My Own Production of "Hair."

Despite the fact that I'm convinced that white people look utterly ridiculous in braids, I'm getting my hair braided tonight by two Kenyan women who only speak Swahili.   They're coming to the flat, since it will apparently take an inordinate amount of time.

This should be interesting.

The Polls Are Closed!

27,000 polls opened at 6am this morning, and apparently a significant percentage of Kenya's 12.5 Million registered voters turned out to cast their votes.    Some Kenyans walked more than three hours each way to the nearest polling station in order to be sure their vote was included.   Lines were long, security was tight, and each voter left the polling station with a splash of indelible ink on their left hand to avoid double-voting.

After a peaceful day of voting, the polls closed at 6pm.   The local news channel is monitoring the results, and currently the tally sits at 66% Yes, 34% No, with only 1/3 of the polling stations tallied.

The election coverage involves no colorful, interactive maps or charts, and no "Situation Room."
That said, the coverage is being branded "Decision 2010."

Some things must just be universal. 

We're anxious to see where the final tally lands tomorrow.

If you're interested, the BBC has a good article on the election:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-10856761

Meanwhile, it's Wednesday night and our running water ration for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday has run out.
Awesome.

Agnes

I love that election day here is a national holiday.   There’s no school...no work...no open grocery stores...
just children playing outside and people waiting in lines at the 27,000 polling stations around the country.

We spent the afternoon having lunch at Angie’s mother’s house.   Angie is one of the medical students we’re staying with here in Nairobi, and when her mother, Agnes, dropped by the apartment last week she insisted that we all come to her home for lunch before leaving the city.   Today turned out to be the day.

We arrived at Agnes’ house at about 1:30, and were greeted with open arms, glasses of passion fruit juice, and a spread of food so massive I wondered if a dozen other people were expected.
They weren’t.
Agnes, a jovial woman with kind eyes, exudes a sense of caring and empathy.   When you meet her, you get the sense that you’re in the presence of a truly good and gentle human being.  She smiles widely and often - a smile that reveals thick laugh lines and defined cheekbones.  She offers hugs to anyone and everyone, and yet has a weathered face that clearly has seen much.  I found myself really wanting to hear about her experiences, her life.    And I got to!

She proudly cast her vote at dawn, and then spent the rest of the morning preparing a delicious traditional Kikuyu meal for us (her family comes from the Kikuyu Tribe in Kenya).

Over lunch we heard stories about the time Mercy’s mother found a leopard lazing on her living room carpet, and the time Agnes found monkeys righteously sitting in her dining room eating her fruit.
Both incidents occurred in the middle of Nairobi, and quite honestly I can’t fathom experiencing either one.

But then we heard more about what Agnes does for a living.   She’s a practicing psychologist in Nairobi, focusing mainly on relationship counseling and people with addictions.   But that’s only part of her livelihood.   She also has a contract with the United Nations – working for Kenya’s National Commission on Gender and Development.   Her focus is on trying to stop violence against women and children.   No small task in Kenya, she leads teams around the country that spend weeks, sometimes months at a time raising awareness in villages that violence against women and children is wrong and should be discussed.   Apparently rape, other sexual abuses and physical beatings are not uncommon in parts of Kenya.  The subject is taboo, and therefore not discussed or reported.   Agnes has spent the last few years taking action – creating specific gender-based violence and domestic violence desks at local police stations, coordinating rallies and discussion groups, and generally educating both men and women about the realities of such abuses and the corresponding long term repercussions.   Think of the difference this woman is making!

She described other issues women in Kenya face, too.   Issues such as the fact that many girls in Kenya are forced to miss school one week per month.   Why?  Because they have nothing to use as sanitary protection when they get their periods.   Another project Agnes has been working on is to get these girls the items they need, so they can keep up with their studies, not be mocked or abused, and grow into confident young women.

