The Bakers Adventures

It’s been a little over a week since my last post, and honestly, I don’t even know where to start. Some days it feels like we’ve been here forever; other days, like we only just landed and are still fumbling around trying to find our feet (and the nearest decent loaf of bread). I’ve been trying to keep up these blogs for my family and friends.. partly so I don’t have to repeat the same “we’re fine, really!” message a hundred times, and partly because I want to capture this stage of life as it’s happening.

It still blows my mind that people are actually reading along.. I had no idea how many of you were quietly following our little Kenya adventure. So, if you’re one of the 420 who read about the girls’ first day at school… Hi again. You’ll be glad to know that, a few minor breakdowns later, we’ve found our rhythm (sort of).

The girls are happy. Erin’s teacher has been such a gift.. the kind of person the universe sends when you need them most. She’s gone above and beyond, and I can’t tell you how much that has meant, especially on the days I’ve quietly wondered if we’ve made a huge mistake uprooting our lives.

We’ve also discovered that homework here is no joke. They get it every single day.. and not just quick worksheet stuff either. It’s often proper projects or written reports, and sometimes it feels like they’ve joined a small university rather than a primary school. Erin and i learned the hard way in week one when we forgot about one piece and pulled it out at 7pm, only to realise it was a full research study due the next morning. Two hours, one mild breakdown, and a 10pm bedtime later, we finished it.. and neither of us will ever forget again.

Now we have a strict after-school routine: bags open, snacks out, and homework before anything else. It’s non-negotiable. Peach’s finger has practically changed shape from all the writing (poor child), and I can only laugh when she sighs dramatically and says, “When does it ever end?”

The thing is, she’s right.. it doesn’t. The pace is relentless. But there’s no pushback anymore, from them or from me, because we all know it has to be done. There’s no “oh, never mind, we’ll catch up tomorrow” here.. that simply doesn’t exist. It’s intense, and private school life is not for the faint-hearted. I don’t mean that in a snobby way at all, just an honest one. There’s a reason these kids statistically do better.. it’s because learning is all they do.

That said, it’s been unexpectedly lovely being more involved in what they’re learning. I now know more about the anatomy of a leaf than I ever did at school myself, and Peach is currently learning to read the 24-hour clock, which I adore because I actually know what she’s doing each day. Without fear of judgment, I’ll admit I had no idea what they did at their old school.. I just trusted it was enough. Here, though, I’m part of it. You definitely pay for the privilege, but if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that they’ll come out of this brighter, sharper, and more confident. And honestly? I’m kind of learning alongside them.

Of course, it hasn’t all been smooth sailing. There was one day.. one heart-stopping, sweaty-palmed day ( not like me to be dramatic, I know).. when Erin didn’t come out of school. Forty minutes of waiting later, I was in full panic mode, imagining every possible scenario. You’d honestly have to have an invisibility cloak to escape this place without being seen but still, irrational is my middle name. Turns out, after-school club here doesn’t actually mean after school. It’s the last hour of the actual school day, but they call it that anyway. So while I was outside spiralling, Erin was happily swimming, completely unaware as I told her she had swimming club today. She didn’t think it was weird that she had it twice in one day, of course. Lesson learned.

Then came my official “you’re not in England anymore” with a teacher gently pulling me aside to say, “You know there are snakes along the walking route, right?”

No, I did not know.

The children still don’t (and let’s keep it that way), but they think Christmas has come early because I’ve gone from “we walk to school, it’s good for us!” to “get in the car, NOW.” Little do they know I’m just trying to keep us all alive.

That same week, I also had two slightly unnerving experiences.. one involving a man following me and asking for my number “just to be friends” (no thanks, sir – although he did mention that I look like I work out and honestly after 6 months off I didn’t pass up the compliment) and another involving an Uber driver who took me 15 minutes in the wrong direction to pick up his mate. I wish I was joking.

