Dating a guy from kenya
” a lady at the counter of the immigration office in Mombasa asked me. “I have never been married to an African.” “But you watched your father.I was there to renew my passport and she was going through the bit on the form on spouse details. “But how does it compare to being married to an African? You can compare,” she said, as if I’m married to my father.We spent our first two years of married life, 20, in England.I was surprised that whenever a story on Nairobi appeared on television, it was almost always about one big slum or the other.Another waste of the little brain energy left in me. After the birth of my first child in December 2003, I ballooned and was carrying around an extra 15 kilograms for almost a year. On the contrary, watching my British friends’ attempts not to see the change was nothing short of hilarious.When we visited home, my mother and her friends were thrilled that my husband was taking good care of me. My Kenyan friends’ eyes almost popped out of their faces when they saw me “Aiii Tabs, you are fat! They’d approach with a perplexed look and I’d be forced to jog their memories that it was really me. well.” I am still not sure which of the two I prefer.The waiters would ask my husband what it was that I was going to eat. I was invisible to them; he had to keep telling them to ask me what I wanted.Unfortunately, I am not quick with words in a face-to-face confrontation, and it was only afterwards that I would imagine in my mind all the words I would have thrown back at the waiters. Another that still baffles me to this day is the amount of, for lack of a better word, respect, that a white person enjoys in this country and what they get away with simply because they are white.
If I was driving into some hotels, I would be stopped at the entrance and questioned at length.When I turned away from items literally thrust into my face by street traders, the cursing that followed was enough to put a sailor to shame.