Waiting and writing

I am safely tucked away in the corner, directly on the green linoleum squares and across from my gate and the Duty Free shop. We are all on the floor, some sleeping, some chatting with other travelers and most staring of into space, waiting. The stucco wall is leaving a deep impression on my back as I sit next to the remains of my breakfast (a banana peal and Granny Smith apple core, snatched from the hotel’s fruit basket left for me). It is early and I have already seen the preparation for today’s national independence celebration begins, with soldiers unloading from trucks to secure the local stadium where Baylor students played just a few days before. I have an invitation to the party, (given to me by Kibera Slum chief of police when we were welcomed/detained there last week) but will probably be best I fly out instead.

Somehow my travels have turned eventful and I need to catch up on the past few days. Since the flight Lilongwe has been delayed 30 minutes (Kenya translation – 25 minutes to three days) I want to clear my head of some stories, as I am sure many are ahead of me. Today I will not get an airport greeting. I have no idea where I will be staying and only hope to get in touch with my next Baylor group soon.




Accommodations provided by…

I am thankful for the places I have already seen and hopeful for the places I am about to visit. But some stays provided a bit more adventure than others. My stay in Aqua House 6 covered the basics; netting for the bed, sheet that may or may not have had bed bugs, absolutely no ventilation, tiny, sweaty, cramped. I have to admit is one of the only rooms I have ever stayed that got brighter when you turned off the light in the room. At night. And, like my other rooms I have had, it seems as if the local rooster is following my travels and books the window right outside my room. And while he does sound different that roosters I have heard before (not really a cock-a-doodle-doo, but more of a Blues Clue sound… sorry non-parents) this guy gets up WAYYYYYYY before the sun. And I already have lost sleep in Aqua House 6 wrestling with the tiny sink in the corner. During a late-night writing/sweating I decide to wash my hands. As I turn the handle on the solo faucet, it comes off in my hand, spraying water more like a fountain than a sink. I now have a nice water feature in my room and fear I will be charged more for such grandness. Problem is my laptop and cameras are near to the sink (in fairness, this room is so small, everything is near the sink) and I am trying to avoid flooding my room past midnight. There is no shut off under the sink so I take a few minutes to devise a plan to save as much as I can while keeping my thumb in this dike. I do have the room to reach a towel on the other side of the room and stop the flood while I pack up all my electronics. I then realize I am trapped in this hot box, there is no hotel staff around or awake at this hour and I have locked myself in my room. So I spend the next half hour attempting a repair of the faucet. I am finally able to get the handle back on, but fear it will shoot into the ceiling as I return to sleep. Of course I wake up with water all over the floor…

The hotel was quick to repair the sink for my next night. They just cut off the water line. No sink – no problem.

The shared bathroom makes for some interesting conversation as well. While in the shower a voice calls out for me. “Robbie? Do you have any duct tape?”

If I did, I would have used it all repairing my sink.


It’s the simple things I enjoy about my stay at Aqua House. One morning I spot chickens in the courtyard. That night we have chicken for dinner. The next morning I take a look around to see what’s for dinner that night.

My flip-flops (provided at all the rooms I have had so far) are perfect for this place. One green and one blue. I am thankful one is left, the other right.




Flight time

I got a fantastic send off from the pre-med group, with several getting up early to see me off and do a bit of shopping. Once I was dropped off at the airport, I notice a CLOSED sign at the Kenya Airways shed/hut. Found out my flight has been canceled and they have no planes going to Nairobi today, as they are all full. I heard the day before a similar thing happened to one of our students headed out to China, so I was not too surprised. I was surprised to find no other airline had flights available. And to get the feel of the Kisumu airport, imagine a fantastic place, with all new construction (as pictured on the billboard touting – COMING SOON – Airport Improvements) and take it all away except for a few sheds and a small building. By now more passengers are gathering and a bus is coming soon, we are told. Soon is such a relative term here. And while I would usually become a bit freaked out by being stranded here, I figured things would work out. Being a good Boy Scout I have devised a backup plan and have negotiated a taxi to Nairobi, just in case. There is nothing worse than hearing the sound of your flight taking off as you stand in the parking lot, but here I am and there it goes.

