By Hellaine Anyango
Senior Features Writer, East African Standard
Nairobi, Kenya

Meaning...
I arrived in Florida on one of those sweltering summer days. The temperatures were in the '90s, a little uncomfortable even for me who was supposedly used to the high temperatures. Later, after I had settled down, I remember a colleague in the office throwing this question at me, "So how are you getting on?" He asked obviously eager to make some small talk. I said that I was fine but hastened to explain that I found the summer season in the Sunshine State very intense. "Is Florida hotter than Africa? Are you kidding?" he said with an incredulous grin. Africa! There it goes again. Africa is too big to be lumped into one climatic zone. Africa is so diverse that the classification of the different languages is still going on. Africa has equatorial forests, savanna woodland and tall grass dotted with graceful acacias. Africa has snow-capped mountains and expansive deserts. Africa is not one country. It is a huge continent that has seen civilizations come and go. Unfortunately for the next five months I was to learn just how little Americans know about Africa. I found it embarrassing at times that even top journalists did not know what I assumed was common knowledge.

At a press conference in Miami, one journalist asked me if Botswana was part of South Africa! I would excuse a regular American citizen for being so limited in their knowledge about the world, but not a journalist who covers international affairs. It soon dawned on me that we have a symbiotic relationship with our host papers. It is a give and take where we learn about the American freedom of the press and how journalists are so free even to predict elections! But we also give them some information about our little known countries and how our political leaders control the press behind the scenes.

Misery...
I had a ball when I could. I had fun when opportunity knocked. But faces of my little daughters Gloria, 5, and Ruby, 4, who barely understood why I had to be away for so long, haunted me. "The giant caterpillars will eat mummy if she doesn't come home soon," Ruby told my sister Janet one time. On the surface I found this hilarious. But my analysis of it was that she wanted me home. She had to find an explanation for my absence. She must have recalled the tearful scene at the airport on the last night they saw me which obviously was etched in her memory. But she got tired of waiting having realized the threat had not worked. One day when a plane was flying above our apartment, she gave herself an explanation, "That plane is so high up in the sky and mummy cannot get out and come home!"

Last week I called home and spoke to Gloria. "Mummy it is only November and then you will be home." She said. "Yes, mummy will be home soon." I reassured her. I called home yesterday: Ruby had a skin rash and Gloria a throat infection. "Mummy, it will be December very soon?" Gloria asked her voice small and raspy. "Yes," I said, "the counting will soon be over. I will be home in December."

Mirth...
At first I was baffled by the many cat pictures that decorated everyone's desk. Placed in vantage points, these pictures they say, give inspiration, sharpen a blurred focus, and help to clear a brain lock. Those who did not have cats had dogs. A handful had spouses, sweethearts and kids. From the picture displays, I could tell the life of each reporter. Some had relationships with people and others with their animals. But I did not know the depth of these relationships until I met a number of cats on more than one occasion. There were Penelope, Smith, Omelet, Tui and Orange Cat.

Orange Cat was adopted by one of my friends after he had been abandoned in Collie Hammock. He remained in the neighborhood wrecking havoc by constantly attacking the other cats that enjoyed yummy meals and lazy lives while he fended for himself. He liked visiting my friend's house, where no other cat had a territory. He also got all the attention and enjoyed toying with her affections. But free spirited and independent, he came and went as he pleased. Due to the frequency of his visits he had to be given a name. Blazing orange in color, his name became Orange Cat. The name in a way meant that no one could claim ownership of him. Much as my friend fed and took care of him when he was available, he was a rover. He fit into the picture of cats I had known before him. A sharp contrast to the others that spent the greater part their days napping on cushioned baskets.

Take Smith for example, he was a spoiled rotten brat who had become so dependent on his owner that he was more of a dog than a cat! If Daddy was away someone had to come in and cat sit him! His bowl of cat food was forever overflowing with goodies. Treats were cluttered all around his comfy basket. Daddy, a converted vegetarian, was on a diet and feeling so great after a triumphant victory over a weight problem that he announced one day that is was now Smiths turn to diet. Yes, Smith had put on so much weight that Daddy put him on diet cat food.