place here on Seahorse Road is an eight bedroom compound complete with a yard, two dogs, and a rooftop patio. We have a lovely cook named Lydia, legendary for her ability to whip up amazing western-style dishes for people of all palates (i went veggie again, and actually am not in the minority this time). Fajitas are her specialty, something you come to appreciate all the more when you are absolutely nowhere near a Mexican restaurant or major supermarket. But before the picture gets too rosy, know that we also share the residence with many small creatures. And bugs. Lots of them. Our house is a pretty unique piece of real estate, not surprisingly; the market for three story concrete blocks isn't that large in these parts. It was really nice to arrive in the country for the first time and have a community to settle into. In just two weeks time, when two more staff arrive, we'll finally be at capacity.

The pace of life here alternates between extremes. Here I've had some of the slowest weekends ever, swimming or building bonfires on the beach. Other times are not as so; next week I'll be in Ethiopia and the weekend after we'll probably be celebrating Halloween, swahili-style, at what has been called the largest disco in East Africa. Things are hardly hectic, though, and the urbanite in me misses the buzz of a true metropolis.

That said, days and nights here bear a rhythm unlike anywhere else I've been. I do yoga at dawn and run at dusk, simply because it feels natural to do so. Call it living more in tune with the sun.