I do meet up with some other Americans; Colleen from Washington, D.C., Carol from Seattle and Robin and her new husband (with my apologies, as his name now escapes me) from San Francisco and just finished with their honeymoon. We band together, along with a silent Kenyan partner, to get a ride to Nairobi. A bus provided by the airline is packed full and their luggage is tied to the roof of the bus. We ask for and get the promise of another ride for our group, now joined by an angry, loud Kenyan – just for balance I imagine. If hearing my flight leaves wasn’t bad enough, now I see my bus leave, as I stand with some strangers and my luggage in the hot sun.

But soon we chat enough to realize we have the next six hours to spend together and all decide to make the best of it. Carol buys us water bottles for the journey. I offer up some snacks from my stash. The van for us arrives and we head off on what turns out to be a much more wonderful adventure than a 45-minute plane ride. We see tea plantations with workers in the field picking away at the leaves and filling their baskets. We try to figure out where (or even if) we are crossing the equator. We tell stories about our children (we all have boys) and we laugh together. We talk shop, share our list of famous friends and overall make the ride another fun adventure. We see baboons, zebras and stare into the Great Rift. At the only break stop along the way, a waiter wants to show me his fine collections of meat. I see, on the grill, brain, various internal organs and the only thing I spot that looks familiar is chicken. The van is still running, so no time to eat.

Our little band so enjoyed each other’s company we decided to get a real meal in Nairobi. We talked the van driver (with some help from a Kenyan friend) into letting us off at Westgate and we shared some American food and Internet. While we talked together for hours on the van, suddenly we find ourselves with laptops in front of us, silently typing away…

After waiting our rush hour traffic and saying our goodbyes, I head back to my hotel to repack and prepare for my trip to Lake Malawi. I am greeted by familiar faces at this familiar place, get my room and ask for my laundry and luggage I stored there.


The not-so-magical traveling pants


For those of you that know me, you will understand. For those new to Robbie’s World, here’s a short story. I always seem to forget to pack pants. I went to a job interview once…no pants. Go on vacation…no pants. Work assignments…no pants. I can pack a month’s worth of other things, always bring too many shirts but somehow I seem to forget to bring along pants.

This time I did NOT forget. I swear! I HAD pants when I got here.

So, and just hang in there with me for a moment, when I left Nairobi I got a smaller bag and left behind some laundry to be cleaned and extra clothes. At the same time all three Baylor groups left for safari. While I was still in Katito, the Baylor gang returned to head for home. Here’s where the fun begins.

Turns out the Baylor folks wanted to donate to the hotel staff anything they didn’t want to take back, including some luggage and clothing. A nice gesture, I am sure. Somehow my bag, with my laundry as well, got into that pile. So now I sit here, with the hotel manage truly ashamed and embarrassed, explaining the situation. I am left with an empty suitcase and my sport coat. (I then think I should be offended that no one wanted that too) It is late and I leave very early again in the morning. An offer is to take me shopping, just to get me through my Malawi trip.

There is nothing quite like being forced for clothes at the Nakumart. My driver was dragging me along through the isles while I picked back-to-school stuff. I am not a fan of shopping, so add this to being in Nairobi and well past my bedtime and all the fun is gone. And my driver just keeps asking, “You need pants?” I get the bare essentials to make it the next few days and promise to return for more clothes when I return to Nairobi. I am so tired I buy shoes a size too small and not exactly my taste in attire, (although I do look good in my “Proudly Kenyan” shirt, I think) but I am finally allowed to get back to the hotel to sleep.

In the morning I scan everyone, looking to see if they are wearing my stuff.