Traces
When preparing for a ten-day sojourn to my home country two weeks ago, I packed the correct garb for summery days, the perfect shoes for my bridesmaid outfit, and contentment steeped in the marrow of my bones. It was my second return back home in one year, a rarity. The first had occurred in July, when I was more orthodox in my packing, as I joined a constellation of relatives to lay our beloved Uncle Job to rest. December 17, 2011 was the excellent occasion of my older brother’s reaffirmation ceremony after twenty-three years of marriage. That day, I smiled at everyone, so as not to offend relatives who had slipped my memory. Now, as circadian rhythms reset to my American time zone, cheerless admin-and-litigation hours at work have taken the place of the happy-go-lucky days in Nairobi. I revisit photographs. I scrutinize faces, bodies, locations; they are adequate restoratives that stave off the evaporation of recent excitement, when family and friend...