Three days in Kenya, it has already been a constant struggle between “Let’s get the fuck out” and “I never want to leave this place”. No longer sheltered by the safe suburban haven of South Africa, where I spent summer of 2011. This time around I was knee deep in REAL AFRICA. (“T.I.A.” as General Mummy proclaimed “This Is Africa” while dropping a handful of red clay onto our boy Leo’s palm in Blood Diamond. Instant classic by the way.) Back in Cape Town, where it felt no different than any other first world cities, people drove German cars, drank afternoon teas, and played tennis on weekends. Here in Nairobi, tea time after tennis seemed like a world away. In the past 72 hours, we have witnessed a soccer riot, strolled through multiple slums, and passed by half a dozen minivan crashes. Of course, there was also the continuous staring, pointing, and “Jackie Chan”ing. But somehow, there is an indescribable charm in being here. Physically and mentally, there is something primal and animalistic about this place. During the day, the sights, sounds, and smells seemed more robust than ever, almost tactile in a way. At nights, the alertness that ran through my veins were unlike anything I have ever experienced. Maybe I was just starting to discover the magic of this land.