With every story my eyes grew wider and wider, until 100% of my energy was being devoted to NOT bursting into tears on the spot.   Some of the things we’ve seen here are so terrible, so hard, and yet just when I feel defeated I meet people like Agnes who are doing such good, meaningful work, making a significant difference in the lives of many.   I sat there feeling foolish – what am I doing that means anything or that makes any sort of difference?   My basic pre-med classes, many of which I detest and yet worry endlessly about, and my job that, let’s face it, is really about making or keeping other people an overabundance of money - both seem embarrassingly indulgent.   I suddenly felt the urge to drop everything, stay here and go to work with Agnes.    Maybe not the most practical idea I’ve ever had, but I’m not exactly known for having practical ideas.
And then, again, I thought I might cry.
I hate crying.

Our taxi home showed up at that moment.   We told Agnes that we really wanted to find a way to help her and her efforts in some way.  
I’m not sure yet what that will look like, but we’ll find a way. 

Kenya Referendum 2010

Tomorrow marks an important day here in Kenya: the day Kenyans will vote in a referendum on a new national constitution.  

You might remember reading about the Kenyan election back in 2007, when a similar issue was put to a vote.   Disputed election results then led to deadly clashes through the country – clashes that only ended with a promise of another election.  That promised election is set to take place tomorrow. 

At the polls, Kenyan voters will be required to respond to the question:  "Do you approve the proposed new Constitution?”

Based on what I've read, the campaigns for the referendum involve two camps: the “Yes” camp led by the Kenyan President Mwai Kibaki and Prime Minister Raila Odinga and the “No” camp led by former President Moi and the Church.

Opinions here in Nairobi (and presumably throughout the country) are strong, and yet oddly enough no two people I’ve spoken with have offered the same definition of what a “Yes” versus “No” vote really means.  

Confusion abounds.  

Not once since we’ve been here has the newspaper clearly outlined the key differences between the two sides, either. 

In the United States, on the day before and day of any major election, we expect to see a clear outline of each side of whatever issue is at hand.    However, the front page of today’s Daily Nation (their tagline is, of course, The Truth), only reads “It’s all Systems Go For the Referendum.”  

Subsequent articles brag about the 63,000 police officers will be deployed tomorrow to guard election materials and voters, while others clearly outline what each voter must bring to the polls in order to cast a vote.    Nowhere could I find a clear explanation of what a “yes” or “no” vote would mean.

I’ve done a bit of research, and from what I understand, if a “yes” vote carries the day, it will mean an entirely new constitution for Kenya.   Much of the proposed constitution draft is agreeable to the masses – it decentralizes power, and offers fairer laws to land owners.   But two major pieces of the proposed draft appear to be contentious: one provides a loophole that could allow for legal abortions, and another retains a Kadhi court system in Kenya.     The “No” camp is vehemently opposed to both pieces.

Opinion articles claim that the Obama Administration is backing the “Yes” camp, and that the President and Prime Ministers are only in favor of the new constitution so they can leave a legacy.     Yet opinion polls show that nearly 60% of voters intend to vote “yes.”   Now, many claim that such opinion polls are corrupt, rigged, or just plain lies.   I’ve no idea what is true,  but the tension around here is palpable.  

Tomorrow has been declared a national holiday, and most businesses (including all supermarkets) even shut down early today.   People have been encouraged to stock up on food, water, and cell phone credit just in case any problems arise as a result of the election.    We took the advice.   

We now have more water, food, and Internet airtime than we could possibly want. 

Advertisements encouraging a peaceful election line the streets and fill radio airtime.   Our fingers our crossed that things will go smoothly.    We’ll stay safe inside at home behind locked gates and doors, but I’m looking forward to seeing how things unfold.  

$32.00

It’s good to know that morning rush hour traffic is universal.  

8am marked the start of a University of Nairobi Medical School class called “Complications of Type II Diabetes,” but the professor didn’t show up.   She was stuck in traffic.  An announcement was made that class would instead be held at 11am, and no one seemed terribly fazed by the schedule change. 

With our sudden free hour, we went up to Ward 8B – the Adult Internal Medicine ward – where Mercy is currently doing a rotation.   Dr. Clara, the Intern on duty, quickly took us around the ward and debriefed us on each admitted patient.   There was some pretty gross stuff, I have to say, but we all managed.

