Volunteer Journals
Arrivals
Linda Szeto, June 2007
Day 1: Arrive by plane at 9:45pm
I made it through passport check fairly quickly at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport (NBO). But not my luggages. Watching and waiting with increasing impatience, I worried that Junior would worry about me. Should I run out to the line of people beyond the double doors and risk missing my luggages making their turn? Are they even going to come? My answer came almost an hour later. I didn't know it then, but NBO airport is notorious for being slow luggage handlers, with a worse reputation for losing luggage entirely. Guess I was lucky.
I soon spied the welcoming 'Village Volunteers' logo among the mass of signage, and the tall smiling man behind it. "I thought it was you," he stated proudly with a slight accent, as he quickly took hold of one of my suitcases. Junior was an easy-going guy about my age. We immediately bonded through a mutual curiosity and genuine desire to make new friends. He led me through the dark parking lot, and, stopping behind a small white hatchback, introduced me to his cousin Kevin. Together they deftly tossed my suitcases into the trunk and entered the car.
Throughout the ride, Junior peppered me with questions: about my job in the U.S., home life, travel plans. I tried to answer as coherently as possible, but was quite distracted by the drastic change in environment. Kenyans drove on roads like people walked on sidewalks; that is, there's a vague concept of defaulting to the left side, but they feel free to weave between and around anyone that's in the way with only inches to spare. I learned early the next morning that this process became more complicated with business people and schoolchildren walking to their respective destinations by nonchalantly stepping directly into traffic to cross the road. My small Asian eyes bugged out the first time I saw the door of a still-in-motion matatu (aka, taxi) fly open and a Kenyan jump out in front of our car, dashing to the other side!
Junior lives in a gated community with his sister, Wendy, in a 3-bedroom, 2-story apartment. They share all the comforts of modern living, with clean, temperature-adjusted running water, cable TV, and internet. Life is basically the same in Nairobi as it is in any major city, except for the mosquito nets draped over each bed. There are 4 bunk beds upstairs, a necessity after 3 years of hosting volunteers. This particular night was the last night for a volunteer from Seattle, Lisa. She had been in Kenya for two weeks in two different villages, and her stories of bright-eyed children, helping in the kitchens, teaching in the schools, and speaking Swahili, all renewed an excitement in me to get started. That is, up until her observation that mosquitoes tended to swarm in the latrines, and that she was once attacked by an army of ants with large pincers that tightened their grip as she frantically, desperately, and uselessly tried to fight them off her skirt.
That evening after midnight, the 6 of us (Wendy had a friend over) ate a delicious meal made by Junior. Two heaping servings of his tofu & vegetable stir fry with rice later, I was stuffed. We topped off with a fruit salad sprinkled with shredded coconut. The were the freshest bananas, pineapples, and mangoes I had ever tasted. I slept well.
