On the heels of Christmas break, I embarked on a journey to Kenya, my home country.

The much anticipated trip began on a cold day, and when I stepped onto the tarmac in Nairobi, the rainy weather did not phase my enthusiasm. There were a few hiccups on the way and upon arrival, but I did not care. It was great to be back.

Nairobi is beautiful.

Driving through Nairobi, the liveliness of the city revealed itself to me. The bright lights and tall buildings seemed to be continually spilling forth with life and music. People dressed in Masai attire stood out against the backdrop of the city, the perfect blend of tradition and modernity.

The little things brought me the most joy, dotting the entire three weeks I spent there.

The smells of Africa enticed me: the clean earthy air, the smell of rain, the prevailing smell of wood smoke, corn roasting on the side of the roads for sale to passing cars.

Then there were the vendors along the highways peddling their wares: yoghurt, hot roasted corn, local fruits and sodas. They would almost assault the car, crowding at the windows to display the items, shouting over one another to be heard. And then there was the intense haggling that was coupled with purchasing these items.

I spent every minute I could outside. The beautiful greenery of the Rift Valley—every shade of green imaginable presented itself in the tea plantation spotted hills. Mount Elgon’s looming shadow jarred the horizon with its magnitude. Dust kicked up by passing cars coated everything it could cling to, an ever-present reminder of the dry season. Milking cows and chasing down animals to pet them was a delightful and admittedly tiresome experience.

Then there was the little girl I met who was fascinated by our camera. She asked me to take pictures of her, a request which I obliged. It was her first time seeing herself on a camera. She later called her friend to show her the pictures, pride beaming from the smile on her face. She was so filled with joy from something that I took for granted.

One feeling that dominated the whole trip was my feeling like a foreigner in my own country. Numerous people, from my grandmothers to street vendors upon hearing my voice, poked fun at my American accent and foreign attire. I was pegged as a mzungu, my Swahili and Nandi inducing mocking laughter.

But no matter where I went, something brought me joy: people found reasons to smile despite their surroundings. Whether in poverty of in the lap of luxury, people offered their best things to my family in complete generosity in incredibly touching gestures. People knew how to relax, which was a change from the fast-paced life of the average American.

While I was there, I learned important things about my culture, my country’s history and pondered the future of the developing nation. There were countless stories told to me by my grandmother that I will one day pass down and the laughter and hugs from all my cousins that brought me so much happiness.

For that I will always be thankful.