Author Note:

I am still completely honored by the reviews that you guys are throwing my way. To answer one question that has come up a few times – yes, I have been to Kenya and yes, it did ruin me completely. There's probably more personal experience in this story than there should be… but yeah. Whatever. Seriously though, thanks for reading and reviewing. It means the world.

And I've done the travel time that I have Troy doing in this story. London layovers are rough. Especially when you've already been traveling for twenty-some hours. Try to feel a little sorry for him.

Last FYI – I promise… Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese was Charles Dickens' favorite pub. It's right by St. Paul's and very much worth a visit if you ever make your way there. St Paul's is the "tuppence a bag" church from Mary Poppins.

Terms
Chips: 'french fries' – my favorite way to get them in the UK is either with gravy or with curry. Trust me. Amazing.
Tube: - London Underground – aka – the subway system. Greatest way to get in and out of Central London

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I ordered my pint and an order of chips and made my way to a table. Thankfully, the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which was my favorite pub in London, wasn't too crowded. I found a fairly secluded back table and settled in. I had about two hours before I had to get back on the tube to leave for the airport and wasn't too interested in wondering around that much more.

A few minutes later, the waitress brought my steaming pile of saturated fats and I happily dug right in. I had quite an operation going, to be frank. My laptop and camera were busy uploading the pictures I had taken already during the vacation so that I could spend some of the time on the Nairobi flight editing them. I had my iPod rocking in my ears so that I stayed awake and I also had Gabi's bag-o-fun that I hadn't finished rifling through before the movies started on the previous flights.

My theory is that she just tucked little gifts into every conceivable pocket of both my book bag and my camera case. I feel like every time I dug for something, I came out with something that I didn't pack. There were books, iTunes gift cards, a tube of peanut butter, extra chap stick, and notes. Notes everywhere. There was also a brand new journal, which I didn't really intend on writing in until I saw the note that she and Andrew had written on the first few pages.

"Troy –

Before we say anything else, please know that we love you. You are our brother and we cannot imagine life without you. You know that. The adventure of the past decade or so has been amazing and we're up for whatever the future holds in the next decade.

We also want you to know that while this trip is primarily for Footprints, it is also for you. As your family, we felt that it was time for you to see life outside of the US. And yes, we know that you've been traveling for most of your adult life, but this is different and you know it. We want you to full lean in and experience every moment. Wrestle with the injustices that you see – both through your lens and not. Take a million pictures of things that make you smile and discover the joy that comes through simplicity.

We've always heard that when you go to Africa, you leave your heart behind. As harsh as this may sound, we hope you do it. We hope that you are ruined forever in the best way possible. Let yourself hurt and be broken when the moment strikes. Remember that amongst all the poverty there is tremendous joy. When you hold an orphan, let their innocence speak deep to your heart. When you are in the market, stop and have an out of body experience. If you can skip a shower, do it! You'll fit in better. Get angry at the injustices. Be thankful for clean water. Breathe deep of the sunsets. Try an African dance and let them laugh at the white boy. Let the kids get all up in your hair. Teach the little girls how to play "hand slap games" and wrestle with the little boys. Notice the deep wrinkles on the old, the absence of the middle and the eye's of the young. Most of all, be stolen away from the hustle and bustle of normal life and be reminded of the joy that comes from truth.

We know that you're not usually a writer, but we've found that experiences like that one you're about to have require processing. Use the journal or don't, but please don't shut yourself off because it's easier. Besides, if you journal, you'll remember everything better and you know that we'll expect full and detailed reports often.

Loudest love,

Gabi and Andrew"

Andrew and I had a long conversation before I left about his various experiences in South America. They've spent the most time as a couple in Bolivia, but Andrew has been several other places by himself or with his family growing up. It wasn't like he didn't know what he was talking about.

But what if I didn't want this trip to change my life? What if I just wanted to do a job and get in there and get out and let that be that? What if I just wanted Africa to be some place that I went once and not some place that shaped the rest of my life?

According to everything I've read and the movies that I've watched, that is the one option that Kenya will just not present me with.

I took one last long sip on my beer and grabbed a pen from my bag. Flipping to the next empty page, I began.

So, here I sit in a pub in London on my layover to Nairobi. I'm uploading pictures and listening to some old Panic!At the Disco to keep myself awake. The flights were fine and I got to watch some movies. Always a plus.

So, Gabi and Andrew gave me this thing and told me to write down my thoughts of what I was experiencing. I'm not sure what that's going to look like, but they probably know a little better than I what I'm walking into.

Right now, I'm just ready. I'm ready to finally get there and experience it all. I'm ready to meet this American girl I'll be hanging out with for a month and this Yusef that I've been emailing with. I'm ready to see the statistics as faces and know what Nairobi smells like, I guess. I'm a little bit anxious and a little bit nervous, but mostly I'm just ready to stop traveling and freaking get there.

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"Yusef, we are going to be late!" I yelled from my office. "His flight lands in fifteen minutes!"

"Yes, and then he will have to clear customs and collect his luggage and then he will get to us. We easily have an hour," my rational friend replied.

"But the traffic," I exclaimed, slightly out of breath as I ran around.

"Sharpay, please calm yourself," Yusef was not at all fussed. Although I was pretty accustomed to living on Kenya time, I had panic moments and reverted back to my American neuroticism every once and a while.