We stayed for full rounds, and one thing in particular sticks out in my mind.   One of the many patients we saw was in end-stage renal failure.   
The resident leading the rounds explained that the woman couldn’t afford the dialysis she needs to stay alive.   I asked how much dialysis cost, and the answer was approximately 3000 Kenyan Shillings (KSh) three days a month.   

That’s about $32.00.
I had about twice that amount in my pocket at that very moment.

IN MY POCKET.

The realization made me cringe.
Of course, even if I paid for the dialysis on the spot the same problem would arise next month.  What’s more – that wouldn’t be fair to the other patients, who no doubt have equally important needs.   So handing over what was in my pocket felt wrong and almost demeaning to all of them.  

The woman is dying.   

The doctors are just managing her pain for now, but clearly not very well because silent tears streamed down her face the entire time I was there.
To make things worse, her family has stopped coming to see her.   They apparently know that she’s dying and that there’s no hope, so they’ve abandoned her for all intents and purposes.
Good God.
I found the whole thing very difficult.   Of course – who cares if its hard for me – imagine how hard it is for the patients, and the people who deal with this and suffer from it every day.

Meanwhile, today we had to register our phone and internet SIM cards.   Kenya has this crazy new policy in place where, when you buy a SIM card (one is necessary to use each cell phone and each Internet modem), you have to register it within 7 days or it is automatically shut off.  “Registration” involves going to an authorized dealer – like a Verizon or AT&T store – presenting a photocopy of a drivers license or a passport, and filling out some paperwork.   Of course – this process isn’t posted anywhere.   You’re supposed to “just know.” 

Its one of those things where you show up to Register and they say “oh by the way – we need your passport.”   And when you present your passport, they say “oh – but actually we will only take a photocopy of your passport.”   “Do you have a copy machine?”  “No.”   Riiiiight.
All of us had to register both of our SIM cards by COB today, or they’d be shut off.

The other thing I wanted to do today is get a TB vaccination.   TB Vaccinations are standard issue in Africa for babies born in hospitals, and most Africans have little round scars on their forearms to prove it.   As over-vaccinated as we are in America, for some reason the TB vaccination is left off the list in the offices of American pediatricians. 

Given that we’re spending our days interacting with numerous patients hacking and coughing TB germs, I really want that vaccine.

I had asked for the vaccine at the hospital, but was told that anyone over 5 years old could only get the vaccine at City Hall.

City Hall?

Emily and I took a cab downtown, and found the “Innoculation Office” at City Hall where supposedly you could get vaccinations.   
I asked about the TB vaccine, and the guy behind bulletproof glass looked at me and said, “you’re supposed to get that when you’re a baby.”
“I know,” I replied, “but they don’t do that in America.  That’s why I’m here.  I want it.”
“We don’t have that.”
“But the people at the hospital told me you did!”
“No.   Have you tried the other hospital?”
“No.”

D’OH!
There is no such thing as a simple process in Africa.   NONE.
So I still don’t have my vaccine.

From there we registered our phones, which was a whole other NOT-simple process, and then we had a beer at a downtown trattoria.   The local beer here is called “Tusker,” and the logo involves a large elephant.   It’s not bad!

I picked up a newspaper – everyone here is buzzing about the upcoming election on Wednesday.  Today’s headline reads “Green vs Red is Obama’s New Headache.”

Kenyans are convinced that the Obama Administration is funding one side of the major election debate.   Who knows.

Tomorrow we take an 8am shuttle to Arusha, Tanzania!   The ride will take about 6-7 hours, but I can’t wait.    It should be a gorgeous drive.   Our hope is to see both Mt. Kilimanjaro and Oldevai Gorge over the weekend, as neither is terribly far from Arusha.  

Hospital Smell + BO = Wow

First day at the hospital today and I think my brain might explode.  

