One day, when I was walking to one of my classes, my body suddenly felt strange, under-used, even disconnected. It made me think about my transition from life in Kibera slums to my privileged life in the United States.

Until two years ago, if I wanted to go somewhere I couldn’t use a car or public transportation. I walked. I got my exercise through the manual labor I needed to do to earn a living. Instead of using the Bank of America ATM at Usdan, I kept my money under my mattress.

In Kibera, I woke up at 4:00 a.m. to walk three hours to the industrial area in the hopes of getting work. If I was lucky, my job entailed carrying heavy stones and large sacks of flour. At the end of the day, I walked the many hours back to the slum, only to repeat the same routine again the next day. As soon as I reached home I collapsed, exhausted by the physical rigor involved in survival.

Here in the Unites States, people often say that a walk across Wesleyan’s campus is “far.” Usually, the most physical exercise I get here is working out my fingers as they type away on my laptop.

In fact, I have been surprised by how important my laptop has been here, and how people in the United States live in a virtual world with incredible convenience. Over here, you are just one click away from buying anything: computers, cars, treadmills. It almost seems like the things we buy and trade on a daily basis are all virtual, numbers on a computer screen rather than concrete objects in real life.

Here, establishing connections with people through social networks take seconds. Through Facebook, it is possible to have thousands of friends that you’ve never even met. I’m always shocked when I hear people talk about meeting friends through Facebook, and even claim to know how they are doing through status updates. When I met a Facebook friend on campus, I used to act as if we were real friends. They often recoiled from my friendly smile and hug.

I learned quickly that the world of the computer does not transcend the screen. My life was totally different than the “Facebook” life we are used to here. Back in Kibera, things are natural and free—not manipulated by technology. When I think of Facebook, I think of millions and billions of dollars wasted, both from investors focusing on time-wasting technology instead of building the economy, and from many people spending much of their productive time browsing social networks.

This technological world, far-distanced from the basic social relationships I’m used to back home, is often difficult to cope with. In this world, it’s rude to eat with your hands, and I had to quickly learn to use forks, knives, and spoons. This reminded me of my grandfather, who used to say that you cannot eat with the same table as a white man if you don’t know how to use “small metals.” “Why don’t they respect our culture too?” my grandfather used to ask. In my community, we live a natural life—we wash our hands and eat with our hands. But this kind of life will never be accepted by a capitalist world that makes you buy more and more things unnecessary to survival.

What surprised me most, though, even more than the virtual conveniences and unexpected social customs of the United States, was the idea of setting aside time to sweat; in other words, setting aside time to go to the gym to work out. I have avoided going to a gym for several reasons that have more to do with my own experience than the concept of gym itself.

I have already sweated for 15 years, carrying rocks while working in the factory just to earn $1 for eleven hours. When I came to the United States, I decided I never wanted to sweat again, because anything to do with sweating was a reminder of the long hours spent in the hot African sun without food. When I go to the gym and see with my own eyes what people do there, I feel like turning right back around, going to Usdan, and eating all the ice cream my body has missed for over 23 years.

But once my physical strength began to wane as days spent in the sun were replaced with days spent at a desk, I knew I had to get over my feeling that the gym was a symbol for capitalism and the strife I have been through in the past. More generally though, I decided it was no use resisting aspects of American culture just because I’m not completely used to them yet, especially since many people would feel similarly if they were to visit Kibera.

That is why I have dedicated my time here to discovering the similarities among us, between two cultures as different as Kibera and the United States, so that we can relate through common experience and support each other despite our differences. I will also begin going to the gym now, but, hopefully, I won’t have to sweat too much.