As previously mentioned, one type of event my mother attended in search of equestrian Attire so we could take riding lessons was dog shows. Dogs are a massive deal for white Kenyans. But like the purebred dog-owning community in Kenya at the time, the purebred dog community was rather small, insulated, and, I hate to say it,Continue reading “Vicky, the Bald-Bottomed Yorkie”
Tag Archives: Memoir
You Must Have Proper Attire
No, I didn’t wake up at 5 am to watch the coronation, but I am otherwise an Anglophile through and through. It’s literally in my blood. If my ancestor had been born first instead of like fifth back in the 14th century, this might be my castle: I love scones, fish, chips, gin and tonics,Continue reading “You Must Have Proper Attire”
If you can race a chameleon, anything is possible
Limuru, Kenya in 1983 was not exactly an all-you-can-eat buffet of entertainment options. There were no amusement parks, roller rinks, mini-golf courses, movie theaters, or playgrounds. There wasn’t even a single television in anyone’s house. If there had been one, the only thing to watch was the evening news, during which an announcer of dubiousContinue reading “If you can race a chameleon, anything is possible”
Why am I still a Christian?
Every year, my evangelical boarding school in Kenya (Rift Valley Academy/RVA) had a week-long tent-revival. But without the tent. They brought in a speaker from America, or sometimes Canada or Britain, to preach every night for a week, and also every day during chapel. He (because, obviously) was invariably some wannabe cool dude/80’s version ofContinue reading “Why am I still a Christian?”
Beating cancer
On March 9, 2001, I and a group of my fellow graduate students at the University of Oklahoma went to lunch to celebrate the 29th birthday of one of our own. Charlie had started the program a couple of years after me, and he and his wife Angie quickly became fixtures of our community. IContinue reading “Beating cancer”
If you see U2, give them this letter from me
Dear Friends, It’s 1984. I’m a little American girl living in Kenya, the child of evangelical missionaries. We have no TV, no radio, no real phone, really, just deliveries from America from time to time, or visits there every couple of years, where we pick up little snippets of the culture. My older sister, onContinue reading “If you see U2, give them this letter from me”
A Zebra Without Stripes 