Here’s the thing about Uber here: it’s a bit like playing the lottery.. except instead of winning money, you win the chance of actually getting where you need to go. Drivers only see your pickup location before they accept the ride, not your destination or how much they’ll earn. So when they finally accept, sometimes they look at the fare, think, “Nope, not worth it,” and just… don’t come. But they also don’t cancel, because that would affect their rating. So you sit there, watching your little car icon stay in one spot while the app insists it’s “on its way.”

If you cancel, it doesn’t cost you, but then you start the whole process again, rolling the dice on who may or may not appear. I’ve learned to call every driver who accepts, just to check if they actually plan on arriving. Some say yes, some don’t answer, and some cheerfully say “no, I’m not coming” and then vanish into thin air.

So, on this particular day, when someone did turn up, I was thrilled. I hopped in, politely greeted the driver, and then watched the map as we… started heading in completely the wrong direction. I thought maybe it was traffic, maybe a shortcut.. until he casually mentioned he was “just picking up a friend.” Excuse me, what? This was a seven-minute drive, not a social outing. His friend jumped in, and suddenly, I was the third wheel on their morning commute.

Luckily, I was on the phone with my friend Jemma back home (who was half laughing, half panicking for me) as I tried to explain, in the calmest British tone possible, that this was not how Uber works. My friend filling the award silence with several. ” What is actually happening here, I can’t cope”. He smiled, nodded, and continued driving. I didn’t feel unsafe, exactly.. just aware that I was very far from home, in a car going who-knows-where, with two men chatting in Swahili while I clutched my phone like a lifeline.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, we looped back towards the school. I was fifteen minutes late picking up the girls, but thankfully they were also running late that day ( thank you universe). Still, it was the moment I realised how vulnerable you can feel when you don’t yet fully understand the system.. and also how brave I can be when I need to. Because sometimes, being brave is just quietly saying, “It’s fine,” when you’re not quite sure it is.

After that, I decided we couldn’t keep relying on random luck. I needed someone I could trust.. a permanent driver who would make daily life smoother and safer. We went through a list of contacts that friends and acquaintances had passed on to Dan, and one name stood out: Phoebe. I’ll be totally honest, she was the only woman in the bunch. And I can’t tell you the relief that brought.

When she arrived on Saturday, I already liked her before she even spoke. There was just something calm and kind about her energy. We sat down to chat.. me explaining our routine, our worries, our expectations, the girls’ school run.. and she listened so attentively. She said her English wasn’t great, but it’s far better than she gives herself credit for. Her car had both wing mirrors (a rarity, apparently and a great start), and she didn’t flinch when we talked about fair pricing. We found a number that felt good for both of us and decided to give it a try.

It’s been a week now, and genuinely, I can’t imagine not having her. The difference she’s made to my stress levels alone is worth everything. We get to school on time, safely, without me clutching my phone or hoping the Uber map actually means something. But beyond that, she’s given me freedom.. I can go to places I wouldn’t have been brave enough to explore alone.

She’s funny.. infectiously funny. The kind of person whose laugh builds until you’re laughing too, even if you didn’t actually catch the joke. It instantly reminded me of my best friend Meg back home, who can have me in stitches just from the sound of her laugh.. it’s pure witch-cackle magic. Phoebe nearly cried laughing when I told her it took me three attempts to pass my driving test. I couldn’t quite tell if she was laughing with me or at me (I suspect the latter). At one point, she wiped a tear from her eye and said, “Madam, when I no longer value my life, I will let you drive.” ( bit rude but I laughed along anyway).

She’s told me bits of her story (I’ll share it when I have her blessing because it deserves its own post), and it’s one of resilience and sheer strength. I admire her deeply already. She’s become more than our driver.. she’s quickly becoming part of our little circle here.

Eventually, when the time feels right and the trust is solid, Phoebe will do the school runs solo on my non-gym days. For now, though, we go together.. and those drives have become one of my favourite parts of the week. She’s unintentionally teaching me Swahili words, helping me navigate markets, and showing me what real humour looks like in the face of chaos. Our versions of “normal” couldn’t be more different..we constantly shock each other with what we each find completely ordinary. It’s become a running joke between us, this gentle culture swap where we both end up laughing, equally bewildered by the other’s version of everyday life. She finds the term “lollipop man” really funny. In Kenya, they’re just traffic wardens.. When I explained that in England we refer to them as lollipop men because of the big stop sign they hold, she nearly choked laughing. “You mean… like the sweet?” she said, wheezing. She’s now decided he will forever be Mr. Lollipop, and honestly, if that’s all I teach her I’m happy.