As I stepped out into the main entry to the clinic, I could see him trying to hide a smile. Yusef was far too polite to tell me what he really thought, but if I pressed him, I knew I could weasel out of him what that smile meant.

"What?"

"That is an interesting outfit to wear to pick up a stranger from the airport."

I looked down at the dress I had meticulously picked out from my closet. It was about the fifth outfit that I had tried on that morning. Not like any one was ever going to know that.

"It is just a dress, Yusef."

"It is a dress that I have only ever seen you wear for very important meetings. And dates."

I glared at him. "Well, I want to make a good first impression. This photojournalist – Troy, is it? – he's going to be here for a whole month and I just want to make sure that he thinks that he's important and honored."

Yusef smiled knowingly at me, "Sharpay, come, let us sit and have a cup of tea." He put on the kettle and started bustling around the tiny kitchen in our clinic that sat just on the north side of Kibera. It was one of six that we worked out of throughout the city.

"But we will be late."

"Sharpay. Sit."

As technically this man signs my paychecks, I felt the need to obey his orders.

When the tea was ready and he had properly prepared it for us, he poured a cup and slid it across the table at me. "Now, Sharpay, why don't you tell me what is really going on."

We sat in silence for a few moments and I stared contemplatively at my tea. "I know Troy Bolton," I started.

"The Troy Bolton that is coming to photograph us?"

I nodded. "We went to high school together… sorry, secondary school. I haven't seen him since graduation."

"And you are sure that it is him? There may be many Troy Boltons in the world."

"I checked the Footprints website. It says that he is from New Mexico and that he went to university in Kentucky. Those are both true for my Troy."

"Your Troy?"

Damn, he caught that.

"He was never my Troy, but I wanted him to be," I admitted. "Yusef, you know how I've told you that I changed a lot during university? I haven't kept in touch with anyone from my life before then besides my brother. I'm not exactly … I guess… "

"Do you and this boy have a … how do you say… history?"

I wanted to giggle a little at how Yusef was phrasing his questions. I know that he fancies himself my father and sometimes it comes out to play in fun ways. "I think that I may have been in love with him. And there was this party during our final year… Never mind. Let's just say that I behaved awkwardly. And I'm nervous about seeing him again."

"Ah, there is the truth," Yusef smiled and finished off his tea. "Now, let us go to the airport to pick up this man who makes you nervous."

"You are enjoying this?"

"Probably a little too much," he admitted.

"Yusef!" I exclaimed.

"Sharpay, my dear, you have to put your past behind you. So you knew this boy once. Now you will know him again. You are different. He is different. You can be different together." He grabbed his keys and motioned to me. We went out and climbed into the Oxfam van. "Has it ever occurred to you that he might regret high school as much as you claim that you do?"

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God, I hate jet lag.

I have no idea what time my body thinks it is, but the gigantic clock in Nairobi International is telling me that it's 9am. I wonder how long it will take my body to agree with that clock.

As I wait for my bags to come around the baggage belt, I look around at the colorful adds that greet me. They're selling me mobile phone minutes and enticing me to come to their shopping mall. I guess that I never expected billboards to be in Africa. I guess that's stupid. People sell things everywhere and that's one of the best ways to get the word out.

I managed through customs and scanned the crowd for a sign bearing my name. Yusef had said in his last email that he and his associate would make sure to meet me there and I was assuming Yusef to be a man of his word.

Finally, I saw it and made my way over to a medium-height, broad shouldered Kenyan and a smaller blonde woman who looked vaguely and oddly familiar.

"Mr. Bolton?" Yusef stuck out his hand.

"Yeah, that's me," I grinned. "You must be Yusef. I'm so glad to finally meet you!"

"Us as well, Mr. Bolton."

"Please, call me Troy."

"Well," Yusef's face cracked into a wide and friendly smile. "Troy, this is my colleague and your tour guide, Sharpay Evans."

Holy hell. I should have known. Her face hasn't changed a bit.

Smiling broadly at me, she stuck out her hand. I stared at it for a few seconds before remembering that I was supposed to do something. "Sharpay Evans from East High? Holy shit! It's good to see you!" I grabbed her hand and used it to pull her into a hug. God, I hoped that wasn't awkward.

She pulled back and continued her smile, "Back at you, Bolton."

My mind was racing a million miles a minute. What in the name of all that was holy and sane and normal in this world was Sharpay Evans doing in Kenya. Working for Oxfam. Wearing synthetic fabrics. As far as I could tell, the dress she was wearing went all the way to the floor and her blonde hair was done into braids. Braids. There was not a single sequin to be seen. I don't think that the Sharpay I went to high school with knew how to leave the house without enough Prada to drown a country and she certainly wouldn't have been caught dead wearing her perfect blonde hair in braids.

"So, shall we?" Yusef motioned to the door of the airport. "We have much to do and much to show you, Troy."

I snapped back into reality as quickly as possible and trying to avoid any awkwardness by staring any longer at this new Sharpay, I followed Yusef dutifully to the car. We did all the small talk stuff that you do when you first land somewhere… how was the flight, are you tired, are you hungry, etc, etc, etc.

As we climbed into the slightly run-down van with the Oxfam emblem emblazoned on the side, I found myself once more staring at Sharpay.

The mountain lion ice queen was living and working in Kenya.

Surreal Ville, population me.