African Incense

Hey there, dear! First allow me to say you have a lovely title and this is very well written so most of my advice to you is going to be minor but I'll see what I can do...

Africa takes something from you that you can’t name—it’s unidentifiable. ['Unidentifiable' is a little tricksome to say after short, simple words. Perhaps 'intangible' which isn't quite the same word... or 'indefinable'?] It’s the kind of thing [I don't know if it's just me but I hate using thing in essays. I'd suggest concept or experience?] where you think you are entitled to water, and that such water should always be hot on demand. It’s where you bitch [Colloquial language works sometimes but I'd suggest complain or protest or possibly nag?] when your roads aren’t smooth or your bus is crowded. Where you need new clothes every season and your children have to have the best teachers available. [I think you need a sentence here reiterating your original point so that it leads more smoothly into your next paragraph. Simply something like, 'This and more is what Africa relieves you of.']

In its place, Africa leaves an unexpected acceptance that will never leave. That’s where walking two miles to do your weekly shopping is completely ordinary, and a day without running water is just as normal as the next. Where a bus, a “matatu,” is packed with ten more people than seats and costs 35 shillings (about 18 cents) to take you anywhere along it’s route since the driver probably doesn’t have a license anyway and that’s as common as the potholes in the roads they take you on.

It’s not about thinking [Comma here.] “they have it worse than we do;” it’s not an appreciation. Everyone always thinks that’s what you learn—a “realization,” if you will. But it’s not about that. It’s about loving something and letting it go but having it follow you like you never broke apart in the first place. It’s about not being able to go to sleep at night because the sounds of the monkeys on the thatched roof are gone, and the soft rain that used to filter in through only the blinds over holes in the walls is now blocked by the glass in such windows. [Beautiful but I think the last part could be phrased differently. Possible: '...in through the blinds over holes in the wall is now blocked by glass panes.']

Even relations in Africa seem closer than they do here. I felt closer to two-month-old Alfon strapped to my back all day than I ever have to any child in the US. The pounding of his tiny heart beating against my shoulder blades forced my own to speed up [Comma here.] to beat in harmony with his as we worked on preparing lunch for the day. In America, there isn’t a lot of effort that goes into daily living—our water comes straight from pipes, through [s]out[/s] our taps and into our drinking glass or our pot or our tub. There is always food available in a refrigerator somewhere and microwavable treats in the pantry on the off chance that the fridge is empty that day. Here, it is completely normal for a family of four to have four different meals in four different places at four different times. It’s also completely normal to call those four the “family” unit.

In Africa, you learn what it means to be a family. Your family doesn’t just consist of you, your parents, your siblings, your children and your husband. It doesn’t even limit itself to aunts and uncles, or cousins or nieces or nephews. The African family is an entire community. You live together, you collect food together, you cook it together, and it’s a group effort simply to feed your “family.” Family isn’t just the people you put up with at Christmas, they are the people [s]with who[/s] you survive with.

There is a great feeling of emptiness when your lifestyle changes from the Kenyan to the American. In Kenya you belong to everyone. Everyone waves and says hello as you pass, most know your name and your life story. They will strike up a conversation with you just walking down the street—even if they don’t speak the same language as you. But here in America nothing is personal. Everyone calls you “ma’am” and no one ever asks your name or shakes your hand for no reason. Even when people know your first name, it is seldom used. You are simply a “Miss” or “Mrs.” somebody—you either belong to someone or to no one at all.

Everything in America runs at a fast pace that is unknown to Kenya. The motto in Kenya is “pole pole,” or “slowly, slowly.” If you are an hour late somewhere then you are plenty early. No one rushes to do anything and they would spend their entire day talking to you if you wanted them [s]too[/s] to. In America, people ask [Comma here.] “How are you?” but never actually want to know the answer—they don’t have the time. Always in a hurry to get wherever it is they have a deadline for. [This sentence could be much improved. Possibly: 'Always in a hurry to reach some pre-ordained destination or to meet an unsubstantial deadline, never pausing to wonder: Will this really bring me closer to happiness? But in reality, wouldn't everyone be happier with family?'] If they [s]did[/s]do have the time, most wouldn’t want the truthful answer anyway—it’s simply a polite conversational piece. In Kenya, if they ask then they want to know—and in great detail.

Africa is not a place you go to “get away” from things. If you have a story to tell, it will drag it out of you within 24 [I'd suggest twenty-four.] hours. If you’re going to “forget about men” then you’ve gone to the wrong continent—you will be proposed to by a random stranger on the street within a few days of arriving. Nothing about Africa leaves you alone. Not while you are there, and not after you’ve left. It’s like a pesky, whiney [Possible difference in culture but should by whiny?] child craving for more of you than you can give—but a child which you could not love more.

The only wish Kenya can grant is love. If you are looking for love, then you’ve gone to the right place. It doesn’t have the luxurious hotels and the rich restaurants and the huge monuments that attract tourists, but it doesn’t need any of those to be the most gratifying place one will ever encounter in life. It has a people who make you feel at home before you’ve even plopped your sandals into the red dirt of the land, a culture that [s]teaching[/s] teaches the value of a pole pole life, and an experience that will follow you throughout your entire life. When you leave you will be in upendi—in love—with the only country you’ll ever meet that sweeps you off your feet with a bucket of water on your head and a monkey stealing your sandwich right out of your hand.

Africa takes a lot from you—but I wouldn’t want any of it back. [Lovely end.]

I'm sorry I couldn't help more, dear. But this is very insightful. I think perhaps you could touch on a few more of the ardors and joys of Kenya and delve a little personally. You mention that random people propose to others: did that happen to you? Give us little examples here and there, as with the one about Alfon which was really touching.

