Well, I’m sitting in Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in
Nairobi waiting for my flight. There are
worse place to have to sit.
Today was a very easy day.
I was awake early, which I’m sure I’ll pay for later, but it worked out
perfectly. I packed my bags last night
but got bored so retreated to my bed and got caught up on everyone’s Facebook
posts. I finally fell asleep around
1am. My original plan was to sleep until
8:30, have some tea at 9:30, then head to the Masai Market one more time before
having lunch with Job and our driver Elli.
In actuality, I woke up at 6am, had breakfast at 10am and watched Job
and Elli eat a gorgeous lunch at Java.
Before that, however, we went to Job’s place to drop off
some things, he’s got the equivalent of an apartment about 100yards from the
Peacock, so it was easy. We pulled in
and parked so Job could get out. I was
going to wait in the car until I heard Job say, “Luke who’s hee-yah?” Sam’s son Ben was standing right next to
where we stopped. I got out and said
hello and brought him back to Job’s. Job
was holding my suit to give to him after I left, but this was the perfect time
to make the handoff personally. He
grinned from ear to ear and said, “Thank you, thank you,” in very good
English. The repeated sentiment was a
trademark of Sam’s that probably rubbed off on him. Same could never say anything once. “Karibu, karibu,” “Asante, asante,”
Erikomano, Erikomano.” It was all part
of his charm and charisma. We walked
back to the car where Ben said, “Safe journey,” in his baritone voice. We turned the car around and headed back down
Busia Road. 
The road was just as crazy as usual… bicycles, motorcycles,
cars, lorries, and tuk-tuks were everywhere.
I haven’t said anything about tuk-tuks, so I will now. They’re a nuisance. I saw a lot of them in Italy, and I can tell
you that when these three-wheeled vehicles are ready to die, they go to
Kenya. They’re all part of the unorthodox
dance that everyone on the road is entwined in.
It’s amazing how close you can come to someone without hitting
them. Repeatedly. Nothing, however, was going to keep me from
the restaurant.
The two boiled eggs I had for breakfast filled me up, so I
had to watch Job eat a pork chop and Elli eat a good lookin’ piece of fried
chicken. Don’t cry for me… I had a
vanilla milkshake. There always room for
ice cream, and there’s even more room for a milkshake. Dear God it was spectacular. So spectacular that I finished it before Job
and Elli finished their lunches. Not to
be rude, I ordered another one. I’ll
probably pay for that later, too. It was
just as fabulous as the first one. How
did I not know about this place?! I’ll
definitely be back with the family when we return. It makes me feel better that Elli and Job had
a milkshake, too.
Before lunch, though, we ran to the market to pick up some
last minute requests from the US. It
turned out to be a bit more shopping than I thought, but I got some things that
I’m very excited about. Again, cant’
tell ya, it’d ruin the surprise.
We headed back through crazy traffic toward Kisumu
International Airport. It’s a very small
airport, but you can get away with calling yourself “international” when you’ve
got 5 countries along your border. Elli
let Job and I off, and he helped me in with my bags. We said our goodbyes and he ran back to the
car. We’ve been in pretty constant
communication since we left. He’s
recommended which paper to buy, checking in to make sure I was ok, and we’re
currently talking about our projects and Sam’s children. The phone keeps buzzing next to the computer
as I type. You don’t recognize the
pregnant pauses while I respond to him, but they’re there. He just told me that
Sam’s boys were all in his “house,” and Ben was crying. When asked why he said, “I am missing
Adams.” I miss them, too. After having so many people at your home for
so many days, I imagine it has to be difficult when they all finally depart. It just so happened that I was the last one
to go. We’ll be back, though, and I look
forward to that reunion.
I found myself inside the Kisumu airport waiting for my 2:30
flight to depart. At 2pm I looked
outside and noticed there were no planes.
None. Zero. Zilch.
Nada. That’s a problem. A couple minutes later, an announcement came
on followed by a representative from the airline coming to tell the people at
the gate personally (because you can never understand what the agent says over
the speakers – it’s like a McDonalds drive thru) that, “The flight has been
delayed. It will now be departing at
1600 hours. Sorry.” There were a lot of “clicks” from the
crowd. That’s the normal sound of
disapproval if your Kenyan. You press
your tongue against the roof of your mouth then snap it down. I was either in a henhouse, or people were
pissed. Nobody raised their voice or
even questioned what caused the delay.
Instead, we all just hunkered down for another hour and a half.
The plan did finally arrive and after a bumpy ride, made it
to Nairobi where I am sipping a Tusker and eating chips. Yes, I’ll pay for this later, too. My flight leaves at 10:20pm so I’m hoping
I’ll get some sleep on the way to Dubai.
