When I was in Kenya, I craved apples. I saved money so I could afford them when I went to the capital, Nairobi, because a single apple was about the same price as a huge pineapple, about five mangoes, or twenty bananas. But to me, apples were a treat. I can remember buying a Pink Lady apple for the first time, and waiting until I had gotten home so I could soak it in bleach water so that I could enjoy the crisp deliciousness of the taste of home. As I child, apples were not my favorite fruit, I much preferred things that I could eat without having to bite through them. I was a neat child, and the apples were messy, the peel got stuck in my teeth, and they quickly turned brown. Even now I prefer to cut up my apples, so that I can eat them slowly, saving the best parts for last as I nibble on a single apple for close to two hours. They are still a treat to me, and I continue to have new memories about the ways that I have them.