18
JULY 2005 ‚ 0840 HOURS ‚ NAIROBI
We gave ourselves a 6 a.m. wake-up call, but typically, I stirred and awoke at
somewhere about an hour ahead of that. When Susan finally awoke a short while
later, I rose to test the plug adapter, voltage transformer situation, using
my old iPod as the guinea pig. After plugging everything in, I'm pleased to report
that the iPod didn't implode or short circuit or otherwise render itself incapacitated.
After showers and luggage stuff, we made our way down to the lobby for a bit
of breakfast before checking out and meeting our ride to the airport at 7:30
a.m. Our driver, John, was himself from Kigali, where we're headed this morning.
We found out that the prepaid
MCI card that Susan used to call our moms and say all was well didn't
work with the hotel phonesÖ and got charged on the hotel bill. Oh well.
Man, let me tell you, the Nairobi
we drove through Sunday night from the airport to the hotel is a much
different place then the city we saw back to the airport this morning.
Gridlocked and choked with diesel fumes, the trip was an education
in organized chaos. Cars and trucks cutting off everyone and threatening
to run down any pedestrian that dared fearlessly to step out on the
road, we past by a million photo opportunities of either an architectural,
social, political and/or otherwise defying category. There was a transient
with both legs 
lost just below the knees sitting cross-legged on a
sidewalk ignored by the people walking past. There were police manning
a checkpoint whose main deterrents were huge spike studded barriers
set upon the road. Great aging, seemingly abandoned buildings were
everywhere, and I could have spent a day taking pictures of the faded
and fading billboards advertising a variety of products. Then there
were the youthful soldiers at the final checkpoint before entry to
the airport, each with resting the butts of their worn looking rifles
on the pavement at their feet. But most astonishing were the multitudes
of people lining the roads and awaiting the moment for traffic to clear
just a slight amount so that they could risk their lives crossing roads
traveled by vehicles whose drivers didn't seem to care whether they
made it across or ended up under their tires. In huge vacant tracts
of land, they streamed by the hundreds from who knows where going to
who knows where across well-trod dirt paths.
Through the whole journey consisting of a tilt-a-whirl of roundabouts and rugged road there was one traffic signal. One. But somehow traffic moved and we got to the airport at 8 a.m. to face a long check-in line until a man wearing what I guess was a official looking vest walked past us asking "Kigali? Kigali?" When we told him we were going there he told us with a noncommittal wave in the general direction behind us to "go over there."
"Where?" we asked. Again noncommittally, "over thereÖ or over there," indicating other Kenya Airways counters that are normally reserved for first or business class passengers.
Somewhat doubtfully, we made
our way over and thankfully weren't
turned away by the person at the counter. A few minutes later and were sitting
here at
Gate No. 4 awaiting our 9:15 boarding time surrounded by people from all
over the freaking world speaking languages I don't recognize. Time to go.