Bamboo Garden

Our bikes are caked in thick mud and our bodies wet with sweat and rainfall. I lean the bike awkwardly against a building and struggle to choose a hose. My fumbling hands clean it from both the bikes and myself.

The lawn reserved for camping is saturated from heavy rains. We pause and acquiesce to the woman. She leads us to unadorned accommodations. No heat or hot water are available, so we shower quickly to contain whatever warmth is within us.

Time slows and my stomach contracts. There is a low hum I can’t locate. When the soup arrives, it does so with meat that requires all our remaining energy to chew. The proprietor joins us, asks questions, and before we finish he is speaking again. Eventually Taylor is no longer involved in the conversation, which continues.

I awake in a round stone Banda in complete darkness. My muscles are contracting, my thighs pulled tight against my stomach. It’s cold. I’m also sweating.

In the bathroom, illuminated by a single bulb, I’m trembling.

Kimende, Kenya - January 23, 2024