Her name was Maria Gracia Lenzi but she insisted I call her Grace. She was short, voluptuous and had long black hair. Headstrong, a little spoiled and utterly charming, we met on the night train to Mombasa. The day after the big Christmas feast at Mrs. Roche was Boxing Day, traditionally the day following Christmas Day, when servants and tradespeople would receive gifts from their employers. For the people of Nairobi it was an excuse to celebrate. Families dressed in their finest clothes, coming from parties, would smile and shout Jambo! (hello) to passerby. A bus stopped at a traffic light across the street from me. It carried a full band complete with bass drum and they were playing a lively reggae tune. A small boy, perhaps five years of age, stood in the well of the rear exit staring up at the bass drummer. And then the music overcame him and he began dancing. By mid-afternoon I was back at Mrs. Roche to say my goodbyes. Maximilian Maria Kolbe was a Polish Franciscan friar who volunteered to die in place of a stranger in the Nazi concentration camp of Auschwitz during World War II. He was canonized on 10 October 1982 by Pope John Paul II. Visiting the Vatican two weeks before my flight to Kenya, I had purchased a medalion of the new saint. While saying goodbye to Yanka I implusively reached into my bag and handed her the medalion. She had not seen her homeland since her family had fled Poland in 1939. It was the only time I saw her shed tears. The sun was going down as I boarded the train and was shown to my compartment. My rommates were two other men, an American and a German. Their female companions were in the compartment next to ours. Kenyan Railways would not allow unmarried couples to share a compartment. After making our introductions they made their plea. Would I be willing to do them an enormous favor and move into the other compartment so they could spend the night with their girlfriends? I readily agreed and that's how I spent the night with Grace. Over breakfast the next morning we got to know each other. Grace was from Ravenna and studying classical Latin and Greek in Bologna. She planned on becoming a teacher. She was on holiday to Egypt and the beaches of Kenya and had become separated from her friends in Cairo. I had planned to stay at some hovel on Digo Road in the market district but Grace offered to share the room she had booked. The Manor Hotel was done up in the old British colonial style. A large patio for dining, servants in white uniforms, woodwork throughout and mosquito netting for every bed. Best of all, each room had a flush toilet and hot shower! And all for $11 USD per night. There really is no substitute for comfort. The first day was spent wandering the streets of Mombasa with Grace. We saw the old port, the market, and the central mosque. That night we had dinner on the patio and amused ourselves by watching mzungus pretend they were picking up the Kenyan prostitutes sitting at their tables instead of the other way around. Grace was insistent, the next day we were going to Diani Beach, although with her charming accent it came out Dee-Annie Bitch.