This week, she took me to a gym that’s an hour away. Now, if that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is. You may remember my first gym attempt here.. the blue lips and light-headedness thanks to the altitude.. but thankfully, that’s passed. We’re feeling more climatized now (which I think just means “normal”). Still, the gym we tried near our home is part of a small gated community and consists of, I kid you not, one treadmill, one bike, and about one of everything else. Add no air-con, no fans, and a crowd that could rival Mean Girls on a bad day.. and it’s safe to say I’ll happily drive an hour for a proper session.

There’s something quite grounding about the long drives, though. I’m starting to recognise the route, spot landmarks, and even remember faces at the roadside businesses we pass. The sights feel less shocking now.. which I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Maybe it’s just part of settling in. But I keep reminding myself not to let the poverty and contrast here become “normal.” Instead, I focus on the small ways we can help.. hiring local workers, supporting small businesses, and choosing kindness over convenience.

Dan’s working long hours, and sometimes I see him for maybe an hour a day.. brushing his teeth before bed or heading out early in the morning. It’s hard, but I knew it would be. The reality is, when you “level up” in life, it often comes with sacrifices no one really prepares you for. We’ve given up so much to be here.. the familiarity, the family support, the easy comforts. And yet, I can feel something growing out of this experience. Resilience, perspective, and a new kind of appreciation for what really matters.

My skin, however, has not been growing in appreciation. It’s been awful. I’ve aged 100 years since landing.. dry, flaky, like a human raisin. But I’ve made the investment (which cost approximately one kidney) in proper skincare and decent factor 50 sunscreen, and I finally look like myself again. I’m now limiting my sun time to an hour a day.. the freckles are connecting faster than ever, but at least I’m hydrated and glowing again (in theory).

We had a movie night at the girls school over the weekend with food stalls, markets, trampolines, and even horse rides. It was so lovely to see everyone relaxed..teachers, parents, kids all together under fairy lights. Then came World Book Day, which was unintentionally hilarious. Erin went as Miss Trunchbull and Evie as Matilda.. classic, overdone English picks.. and I kid you not, not a single person knew who they were. We laughed so much. Erin’s still loving her hot lunches, and Evie has switched to cooked sausages because, in her words, “cold sandwiches are horrendous as are sweaty ones.”

Now that Halloween’s out of the way, the girls have had their first real taste (literally) of what “trick or treating” looks like in a developing country.. and let’s just say it was humbling. Instead of the usual overflowing bags of chocolate and Haribo, they each came home with three hard-boiled sweets. Three. Their cousin back home was bragging about her 50-pack hauls, and my two were holding their modest stash like it was evidence in a crime. They were devastated, bless them.. though I’m fairly sure our dentist will be thrilled. Small wins, right?

We’re now counting down the days until Dan’s parents arrive. I can’t wait to see them and start feeling a bit of that Christmas spirit (although with no tree yet, I’ve no clue what a “Kenyan Christmas” looks like). We did at least bring our memory baubles from home, so that’s a start.

In the meantime, I’m editing like mad.. I’ve tackled about three-quarters of the work I brought over, which is incredibly satisfying. I’m eating well, moving my body again, I’ve still got my amazing therapist on demand, I’m journaling most days. And, perhaps most surprisingly of all, I’ve even finished three Netflix series: Boots, Hunters Wives, and Nobody Wants This. Who even am I? It’s a slower season, but one I think I needed.

Change is scary, uncomfortable, and at times utterly overwhelming. But there’s magic in it too.. in watching yourself adapt, learn, and settle into a life that once felt impossible. Kenya isn’t easy, but it’s already shaping us into stronger, braver versions of ourselves and I think that’s worth smiling about.