Cherry Blossoms in DC

Suddenly, they are everywhere. Springing out behind a house, trapping the sunlight behind them, growing brighter each minute. Springing up on a street corner in Crestwood, blooming more with every step you take. Getting thicker, thicker, till they fill every other frame, they are there when you look up at the sky, there near the door of the church, flashing by just before the bus stops, standing in a line and peeping from behind each other when you turn the corner and look up.

They are there when you look out from your morning window, and there when your eye catches a swing and follows the ropes to the cherry branch, and there when you walk through Lafayette square to work, and petals filling up the old lamppost you are trying to photograph.

From the first tree spotted early in the season (is that a cherry?) to the hundredth (here's another cherry!), they pull you with their magic, along the green mall, to the thickest grove along the Monument which is rife with them. Branches lifting thousands of blossoms up to the sky. Branches bowing with weight, lower and lower each moment, kissing the ground. Branches woven into a frame through which the majestic landmarks of D.C. are seasonally seen. Martin Luther King, Roosevelt, Jefferson-- millions of flowers paying respects to all of them.

At the tidal basin, they transform the colours. Blue above, blue below, a soft pink and a rosy white dancing in the middle. They are really everywhere, thousands of trees, all in bloom, beckoning from three feet across and from the bank across the water. Flowers, bows, branches and trees, blooming round and reaching long, up, down and far till you don't know where to look!

Beautiful cherry, born to entice on a sunny blue day, one day a year.

Diary of Days | Nairobi, July 2017

The day started with N's smile which is warmth and dignity. Flashing past the city in a matatu, with loud music blaring from barely-installed speakers around a TV screen. I wondered at the driver's commitment to this setup. The front part of the matatu was all boarded up, leaving no possibility for a rear view mirror. Apart from being a distraction if too loud, the TV-speaker set must be a bit of a cost to buy, set up and maintain, especially since it's in a moving vehicle. Yet it is there, not in one but many matatus, and almost always blaring in full-blown glory. The TV-laden matatu doesn't just survive, it thrives. It's how it makes you feel. It's what it means to the thousands who use it, and even the thousands who don't, the place it occupies as the bad-boy of the road, showing off what Sacco it's tied to and what football club it supports (Chelsea and Arsenal seemed to be gunning for the top spot based on observations from the morning), a rushing bustling brewing of cult and culture. Safety, security, pshaw. How can they stand against the unfettered energy of this road creature?

We "alighted" (a word very common in daily Kenyan English) into a lane studded with a beautiful array of tiny apartments, curving along the bend and out of sight. As we walked down the main road, the bridge-railing on our right vanished, leaving us one step away from the roads 200 feet below. These are the sort of things that endear this place to me, no less because they instantly transport me to Delhi, Bombay, Bangalore, Lucknow, Banaras and a million cities that I could call home. 

The main road withered into a dusty path which in turn flourished into a thick parting of robust maize leaves as we found ourselves in the village. N led us into his house, and I was once again a bit shocked by how much it looked like the houses I have visited in Bangalore. We walked past a tiny kitchen with a firewood stove (literally a chulha!) into a snug living room, perhaps 10 feet by 8 feet, crammed with four sofas and a table, with a showcase (balancing a TV, two speakers, the entire cutlery of the house, and toothbrush containers) to boot.

For breakfast we had big containers of chai (!) and unassuming, sumptuous cake. F, N's wife, was beaming, silent, round and comforting. She had an air of contentment about her and gently smiled as she helped us wash our hands with mugs of warm water. We conversed with N in preliminary pleasantries braked with questions, with wide smiles beneath it all. He was very happy --as he smiled his weathered face deepened into crevices, and it looked like a hundred years of wisdom smiled with him. Perhaps our presence in his house made him feel like he was near G. She bubbled up in each stream that the conversation flowed in; this was a day dedicated to her. (If she knew she would be so pleased, lucky loved bastard.)

We finished breakfast and walked to church. This is the part I will dedicate least time to here, since we dedicated most time to it during the day. N is in the choir and was very keen to show us the best experience of the church. We stayed for two services, an hour-long English one and a 3-hour-long Kikuyu one. I nodded off about fifty times during the sermon, and when I was awake, I saw J nodding off and/or N looking across to see what we were up to. Ha. The church building was simple, full of clear windows shining with light. The members of the church seemed unassuming, and there was less showmanship than I was used to from the few churches I'd visited in Gaborone. The choir, the church secretary, the guitarist, drummers, and the wielders of the powerpoint presentation that projected hymn lyrics for all to sing (what a good use of PPT!) -- they all exuded a calm competence free of airs. After the somewhat interminable service we were reunited with N, who had changed out of his choir uniform, and were introduced to his many family members and friends. He insisted on providing for us in every way, from buying me a cup of fermented porridge to taking us to what he felt were good photo backdrops when we expressed a desire for photographs. But through it all he was talking of G, remembering her and beaming each time he got reminded that we were here because she sent us. 

By the time we strolled back to the homestead, I was feeling very at home with the surroundings and with N. F had readied lunch for us, and to my surprise she had prepared chapatti (that's actually what they call it in Kenya too!) and aloo-matar-beef (haha). Between the silent, stable homeliness, the home decor uncannily akin to S-ji's in Dommasandra circle, the tender and contained care from N, and the Indian-but-not-Indian food, I felt like I had come home. I had been longing for a trip home before my next relocation, knowing that I could not take one-- this chance trip to Nairobi fulfilled my home-longings in some strange, imperfect, precious way, piecing together memories from disparate spaces across India, melding them with jolts of surprise, creating a mosaic with enough elements of home to make me feel connected to the red soil that N proudly observed would stain our shoes. I felt comfortable enough to wander away from my host after lunch, and take rogue photos (so many attempts, so many misses!) of windows and doors around the homestead, ignoring some people and disrupting others in my heedless style. Again, something I've only done in Bangalore and Udaipur before. Perhaps I missed home badly enough to project it on the first suitable canvas I encountered. Nonetheless, the place remains one of the most precious I've visited, perhaps second to home.

***

A few wisps of memorable conversation. 

During lunch, a tail becomes visible in the three inches between the table and the sofa.
Me: Do I see a cat in there?
N: Yes, that's our cat.
Me: What's it's name?
N: It doesn't have a name.

After lunch, peeking into the living room to find the elusive Jo. sitting on the sofa.
Me: Hey you!!!!!
Jo.: <hides his face in his hands and shuts down>

In the matatu home (N is dropping us all the way back at 4pm, just like he came all the way to pick us up at 7am. He has the same smile from the morning-time and has become quite chatty.)
Me: How do you contact G?
N: I call her on this number.
Me: Oh, you call her phone?
N: Yes. I call her, because I like to hear her laughter.

Various point throughout the day.
N: No no no.
N: No no no...
N: No no no, 
N: No no no :)