The morning began at 8am.   Decked out in white lab coats (and admittedly feeling rather pleased with ourselves), we made our way up the stairs to the fourth floor to the pediatric ward (the elevators are apparently a little sketchy).   There, we met Mary and Margaret, the two nurses who serve as Pediatric Department Heads.    Mary sat behind a large wooden desk in a room that was clearly once an exam room.   A rotary phone sat in front of her where I would have expected a computer to sit.    Margaret sat across from her flipping through steno notebook.  Handwritten in the notebook was a list of patients currently on the ward, and what was scheduled for the day.
Mary and Margaret welcomed us to Kenyatta, and told us a bit about the pediatric unit.   
The unit was built to accommodate 60 patients.   Yet, at the moment, they have 93 admitted children.   Many of the admitted childrens’ mothers are also living on the ward, as they can’t afford a local hotel.   So there are approximately 180 people living in a ward built for 60.    How do they deal with this?   They have, in many cases, two children to a bed.
What’s more, there is a policy in place at Kenyatta Hospital that doesn’t allow patients to be discharged until all hospital bills have been paid.   Naturally, being a public hospital in Nairobi, many patients have no money to pay the bills.   Amazingly, the hospital’s solution is to keep the owing patients at the hospital.   Apparently there are women living at Kenyatta, admitted during childbirth and unable to pay the bill, whose children are now 2 and 3 years old.   Imagine that – having a baby at a hospital, not paying the bill, and being forced to stay for years.  
Some of these mothers, so desperate to leave, will try to escape by literally jumping off the second and third story window ledges with their babies.  
Other mothers – even mothers who are able to pay their bills – strategically choose not to, aware that their children will be forced to stay at the hospital.   Their strategy is to keep the children at the hospital until they fall ill again.   It’s quite a cycle – one that keeps the children fed and house, and keeps the mother unburdened by the child.
The tragedies, inefficiencies and costs associated with this boggle my mind.

Mary and Margaret took us to spend the day in Pediatric Oncology, but we managed to get a tour of the full pediatric ward on the way.    At pediatric emergency, the line was out the door with people waiting to have a minute at a window marked “Pay Here.”    The pharmacy next door was the size of my closet in Alexandria, and yet when I looked in it only one wall contained shelves of medication.   It struck me that the amount of medication was roughly what you might find in the medicine cupboard of the average Washington DC hypochondriac.   

We then toured the pediatric outpatient unit, where, at one point, the power went out.   The outage seemed to phase no one but us.

Finally we landed at Pediatric Oncology.  The room was about the size of a New York City loft, and steel frame beds straight out of the 1940’s lined the walls – each about three feet apart.   The mattresses were no more than three inches thick, and were covered with plastic and a thin sheet.  A few children were in their beds, and a few doctors huddled in the back of the room.   The rest of the children were gathered in a small room off to the side – in what appeared to be the playroom.   The playroom contained no toys, 22 children, about 15 child-sized chairs, two lunch tables, and a pile of the small mattresses stacked to the ceiling.   
Since no one appeared to be running the unit, and our arrival was unacknowledged, we took it upon ourselves to go play with the children.   They greeted us with excitement, though most of them spoke only Swahili.   Two were not only blind – they appeared to not have eyes at all.   Another clearly suffered from gigantism, and another only had one leg.   All, we assumed, also had a form of cancer.   
The children were entirely unmonitored for the first thirty minutes we were there.    We were shocked by the lack of structure and supervision.   Shortly before noon, a woman in an apron, who spoke only Swahili, appeared with a large tray and a stack of metal plates.   On the tray was a large pan filled with rice, and another large pan that was filled with what looked like beef stew.   Next to the pans was a plastic bag filled with foul smelling cream.  
Each child was given a ladle full of rice, a ladle full of stew, and some cream.   Nothing was provided to drink.
The woman motioned for us to help feed the children.   We did.

We stayed another thirty minutes and left for lunch.  
It was at this point that we realized that not once all morning had we seen anyone wash their hands.   Having just left the children, we all desperately wanted to give our hands a good deep clean.   We found the nearest bathroom, but there was no soap.  
Distressed, we used some hand sanitizer Dami had in her purse.   We were grateful she had thought to bring it along to the hospital.   Tomorrow we will all carry some in our pockets.

