Back in the day we flew Lufthansa to Europe and back and I got used to a type of air travel that I’ve not experienced since. I’m crammed into my window seat next to a nice German couple no doubt heading off to Safari. Good for them. Africa needs tourism. Sitting in the row in front of me is a young man heading off on a six month stint with Doctors Without Borders. Outstanding. Half of the 400+ people on this plane are missionaries of one sort or the other. Are the do-gooders descending en mass? The plane is full. The service is excellent. I don’t think it’s providence. KLM restores my faith in flying.
Shortly after take off we were handed pretzels and I was not impressed until I realized that they were earphones for our personal seat units. These wonderful devices allow 400+ passengers to watch 400+ individual programs. I saw The Hangover and about 3/4ths of Star Trek. What I really wanted to see was Europe, The Med, and Africa from my window seat, but the glare from the window kept the German couple from seeing their TV screens – so a once in a lifetime view was replaced with mindless Hollywood entertainment.
We were served dinner. It was a salad and cheese and crackers and a dinner roll with butter and a crème puff pastry dessert with some sort of penne pasta dish as the main course. Wine was served with the meal at no extra charge.
And then the long hours of the flight. I was able to look down over Libya as they served the meal. At last, Africa from the air. Vast empty stretches of desert with long straight caravan lines running from one oasis to the next. Little puffy clouds hovered over it all giving the countryside the look of a Cheetah’s skin. But the window closed, and I tried to close my eyes as I passed the 24 hour point of the journey. I wasn’t able to find a comfortable position, even to shut my eyes. My legs were cramping up and I just wanted off that plane.
Thankfully the ice cream arrived just after that. It was just enough. I put on Star Trek then to distract me for the last three hours of the flight. Right before it ended, they served some sort of breakfast thingy and I decided that I wasn’t hungry. I’d had enough for now.
We landed and taxied to the terminal and there at the end of the jetway was Silas Muriuki and his “bodyguard”, Martin. Martin lead us through customs and into baggage claim. As soon as I was through customs he gave me a hug and said, “Jambo! Karibu Nairobi,” which means, Hello, Welcome to Nairobi. Martin is one of those nice guys, flash of a smile, that would look good equally on the dance floor or in the middle of a riot. About three months before our arrival, Silas and Martin drove into the middle of just such a riot – between enraged taxi drivers and embattled police. I can see Silas’s fearlessness. He is a true believer. And with Martin at his side, he might be invincible.
After getting most of our luggage and managing to cram it into two or three vehicles, we finally left the airport and took a bewildering tour through the nighttime streets of Nairobi. Picture the traffic of New York in a quaint New England town. It was bedlam at 10pm.
Two things of note here. The police carry fully automatic machine guns. I saw at least one AK-47. Second, their word is law. They pulled us over at one of the many neighborhood checkpoints and I was sure that bribes were going to be asked. But once again, Martin to the rescue, and we took off without so much as a hiccup. This is an unfortunate truth about this country and it helps to keep everything else in perspective.
At last, the Methodist Guest House and a rather nice, if spartan, room. It’s stifling hot. We go to a late dinner. A really delicious soup and potatoes and various Nyomi Choma meats – lots of chicken and beef. Rice. My appetite has returned and I nosh. But then its off to bed – finally – after 30+ hours awake.
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