Insect bites/mosquito stings on bare skin, butterflies crawling out of their cocoons, birds chirping. Sun shining, blue skies. Clear nights. The scent of mowed lawns, wet earth after a short bout of rain. The scent of manure (eeew); the smell of spring – achoo! Hay fever.

Spring was coming, spring is coming.

It's beautiful outside. People are beginning to wear genuine smiles more often. Greetings thrown about almost carelessly, hands no longer deep in pockets, jackets hanging leisurely on the fashion conscious shoulders. I remember when I first arrived, it was the first thing I noticed. No, not the fashion conscious shoulders, silly.. the hands buried deep in pockets. It was towards the end of October, 2001. I had brought along my warmest clothes, which wasn't much. I was as ill-prepared for the winter (they insisted it was early autumn) as the main characters in thefilm “Cool Runnings”.

You see, I grew up in Mombasa; as a teenager I was into the hippie/leger look. My wardrobe consisted mostly of shorts, long wrap-around skirts, mini skirts (indecent skirts according to mother dearest and the neighbours) and the occasional jeans “stolen” mostly from my brother (the curse of being the same size) and of course my beloved “Jesus” sandals. So any warm clothes I had were quick bargains bought at Gikomba a few days before I left for the land of bread, sausages and potatoes.

Everyone seemed to be walking with hunched shoulders and heads studying the pavement as if it held some secret code only they could decipher. I, in my innocence, asked if it was the latest style. My then husband (we've parted ways since) simply laughed and told me I'd find out soon enough. I did find out –soon enough. A week after I arrived, hubby dearest had an accident at work (fractured ankle) which meant I couldn't be chauffeured everywhere i wanted to go. I was glad. I'm a “walking” person. I love walking, have loved walking since I learnt how to. My mum would narrate how often I almost gave them a heart attack when they, for a second, were not paying attention and the urge to walk off just took me. Often it was a kind neighbour who brought me back giving me a lecture on the dangers of walking alone and most probably pulling my ear while at it.

To sidetrack a bit: I'm the last born in a family of four, so all my siblings were already in school as I was still learning how to speak. At the age of three I decided staying at home alone with mum while the rest went to school was unbearably boring. I cried and nagged until I got enrolled at the nearest kindergarten. On my very first day, I bawled my eyes out as my father left me behind in a sea of seemingly hostile faces. During the first break, we were each given a packet of milk - ahhh...the good old days – it was at this point that I decided I'd seen and had enough for the day. So what do I do – bingo! I walked back home...without excusing myself of course. I can still see the look of shock on my mother's face when she saw me coming back on my own, grinning from ear to ear. She still wonders to date how in all these years (I'm now 29) I have never been  in an accident, never broken any bones. No one has ever kidnapped me or threatened to, and here my father jokingly puts in – they'd pay to be allowed to bring her back. Thanks dad, I love you too.

It was autumn when I first arrived. They had had one of the most beautiful summers; or so they said. My first day out on my own was a near catastrophe. I was on an errand to buy bread for the next day's breakfast from a nearby bakery. Five steps out on the street, my hands found their way automatically into my pockets and my shoulders hunched in a bid to keep my ears  warm which felt like they'd crack and break off at a moment's notice. I had found out – soon enough. I would have gladly turned back - if I'd known where I was.

In my haste, I forgot to ask for the name of the street we lived in and the house number. The buildings all look alike and there's no mama nanii kiosk as a landmark. So it was that I found myself in an extremely bad mood, with hunched shoulders, hands in pockets and head searching for secret codes on the pavement as I tried not to panic and find my way back home. In the end, I went from door to door reading all the names on the door bells until I finally found our house. Of course I'd been walking in circles. Oh, the sight...!

It is now the spring of 2008. The sun is shining, the birds chirping, insect bites/mosquito stings on bare skin. Butterflies crawling out of their cocoons, blue skies, clear nights. The scent of mowed lawns, wet earth after a short bout of rain. The scent of manure (eeew); the smell of spring – achoo! Hay fever. Spring is here.