Life is Full

We arrived yesterday, partially at my insistence. Thanksgiving is mostly about the preparations for me. The day spent in and out of the kitchen, the effortless and satisfying passage of time that comes with a list of low level tasks; a day of constant progress towards a real goal. Merely showing up for dinner – as we had originally planned - would have much the same feeling for me as going to a restaurant.
Charles slaughters the ducks and we pluck them. Their head lay on the ground near the pot, beaks moving up and down for a half hour. Rachel’s mom has sent fresh cranberries and stuffing mix. We spend the day cooking: sweet potatoes with coconut milk. garlic mashed potatoes. green beans with mushrooms. chocolate chip almond pumpkin bread and apple crisps. We drink wine. I start a small grease fire. The stove has one burner that never goes off and is constantly at maximum heat. The oven is broken and a significant part of our planning and discussions has to do with figuring out how to make everything when we have three less pots than we would like.
The table is four forklift pallets dragged over from next door and laid side by side to make a large square. It’s covered with lessos in brilliant blues and greens, yellows and reds. There are small sets of tea candles, and larger ones set into old brandy and wine bottles. The table gradually fills with people and food. When we finally sit down, Rachel and I are sweaty and tired. Our faces shine with grease from cooking. There is not enough space on my plate! I grab a leg of duck, a scoop of stuffing, green beans, garlic mashed potatoes and jellied cranberry sauce. I don’t need much. At Rachel’s insistence all kitchen staff were authorized to snack on ingredients as much as they like. I have violently abused this freedom.
There are ten of us. Darcy and Dan from the Coast. Two of the three Voi boys (Shane and Chris but no Jeff) and Tory from just outside town. Brad and Whitney from their home down near the Tanzanian border. Charles, Emily and myself from north of Nairobi. Today this is my family. We share what we are grateful for. We drink a little too much. Dinner morphs into that pleasantly casual space where picking directly from serving bowl with your hands is encouraged. I play guitar and sing on the porch. Gradually we drift off. Brad and Whitney are staying in town. The Voi Boys walk home carrying their pots and cushions.
Those remaining begin to fall asleep in their chairs; slouched down, their heads resting against chair backs. I try to remember what the end of Thanksgiving feels like at home. There’s no football to watch. No movies or Daily Show. No convenient non-participatory bookend to the evening. There’s only us.
I often wonder how many of us would end up friends if we all happened to meet in a bar together in the states. The family I have here today is in that respect much like my own. I did not choose them – I find it hard to say even what I would think of them where we to meet absent these extreme and binding circumstances – but I love them. Despite - probably because of - our differences, I feel blessed to sit among people for whom I have such an abiding respect and affection. It’s Thanksgiving and I am grateful for food, for friends, and for this miraculous and surprising life that I seem to be living.