Greetings friends. Last weekend I had planned to take a trip somewhere mildly exciting that might generate some photos. But at the last minute I decided I would instead get a fever and spend the weekend popping painkillers and twiddling my thumbs. The illness, my first, has now passed. I try to avoid telling people I'm sick when I'm in Africa, because someone will invariably get worried it's malaria. It's like girls not wanting to go to Vaden at Stanford because they know they'll be told they're probably pregnant, even though they came with a sprained ankle.

Going to the clinic at the Sarit shopping center down the street was kind of fascinating. As depressing as sterile white hospitals are in the US or Europe, I think I prefer it to dingy furniture and peeling paint, and this is the higher end. The waiting room made for good people watching, upper-class Nairobi is very cosmopolitan: Kenyans, Indians, East Asians, old British ladies, a European soldier in fatigues, younger nonprofit types (like me).

I did get to make some headway in The Fate of Africa, by Martin Meredith. I recommend it to anyone who wants a very readable run through several of the main narratives of African political history post-colonialism. It's quick, don't be deterred by the imposing size. I don't want to give away too much, but it's a bit of a downer.