The afternoon was spent sitting in on a pathology class with the crew of third year medical students from the University of Nairobi.   The lecture was 2 hours long, and taught by a Kenyan version of Ben Stein.  

I could go on and on – about how different, how shocking, how sad the conditions at East Africa’s largest and most well-known hospital are – but I’m still trying to process it all in my own mind.  
Tomorrow we go back to Pediatrics, and will map out with Mary and Margaret how we can make the best use of our time at Kenyatta.  
I’m actually very much looking forward to it.  

Divits...and Other Things that Don't Go with Beds

This is amazing.

When we got to our room last night (Emily and I are sharing one – AND a double bed), everything looked great, except for the fact that the mattress looked oddly like a lower case letter “v.”
We both looked at it sideways, thinking maybe if we looked at it from just the right angle everything would be okay.
Not so much.

There were two pillows: one that went with the bed and one we got from Mercy’s roommate, Angie. Emily had Angie’s, and I had the one that went with the bed.
Within seconds, however, I discovered that this was not exactly a pillow. It was a pillowCASE that involved two separate things inside that LOOKED like pillows, but were actually square rocks trying to disguise themselves as pillows. OMG.
I tried to sleep on them anyway. I was boiling hot.

Two hours later – probably around 1:30am, the sounds of wild dogs barking and children screaming (the walls here are very thin) - woke us up.
I hear Emily say, “this is AMAZING.” We both started laughing, because we were BOTH stuck in the bottom of the bed divit.
It was at this point that I tried to move my head, and found that my neck was locked in place due to sleeping on rocks. LOL! Good thing I had an airplane pillow in my backpack. I pulled it out and tried to sleep on that. I couldn’t go back to sleep for about two hours, and every muscle in my body hurt from the weird mattress. Plus – mosquitoes were humming and landing regularly on my face. Somehow I didn’t get bitten, but Emily did.
Around 5am the loud Call to Prayer came over the loudspeaker from the mosque next door. That prompted more dog barking and baby screaming, and more realization that we were stuck in a bed divit.
Wow.
I popped some advil.
Back to sleep. Now I was freezing.
More mosquito humming.
More face slapping.

It was about this point that Emily started having a conversation with herself in her sleep. She was clearly pissed, it sounded like she was literally snarling at someone or something. Hilarious.
At 7:30, Mercy popped her head into the room and announced that she was heading off to school.
We woke up for a few minutes, I realized that I didn’t think I could move if I tried...and yet somehow we went back to sleep.

At 12:30 we woke up SHOCKED that it was that late. I couldn’t move.
More Advil.

We both got a good laugh about the bed and pillow situation, and Emily snarling in her sleep, and decided that we both wanted showers. That proved to be a problem, because there was no running water in the place. They ration their water, so water is always limited, but for some reason we don’t have any today. Ach!

Since there was no water, and really no food, once Mercy came back from school at about 1:30 we went grocery shopping. We each put in 5000 KSH (maybe $50) for food for the next two weeks, and got a bunch of staples. The grocery store was like Giant on crack. You could buy everything plus clothes, furniture, paint, stationary....you name it. One stop shopping.

We were hoping the water would be back on when we got here, but it isn’t. Oh well. Maybe tomorrow!

We've Settled Into Our Place!

Emily and I missed breakfast, of course, so all we could get for food was a rather nondescript muffin and a cappuccino at the Hilton’s Café American. We sat there nibbling, wishing we had more food, and reading the International Herald Tribune.

Dami and Mercy (our hostess here in Nairobi) arrived to pick us up at noon. We loaded our bags into the back of the cab, and then decided to take the time (since we were downtown) to get some Kenyan money and see if we couldn’t find SIM cards for our cell phones and Internet aircards.

