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The sign above my head read “Texas Barbeque.” The smell of brisket, pork ribs, and other slow-cooked meats wafted from just beyond the swinging double glass doors in front of me. But even if the scene felt somewhat like home, I couldn’t escape the truth. I was more than 8,600 miles from where I grew up and lived part-time in the quiet piney woods of East Texas. I was on the outskirts of Kenya’s cosmopolitan capital, Nairobi.By then, I’d spent six weeks traveling Kenya. I intended to somehow avoid the reality that I’d recently split from my fiancée, with whom I’d spent five years, in June. In late August, I found myself boarding a plane to Kenya, where I’d venture through its Serengeti plains all…

The post I Went to Kenya to Get Over a Broken Heart. Then Bad “Texas” Barbecue Broke My Heart Again. appeared first on Texas Monthly.

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