Driving around Nakuru I felt I was in a surreal time-warp. Knowing that these were the roads my parents (and I) travelled over 30 years ago. Each building held a possible conversation, a possible meeting, each grocery store could be a place where my mother chose what she would make for dinner. I had few details of where and what they did in Nakuru so the possibilities for connections were endless.
In a way this was good, it allowed me to just absorb the town, to revel in the feeling of strangeness and to try and imagine my parents as young adults with a new baby living in this place.
As a town it is no different from any of the others we have seen in Kenya with terrible drivers, red dust and brightly coloured advertisements every which way you look. So I allowed my imagination to roam free. Here was a clothes shop where Mom got the red and white nightgown she wore 'til the holes in it were so big it no longer provided warmth. Here were the offices that Dad went to visit clients in. Here was the Chemist my grandfather worked in, etc. etc.
It was in the midst of one of these reveries that K and D got very excited and pulled off into a neighbourhood, following signs for the Nakuru War Memorial hospital. We passed a funeral procession, and parked. Here was something I did not need to imagine. Here I was born. Here was a piece of me, of my lore. Perhaps it was my imagination run amuck but I did feel something, something like home, something like the comfort of a place well loved. I also added something new to who I am, here I visited the place of my birth with my husband, and child and best friend.
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