I wasn’t sure what to expect in Nairobi, but I have to say that the most refreshing thing is the skyline. There are only a couple skyscrapers, the highest of which is maybe 35 stories. Nairobi may be a bustling metropolis of four million people, but the downtown still retains a comfortable charm, or quaintness. Here, the stampede of human feet holds precedent over cars. McDonalds is non-existent, but Wimpy Burger is everywhere. Nairobi’s main drag, four-lane Kenyatta Avenue, snakes through the city and connects the outlying areas – from slums to rich estates.
 Dotting the way are palm trees, lush green plants, and suicidal buses called matatus — fast rides distinguishable by their splashy paint-on names such as Ice Cube, Manchester United, and Player Hater.

At about 2, the cab brought us “home,” which for the next two weeks will be Mercy’s apartment. She has a wonderful three bedroom flat about a half a mile from the hospital we’ll be volunteering at. It’s a great place! Just what we need and she’s an amazing hostess. She is only 21 – a 3^rd year medical student – and while she absolutely looks 21 she carries herself with such sophistication she could easily be much older. We’re so very lucky to be staying with her!

Mercy took us to a nearby mall, which was great because we were all starving and they had really good food. Emily and I both had Indian and loved it.
It’s funny – being here is such culture shock that it’s almost overwhelming. I almost feel as though my brain is short-circuiting, or maybe just completely shutting down. I know this is only temporary, but it is still a weird feeling. I suppose it’s healthy.

We took a matutu back to the apartment. This is one of those suicidal buses that involves what looks like an old VW Vanagon covered in all sorts of bumper stickers. In addition to a driver, there’s a full-time guy who keeps track of when people want to get in/out. It’s so funny – he opens the sliding door LONG before the van stops. It’s quite the adventure. For 20 KSH, you can pretty much go anywhere you need to go.

When we got out, we had a little walk back to the apt. On the way we were suddenly presented with the overwhelming smell of marijuana. Emily and I looked at each other and started laughing. Dami looked confused. “What??” We explained and she said “oh – I thought that was just car smoke.” That’s the new name for pot: car smoke.

Planes, Trains & Small Automobiles: Sarabeth Arrives in Nairobi

Never tell the Blue Van Shuttle your actual flight departure time.
Never.
I used to know this, but apparently I forgot.
My Ethiopian Airlines flight was scheduled to leave Dulles at 10:05am Tuesday morning. But the powers that be at BlueVan.com seemed to think I could be picked up no later than 5:50am. FIVE FIFTY?
I should have defiantly said the flight was at 4pm or something.
The fact that being so early drives me absolutely nuts is admittedly ridiculous, but whatever. It does.
So I sat at the airport for three and a half hours.

I could tell it was going to be a good flight from the moment our plane pulled into the gate. Why? Because the two pilots had placed newspapers in the cockpit windows to keep from baking in the sun. Newspapers!
Now there’s a business idea: cockpit window shades.

The flight to Addis Ababa was advertised as direct, but this wasn’t entirely true. “Direct” actually meant “via Rome because we’re going to need more fuel.”
This was fine, except that we weren’t allowed to get off the plane in Rome. It was eight and a half hours to Rome, two on the ground at the Rome airport, then another five to Addis Ababa.

For the record, I really like saying “Addis Ababa.”

We arrived in Addis at 8am local time. As we were pulling into the gate, I found myself feeling rather scared. I had that complete internal freak-out I sometimes get when I travel. It's a feeling of intense fear, intense stress, intense newness. I'm familiar with it, but it always catches me off guard. I sat on the plane getting ready to make my way into the Addis airport thinking "Sarabeth, what the hell is wrong with you? What is this intense itch you have to do crazy things and repeatedly put yourself in uncomfortably situations? This probably isn't even safe...you're by yourself...you have no idea what you're in store for... WHAT IS THE DEAL??"
And then I gulp and just keep going.
I have to say, I really wonder if that itch will ever go away. It's bad.

Addis was a whole other world.
You can tell a lot about a country by its main airport. In Addis, the ceilings were relatively low, there was no décor...the shops were haphazardly lined up as though the architect basically just sneezed and this was what came flying out.

