Karen

We are sitting on the veranda looking out at the view of the Ngong Hills. On the table in front of us stand two large silver teapots, china cups and saucers, and a tin of homemade lemon biscuits. Our host, Peter, is discussing the various options for dealing with the frog infestation in his ponds. His garden is magnificent, soft lawns shaded by towering trees, Red Hot Poker, Jacaranda, Bougainvillea, Hibiscus, Water Lilies, and the distant hills.

Ossian follows the dogs through the open door into the darkness of the house. A large room, wooden panels, heavy with oil paintings, a grand piano. Peter turns on the light above a canvas of two life-size figures, Mary Magdalene, with a look of disbelief on her face, and a friend, olive skinned, barefooted, the empty tomb of Jesus in the background.

"Shall we play?" says Peter as he gathers up some tennis rackets from the hall and leads us back out into the late afternoon sun, across the lawn to the tennis court.

Lila and Uma had planned to swim in Peter's pool, but were put off by the dark green water, and the suggestion they would have to share it with the frogs. Instead, they decide to be ball girls for the doubles tennis match, Peter and Ray against Adharanand and Jill. Adharanand is the youngest by at least 30 years.

Leaving Peter's house, we drive down the wide residential streets of Karen and back out onto the main road. Children are walking home from school, as people with bags, coming home from work, shout and jostle for space on the matatus. Hawkers hold up bags of tomatoes, pirated DVDs, while men push bicycles laden with firewood, and women sit hunched on the side of the road selling second-hand clothes.

We turn left onto another shaded side street, and drive up to a large metal gate which is opened by Thomas, the house boy. Inside is the home of Ray and Doreen, who are kindly letting us stay in their guest cottage. All is peaceful in their rambling garden, as night falls on the suburbs of Nairobi.