I’ve been thinking about he days that have passed and all
the stories that I had forgotten about.
Now that we’re up-to-date, I thought I’d share them now.
Do Kenyan’s have something against the Irish? I don’t know but they must have chased Old
McDonald out of town. One day while I
was sitting with John, he started humming, then singing “Old McDonald Had a
Farm.” It was his lyrics that through me
for a loop. When he started singing, I joined in but it all fell of the tracks
after “Old…” I said, “McDonald,” and he
said, “Kacheza,” (Kah-chay-zah). What
the heck? I know you guys are good
farmers, but Old McDonald’s been around forever. Well, not it Kenya. If it makes you feel any better, Kacheza’s
farm is significantly smaller… cows, chickens, goats, and peanuts. I never got to the end of the song to hear
what a peanut sounds like. Sorry.
While walking to school one day, we passed a group of very
drunk men. Job called them,
“victims.” “Victims of what?” “Changa’a,” he said. Then he told me what this stuff was. It’s basically Kenyan moonshine, but that
makes it sound harmless. It’s important
to note that “changa’a” literally translated means, “kill me quick.” You’re about to find out why. Job tells me that it contains anything from
formaldehyde, to “ladies undergarments” and even rats. Yes, I said “rats.” It’s not a typo. Rats will find the stills and climb into the
tubs to their doom. Apparently that adds
flavor… or something. I’m not so sure
that “victim” is the right terminology.
“There’s another failed suicide,” might be more accurate.
It’s funny. In general,
Kenyans are small people; I’d say a little bit smaller than Americans. I would have to clarify that by saying that
the Luo people are a bit smaller. If we
were talking about the Turkanans, I would have to say, “They’re a very tall
people.” It’s just one of their
traits. Now back to the Luo. Whenever I get out of a car or walk past a
couple of men, it’s always the same.
They mutter something that I can barely hear, and Job starts
laughing. “Okay, what did they say this
time?” “They said you are huge.” “They said you are big.” “They asked if you are in the army.” When I’m exiting the car and there’s someone
standing next to me, by the time I’m out of the vehicle, they look up at me and
just say, “Kubwa.” “Big.” It’s certainly got it’s advantages… not too
many people want to mess with me here.
Now that I think about it, this trip was the only time I had to yell at
someone. I can’t remember what was going
on, but I distinctly remember gesturing and shouting, “Tokeni hapa!” “Move from this place!” When/if I remember, I’ll let you know.
Although the place I stay is called “Peacock Resort,” it’s
not really a resort. I’ve got all that I
need, and my needs here are pretty simple; Bed, desk (or something that
resembles one), some type of closet and a bathroom. Now, this place is head-and-shoulders above
our previous accommodations at the Maseno Guest House, but the bathroom is the
part that can always get a bit dodgy. So
there’s a European heater attached to the shower head that heats the water –
you just have to turn it on 15-30 minutes before you take your shower. There’s also a tub coming out of the head
with another little shower head at the end of it that you can open or close;
sort of like a shower wand. BTW, the
toilets in the shower, too. Kevin’s a
big fan. Me? I don’t get it. Anyway,
this particular combo had both shower heads open, so I had to wrap the tubing
around the larger shower head to try and maneuver it so that all the water was
falling in the same place. Difficult to
describe, and difficult to accomplish. I
managed ok, but the resulting water flow meant that 5 minutes into a shower I
felt like I was on the Titanic (towards the end of the ride, not the
beginning). The hole in the corner of
the shower can only take so much before it starts to back up. Well, most of the time, it backed up into my
bedroom. I didn’t have a shower curtain,
but that wouldn’t have mattered, the water kept creeping into the room. I knew it was time to get out when it was
getting about 3 tiles away. I guess that
means I was standing in dirty, dirty water.
Not so funny anymore.
Oh! This isn’t so
much a story, and as I’m typing this won’t matter to many of you. In fact, it will only really matter to Andrea
an me, but I managed to shave off 8 days worth of beard from my face last
night. I’ve always waited until I got
home for two reasons. 1. I never wanted to have any reason to get
water close to my mouth, and 2. I never had a trimmer. Well guess what?! This time I brought one, and it feels
great! The hair on my face is
predominantly white and incredibly itchy.
It always makes it difficult to sleep, and I’m constantly running a comb
through it when I’m awake. For some
reason it manages to stay sticking straight out from my face until it decides
to turn and try to burrow back into my skin.
If you want to see a bearded Jablonski, you’ll have to see Kevin.
These stories should have kept you busy enough for now. I’ve still got a couple hours before we board
and I want to get this computer charged.
I’ll see you all in Dubai!
Oh, by the way. There are no streetlights in the city, so this is what driving at night looks like. I try to avoid it.
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