But in general, it's a wonderful read and very emotive. Good work!

EDIT: Aww CRUD, I'm not the first reviewer! *pokes post above with a stick*

Wow. And you know what? Even though my experiences of Africa haven't been so good (I was in Nigeria, so...), from what I've read from books, it is exactly as you have described. Is this your own personal soliloquy, or the thoughts of one of your characters?

Anyway. It's reviewin' time. *rolls up sleeves*

Africa takes something from you that you can’t name—it’s unidentifiable. It’s the kind of thing where you think you are entitled to water, and that such water should always be hot on demand. It’s where you bitch when your roads aren’t smooth or your bus is crowded. Where you need new clothes every season and your children have to have the best teachers available.

This paragraph here - it's perfect. Spot on. (My definition of perfection is when there is nothing left to take away, rather then add.) However, it might help the reader to understand your point if you added a few words just before you begin talking about what Africa takes from you.
I don't know - it took me a few reads before I "got" it. Cependant - if you don't want to, or can't think of a way to do it without altering more than a few words, just leave it. As I said before - it's perfect as it stands.

It’s not about thinking “they have it worse than we do;”

Flip the two punctuation marks at the end of this around - so it reads "they have it worse than we do";
I'm not sure why this is a rule, but it just seems more grammatically sound that way. *shrug*

It’s about loving something and letting it go but having it follow you like you never broke apart in the first place.

What I am about to say might confuse you. This sentence made absolutely no sense to me - but it works. Works like a brand new, freshly oiled cog. To me, it highlights your excitement; it makes me feel excited for you, excited with you, makes me want to try to understand. It's beautiful, but I can't place my finger on why.
One thing though - try "like you never broke apart with it in the first place". And, if you add that in, put a comma after "letting it go" so we have a chance to breathe. Again - it emphasises your excitement, but we get breathless trying to keep up.

The paragraph that starts with "In Africa, you learn what it means to be a family." Perfect. That's all I can say.

Everything in America runs at a fast pace that is unknown to Kenya.

Try: "everything in America runs at a pace unknown to Kenya." It just adds a little more drama.

If you are an hour late somewhere then you are plenty early.

Pff - don't I know it! When I'm at church and we have bible studies, you have people strolling in at the end and then demanding why it was so short. *laughs* (I ain't exempt from that, either.)

If you have a story to tell, it will drag it out of you within 24 hours.

OK - here, the phrase "it will drag it out of you" doesn't make sense period, unlike your other sentences that 'don't-make-sense-but-do-in-a-kooky-sorta-way'. There are two ways you could change this - the first being "it will get dragged out of you", the second, "it will drag itself out of you". I prefer the second version because it's closer to the original - and I think that's what you meant, anyway. Probably just a typo? ^_^

If you are looking for love, then you’ve gone to the right place.

Purely personal, this one. I think it might sound better with "if you're looking for love", because the next part of that sentence also contains a contraction. It makes it seem more informal, more like you're playfully hitting your friend on the shoulder and telling them this than preaching it to an audience.

before you’ve even plopped your sandals into the red dirt of the land

The word 'plopped'... it doesn't fit in with the rest of this paragraph. See: your conclusion, this last part, sounds as though you are imparting a message wisdom upon us. And then, suddenly... 'plopped'. >_>
I'm not sure of a better word, but 'placed' would be a good place (no pun intended) to start. Or 'before you've even made a footprint in the red dirt of the land'. The rest of this paragraph, as I said before *points upwards*, can only be described as majestic. I love it.

a culture that teaching the value of a pole pole life

I think it sound be "teaches"? ^_^ Also, because the languages are different, try putting quotation marks around it, or putting it in italics. When je parle dans Francais, I tend to put it in italics. That's because I think French is the most beautiful language in the world, so quotation marks don't cut it. *laughs*

and an experience that will follow you throughout your entire life

Another personal point. When the same word features in the same sentence, unless it's for effect (as I just did with the word 'same'), for some reason it just jars the entire thing for me. So when you say "entire life", I immediately think not of what you've said, but 'wait, hasn't she used "life" already?'.
This is a VERY picky point, and feel free to ignore it, but I just think it'll pace out better if you change it to something else. For example, "that will follow you forever".

Your ending line is gorgeous. It makes me feel so... pathetic. So awful for taking what I have for granted, so selfish for complaining that I haven't got a decent wardrobe, that I haven't got a fully working laptop, that I haven't got a Nintendo DS like my little brother does. It makes me feel like a hypocrite: hating my family for not loving me, and then hearing of people who will love anyone for the sake of loving.

It humbles me to know how the Western world has made us so impersonal, and it upsets me to know that I've been brainwashed by it. *sigh*

Don't feel upset that this has made me feel this way. In fact, feel proud. Your writing has envoked pretty damn powerful emotions in me, so much so that it's made me want to do something. But what?

Man - I have no idea. Move to Kenya? *laughs* Or... perhaps just being nicer to my family, for once.

I'll think about it.

Woah, this was pretty cool! They still say pole pole? Only in books I read, they said that, but they were written about thirty years ago, so I wondered if it had changed.

Writing-wise, this was really good. You described it really well. I don't know, maybe you could have described your own experiences a little bit more? Go into a bit more detail about exactly who two month old Alfon is? It's seriously nitpicky.

One thing I definitely would consider changing is the number of words you put in apostrophes. I counted at least thirteen, and while I realise that some of them are necessary, I think you could take some of them out. Especially at the beginning of the piece:

It’s not about thinking “they have it worse than we do;” it’s not an appreciation. Everyone always thinks that’s what you learn—a “realization,” if you will.

It was when I read this ^ bit that it started to get annoying.

Otherwise, it was really good! "In upendi" is a Lion King 2 song...