smells and tastes

Early in the morning, Nairobi smells of rain and smoke. Later in the day, exhaust fumes take over, and a million cooking fires and charcoal stoves.

My parents feed me as if I'd just come off a month-long fast. Luscious mangoes, which my father has carefully ripened for me. With thin pliant spotted skins, so unlike the stiff chemically-engineered waxy coats of the mangoes you get in the US. Thick buttery avocadoes. Hot chapatis, straight from the clay griddle, gleaming with butter. Shiro (made with semolina) studded with raisins and almonds, gleaming with ghee. Chunky dhal fragrant with fresh chillies and ginger.

Mealtimes are a comical dance of both of them leaping up every few minutes to bring me something else - herbal salt, pickles, yoghurt - heaping more onto my plate, urging me to eat, eat, eat.