Swap cultures for a day? That's exactly what Caroline McLaren did during her 10 week Platform2 volunteering trip to Kenya, when she met the beautifully brutally honest, Mamma Jane...

One day we met this lady, Mamma Jane on our treacherous walk back to the village where we were living in rural Meru. She was a big lady, had a dress sense that can only be described as loud and a voice to match it. She had a heart of gold but I’ve seen people escape quicksand faster than it was possible to ever get away from this lady's questions.

"Why should anyone have to fight their natural tones and struggle away from their personal culture. The media’s skin is saved partially this time as I’m sure Jane has never sat down with a copy of Closer - but who can we blame?"

For this reason when we bumped into her for a second time on a scorching hot afternoon the butterflies came alive in my stomach. I was exhausted, on the verge of melting, covered head to toe in mud and in desperate need of a shower so at the moment in time it was unfortunate that we didn’t manage to escape Mamma Jane’s peripherals. Given the conversation she enlightened us to for the next 40 minutes, however I was more than glad that she made herself inclusive of our usually mundane walk home.

Mamma Jane, a lady who had never been further than Nairobi, physically trembled when we mentioned flying on a plane and was unaware that London was in England. Our appearance was by far her favourite topic of discussion. She was genuinely overwhelmed that our hair was natural, our skin was white and our overall appearance was smart, despite my ‘dragged through a bush’ exterior thanks to falling over earlier in the day. She shocked me by stroking my face and expressing how much she hated black skin, questioning why God didn’t love her as much for not making her beautiful! Madness. I thought her jaw was going to hit the muddy puddle beneath her when I clarified, with the help of actions that we laid in the sun for hours on end trying to get darker skin.

It struck me at that moment, the surreal matter that we were so desperate to be dark, and them light – why should anyone have to fight their natural tones and struggle away from their personal culture. The media’s skin is saved partially this time as I’m sure Jane has never sat down with a copy of Closer - but who can we blame? Is it the cosmetics companies forcing their products and aesthetics onto entire races of people or is it just individuals competing to always want what they don’t need?

My skin is getting as dark as I wish but it’s definitely becoming thicker, mainly courtesy of the straight talking way of the Kenyans. Jane attempted to guess Rachel, my housemate, and my ages. She placed 23 year old Rachel at 15 and my 22 year old self at 19 as I was fat and fatter people age more... I immediately burst out laughing. It was either that or sink into a mental breakdown.

Moving her away from that topic I thought I’d take a stab in the dark and try and explain why it was that we were living in her town. I mentioned poverty, conservation and tried to drop in climate change on several occasions. The blank expression on her rounded face teamed with an awkward silence led me to believe that she didn’t have the faintest idea what I was talking about. I shouldn’t be too quick to judge her intelligence as she later turned to Rachel and muttered under her breath, “why can’t I understand this one?” Charming.

This lady had made me smile, laugh out loud, gave my ego a bashing and shocked me in more ways than I could have ever imagined on that one walk home.

She also made me feel lucky. I’ve been on several aeroplanes and not thought twice about leaving the country. I’ve had a brilliant education that has taught me about the world and people in it and I’ve had the opportunity to mix and become friends with people from all different cultures, learning about the differences and loving them for it.

Opening this mother’s eyes to our culture, talking to her about people outside of her Kenyan bubble and about the world which she didn’t seem to live in was perhaps one of the smallest but most rewarding feelings I had during my 10 week African experience.

Words and photos: Caroline McLaren

For more information on Platform2, visit www.myplatform2.com

For Caroline's last Kenyan blog, click here.