There was an inordinate amount of general BO, too, which isn't a good sign. People everywhere really need to start using deodorant.
I finally figured out where I needed to be in the airport, made it through security after a rather weird pat down (my bracelet proved too much for the scanner), and found one of the last seats at the gate.

It was right about this time the power in the airport went out, which doesn't instill confidence. It was all I could do to pull out my book and start reading. My cell phone was getting no service, so I couldn't text or call my mainstays. Amazing what grounding the ability to communicate at will gives me. When I saw that I couldn't - I thought I was going to freak out again.

But suddenly this well dressed African man - about my age – appeared beside me.
He pulled out his clearly American iPhone and starting talking on it! I was instantly mad, since I wanted to be talking and texting, too. I couldn't keep my mouth shut, and very crankily said, "how in the world do YOU have service?" He explained that he had a Kenyan number, and so it would work for him. But that led to a longer conversation, and he turned out to be a really cool guy! What’s more - he lives on Seminary Road in Alexandria – approximately four miles from me. Now what are the odds of meeting someone who lives 4 miles from you in Addis Ababa?
He works for Al Jazeera and we know a couple common people. Amazing. I hung out with him for about 2.5 hours (my flight was delayed due to fog and rain), and now we're friends.

Two hours later I landed in Nairobi.
Being the high maintenance person that I am, I had refused to send my passport away in advance to secure a Kenyan Visa. I don’t like being without it. I assumed (and had read) that I would easily be able to purchase a visa at the airport, but sitting on the plane I suddenly felt ill. What if I couldn’t get a visa and was sent home? Another freak out.
It passed.

I got off the plane and found myself in a beautiful airport! Everyone there was so kind and helpful, and I made it through the visa line quickly. No problem whatsoever. For $25 they were willing to let me in and let me stay for awhile.

Down at baggage claim, I quickly found my big backpack, but my large suitcase was nowhere to be found. I have a God-awful fluorescent pink luggage tag on the bag that screams in bold print “This is My Bag,” so I couldn’t imagine it would be missing. Yet…I didn’t see it.
Finally a concerned-looking airline attendant came over and asked if I had a lost bag. At this point I was so tired that a missing bag seemed like no big deal, and I just nodded. We talked for a bit, and then he had me talk to another guy. This went on for about 20-30 minutes, when my bag nonchalantly rolled around the belt.
Thrilled, I said “Hey! My Bag! Yay!”
The two men exchanged glances and then burst out laughing.
“That bag has been rolling around the belt for the last half hour, miss.”
Great.
Apparently I was more tired than I thought. ☺

Within 10 minutes I was in a taxi heading for Nairobi. The cab driver pointed out four giraffes grazing less than a mile from the airport. I almost died! Giraffes at the airport!
Minutes later, out of the corner of my eye I saw something large flying over head. For absolutely no good reason, my first thought was “oh wow! A pterodactyl!”
Um. Right.
My next thought was “stupid! They’ve been extinct for years.” Then – “it looks like a flying deer.”
Clearly my brain wasn’t working.
I finally asked the driver about it, and he looked surprised. “You don’t have those?”
NO!!
He explained that they were giant storks – apparently quite common.
Too bad they weren’t flying deer. I would have been incredibly excited about that.
He pointed out a tree nearby that was apparently the giant storks’ known hangout. It was the funniest looking site I’ve seen. Giant storks COVERED this poor little tree. It looked like something out of a Dr. Suess book.

Traffic was bad, so the driver and I had time to make friends. He ended up taking me to a local mall and hooked me up with a cheap little cell phone. It was amazing!
I lucked out.

From there he dropped me off at the Hilton. Getting into the Hilton was quite the feat, however. An armed guard inspects every car that is let into the parking area – using a metal detector and a mirror that lets them see under the car.

The wonderful people at Hilton upgraded me, and I settled into my 12th floor room that overlooked the city.

Emily and Dami arrived at 10:45pm. Dami stayed with some friends that night and Emily stayed with me at the Hilton. Within 15 minutes we were at the bar in the hotel with glasses of red wine.

Cheers to being in Africa!
We made it!