HOW ARE YOU? And othe things Kenya Children Yell

I believe, that in a certain sense, travel makes us all narcissists. Placed somewhere that is so unfamiliar, everything becomes personal. The social competency that makes a trip into downtown Chicago pleasant and relaxing is a combination of things, but of considerable importance (and vital in a way I would not have grasped before) is a sense of yourself as belonging. A feeling that whereever you are, it is, to some extent, your place. A place you belong and have every right to be.
Being here, a place where I am so apparently different, it becomes much harder to mark the line between myself and the world. Narcissistic because you can't help but read yourself into every situation. Every thing that happens (and particularly the bad or uncomfortable things) has to do with you. You become the locus for all meaning (in your own mind). It is no longer possible to simply dissmiss an interaction as a misunderstanding or suggest that someone was having a bad day.
Combine this with a location where I am visibly different and infrequent enough to be a novelty, and you get what can be a fishbowl of a life. Its not quite possible to describe.
Coming from the US, I am exposed enought to media that I have seen a significant number of ways that people dress and look. Most important is that I have seen enough to feel that I know how people will/can look. The various differences in their appearance or manner are not something that appears as truly novel or unique. In other words, it is not something that I feel I have never seen before.
So it has been difficult to grasp for me what there is to gain from staring at me as I eat. Or touching my arm. Or trying on my shoes.
But many of the kids in Kitui have never left it. And their world is largley mono-chromatic.
The closest analogy I can think of to put myself in their shoes is my reaction to an actual alien from outer space. If I met an alien, I would certainly want to watch them eat. I would want to touch their arm, and I would want to try on any part of their clothing that fit me. And I would certainly want to watch them shave. (Which is a weekly event that I feel fairly certain I could charge admission for)
All that said, things are great here.
A lack of electricity or running water is the least of my concerns. They are difficulties that still retain the pleasure of novelty and simplicity.
My host family is extraordinarily good to me and I am very happy and comfortable with them. Mostly. I am getting used to and more comfortable with the reduced level of conversation and affection that occurs in Kenyan households (or at least in mine).
...
It is hard to summarize. Life here is day to day; that is to say that the tasks that make up a day are so enveloping, so filled with anxiety and unfamiliarity that a way to step back and really make some broader judgments seems absent.
Life is...ongoing, I suppose. And thats good.
I miss my home and my family. I miss cold drinks and swimming pools.
But being here is engaging. It is challenging and it happens everyday.
I am sending letters, singing songs and writing short stories (or at least one so far).
Look to hear more from me soon.