Living in Africa

Here I was, in the throes of labor and in comes the doctor, wearing . . . no, not scrubs, not a white coat, but . . . .

One night my mate came home bearing a gigantic blood sausage, a gift from a Kikuyu farmer concerned about my failure to get pregnant . . .

Shopping in an African market: It’s not your American mall, but you can get your hair done, and where better to find dried shrimp by the kilo?

Are we speaking English in Kenya? I was annoyed with the response I received when I offered tea to two rain-drenched African girls. Sheesh!

How getting your daily fix of good bread can make you feel like a criminal. If you live abroad, politics may get in the way of your habit.