Angels Beating All Their Wings In Time

sometimes you just have to follow your bliss:

first fresh basil in a WHOLE YEAR. 

fresh baked whole wheat, tomatoes from the garden, BASIL, feta.

BASIL, feta, fresh ground pepper, watermelon radish (?!!)

Go Mordecai!

come on up now.

Music Like Dirt

in honor of some friends who drove to northern Kenya this weekend and because I couldn't go (damn you, commitments to this opportunity that brought me to Kenya in the first place!) I've put together 

the 31 core tracks of The Ultimate Northern Kenya Playlist. 

These songs have accompanied me on all my travels, in various stages of repetition (see play count).

A few notes:
Boxer, The National: This music is the sandy roads outside of South Horr. For some reason, while composed thousands of miles away in Brooklyn, this one of the most fitting soundtracks for northern Kenya. I had to include the album in its entirety.

"Strangers in Strange Land," Leon Russell: This song is the perfect accompaniment for a flock of birds catching a thermal, spiraling high above the desert.

The King of Limbs, Radiohead: While Radiohead’s entire canon could have been written to score a trip to northern Kenya, this album is the most precise. "Bloom" will forever conjure images of dropping down the final escarpment and speeding along the shore of Lake Turkana, sun beating down, hot air pounding through the vehicle, the water shimmering, people out floating on rafts or casting nets from the shore.

"Juicy," The Notorious B.I.G.: A slight departure from the other, more contemplative selections, this song is equally representative and emblematic of northern Kenya. To listen to music in the Land Cruiser, we have a basic memory stick reader that plugs into the cigarette lighter. Often, someone will insert a stick containing 11 songs that are played, on repeat, for the duration of a three week trip. However, if we are lucky, someone will throw on a mystery stick containing hundreds of potential gems. Hearing "Juicy" while driving through the Kaisut Desert was perhaps the gem-mest of them all.

Ray Allen, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down

Dear Ray Ray,

Congratulations on a killer season. As always, it was a pleasure to watch, even when the bone spurs were hemming you up. I’ve been living in Kenya for the last year and haven’t been able to see you play as much as usual, but I followed the season closely. It was a mess.

I have to say thank you for drawing me, almost single handedly, into professional basketball. Having never played I didn’t really have a connection to the game until a friend waxed rhapsodical about your jump shot. There must be something to basketball, I thought, and there was. I’ve developed into a purely emotional fan. My knowledge of the game is limited, at best. I’ve absorbed a nominal number of facts considering how much I watch, mostly because I’m wringing my hands, cupping my head, closing my eyes or yelling. But I love to watch you play. I love to read about your routines, your preparation. I check your stats after every game, hoping you’ve had a good night. I wear your jersey when I run in the morning. Being from Massachusetts, of course I’m a Celtics fan, but I love the Celtics because you are a part of them.

So I’m really trying to be a grown up about this, to understand why you made this move that breaks my heart. Maybe you wanted to try something new. Maybe, playing basketball is your job and you can do it better in Miami. Maybe you want to win another Championship and you think this is the best way. Maybe you’re tired, frustrated, angry, bitter or bored. Maybe money isn’t enough. Maybe you don’t like the bench. Maybe you actually enjoy Miami. Maybe Flo wants to be somewhere warmer. Maybe you want to be part of something else great, great in a different way, something once in a lifetime. I’m trying hard to understand why you would do this, this upsetting thing. Maybe it isn’t upsetting to you.  Maybe it’s what needs to happen. Maybe you don’t give a shit what people will say. Maybe you want to play with LeBron. I’m trying to learn how work can be separate from your life, how it can not define you, how you can keep it in its place. Maybe Miami will let you do that. You’ve left teams before. You know what you need to be comfortable, to succeed. Just because you play for a soulless, black hole of a team doesn’t mean you are a black hole. I just have a hard time with change, which is something I think you know a little bit about.

So here’s what I need from you Ray. Here’s what I need to be ok with this horrible, go-against-everything-that-I-stand-for move. I need you. I need you to be your smooth, three-draining, pre-game head shaving, shoe laces perfectly tied, 133 shots three hours out, slight-drawling, son of a bedazzled mother, upstanding, fight-breaker-upper, Kobe and Dwayne guarding, occasional lay-up, deep-breath he’s got it, RAYYY ALLEN FOR THREEEEEEEE self. I need you to remind me why I started watching basketball. Why I woke up at 3am to watch the Playoffs this year. Why I went to a Nets-Celtics game by myself and paid $100 to sit in the fourth row. Why I will put on your jersey tomorrow morning when I wake up to go running at dawn, because I think for an instant it will give me power. I will try and have it not matter that you are wearing red instead of green, that you are now guarding Rondo, that KG will no longer help you up when you trip into the stands. I’ll try. Because I respect you, I’ll try.

But I won’t become a Heat fan. Don’t ask me for that. Good luck with the ankle. 

Thanks for everything. 

most.necessary.ice.cream.ever.

Nzozi Nziza. Butare, Rwanda.

might have eaten three of those. 

I still have a lot of thinking to do. I have to weigh my options.

I wonder if Ray Allen is listening to this song too. 

rocks off

There isn't really anything to say about Lalibela. 

Or rather, there is nothing I can say. 

No words can replicate how it feels to stand at the foot of these epic, mythical, living structures, 

what it means to get up close to the walls and see individual chisel marks, 

or the intensity of standing next to someone kissing the floor, praying under their white cotton shawl. 

I'll try and show you instead:

unreal.