Welcome to Hell, Part 1

It was a warm day. Warm, not hot, although my traveling buddy, Tred, would disagree. He’s from Wales, where it’s always cold, apparently. We’re sitting side-by-side in the front seat of a bus headed from Kampala, Uganda, to Nairobi, Kenya. In front of us is the huge windshield, which provides us with a great view of the passing green hills, speckled by the occasional colorful shops, goats, and naked children. Tred and I can hardly stop laughing at the crazy driver we got stuck with. He’s a huge man, easily 300 pounds—his humongous hands easily weigh at least 10 pounds apiece. And he’s got a loud, raspy voice, which hasn’t stopped invading the bus with its words and laughter since we got started. Luckily for me and Tred, neither of us speaks Swahili, so we can kind of tune him out.

I’d been looking forward to this trip for quite a long time. When most Americans say “Africa”, they are usually thinking about Kenya, with its amazing wildlife and beautiful landscapes—coasts and mountains, jungles and deserts. Now there are 53 other countries across this huge continent, the size of two North Americas, so I hadn’t yet had the chance to visit Kenya.

Now, after traveling for several hours, we were at the border between the two countries. As is the usual at customs and border stations, I anticipated a lengthy stop to get through the bureaucracy and miles of paperwork to go from one country to the next. I have to fill out an exit form for one country, an entry form for another, a visa application, etc. etc. etc. And as was expected, the process of leaving Uganda was a hassle. But, despite the border being in the middle of nowhere, the office had brand-new equipment to scan passports, and your eyes, and a couple rough personalities to go along with it. Despite having all the legal papers, I always have this subconscious fear that I will not be let out of or into the country I’m trying to. Borders can be quite intimidating, no matter how many times you’ve gone through them.

After a long wait, we got our passports stamped and proceeded through the border gate to the Kenyan customs office. I was quickly surprised at how efficient and easy it was on this side. Anyone who has traveled by land across Africa can appreciate this. There were staff telling you exactly where you needed to go. And we just had to fill out a simple form. Then, standing next to a free condom dispenser, I gave the extra friendly customs agent my passport, vaccination certificate, and $25 for the visa (down from $50 a few months earlier!). She was just happy we were coming in her country.

“So you’re from America, huh?” she said.
“Yeah”
“That’s Obama’s country! Thank you for coming! How long are you staying?” she asked.
“One week.”
“Well I’m gonna make your passport valid for 3 months, just in case you want to stay longer!”
And with a quick stamp in my passport, she handed it to me, and with a deep laugh from her bright smile, wished me a good stay. It was the easiest entry into any country I’ve ever had.

As we walked to the bus, we passed all kinds of vendors, selling everything from passport covers and boiled peanuts to cold sodas and colored cloth. And of course, there were the infamous money exchangers, who walk around with huge wads of various cash. “Do you need Kenya shillings?”
“No”
“We can exchange Uganda shillings.”
“No thanks.”
“What about British pounds?”
“I’m not British.” (I say with a jokingly disgusted look to Tred).
“We have Obama money!”
I laugh—you have to appreciate the creativity and persistence. Tred says, “I’m not American,” with a little disgust, then a smile.

As we approach the bus, a young boy of about 7 or 8 keeps telling us he wants food. He looks healthy, and I don’t have much money on me to give him. He keeps smiling and making the hand-to-mouth motion to emphasize what he’s asking for, and doesn’t believe the two mzungu’s (white people) that they have no money. I need to pee, so I ask our bus driver where the bathroom is. He motions in some random direction where the bathrooms are. So I ask the little boy where the bathrooms are, so he gladly shows me, probably expecting a tip. Although all I can give this boy today is attention.

We get back on the bus in our seats. I lean over to Tred and say, “It’s so nice to be in Kenya. I always get excited whenever I enter a country I’ve never been in!”
“Yeah, me too!”

As we drive on, we try to compare the differences between the two countries. It’s hard to notice anything at first. The only two differences were the shape of the water jugs people transported water in and the switch from “MTN” to “Safaricom” on our cell phones. After a couple hours, we arrived in the city of Kisumu. We stop here for lunch. It’s a bright city, on the banks of Lake Victoria. It’s also where Obama’s father was from, which many people happily and voluntarily pointed out to me. As I was still fasting today with my Muslim friends, I decided to skip lunch.

All politics aside, it was so neat to be in a place so proud of Obama. This is a country that just two years ago went through political violence because of a disagreement of presidential election results, resulting in many deaths. It’s also a country known for its corruption, especially in the government. For Kenyans, Obama represents a lot more than just “one of their brothers”. Sure, they’re excited a half-Kenyan became President, but it seems deeper than that, here, and all across Africa. He represents, just like George Bush did, the beacon on top of a government system that truly relies on the voice of the people. You know, I’m often asked when I am in the States what I appreciate most about being home. Honestly, democracy is probably the biggest thing I am most proud of. In America, we are truly blessed, regardless of how nasty and partisan our politics seem to get. We have a government that acts to help the people, not fill their pockets. For that, we should be thankful.

We get back on the bus behind Mr. Huge Hands and continue on our way. We both drift in and out of dazed consciousness, blurred by the constant view of the passing landscape. We can’t listen to music as the noise of the engine directly under us is too loud, not to mention Mr. Huge Hands’ continuous yelling and laughing at a seemingly imaginary audience. We approach our next stop, where we are again greeted by vendors, selling everything from swords to blankets. Up to this point, we have been traveling on relatively good roads. But as we turn onto the road to take us to Nairobi, I was blown away at the incredible condition of the road. It was in better condition than most interstates and highways in America! Clean, freshly painted, great signs and guardrails. It was incredible!

As we continued on in the Rift Valley, we passed through a game reserve, I see what appears to be a horse-shaped creature in front of us. As we got closer, I saw that it was a zebra, on the side of the road! I point it out to Tred, who’s half-asleep.
“Stop lying Cory. There’s no zebra,” he says in his strong British accent, pronouncing the e in zebra as a soft e, like in pet.
“No really, I saw a zeeebra,” I respond.
Then we pass a family of them. Tred was convinced, and I was excited—I’ve never seen one in the wild before! We then see a couple warthogs, which are probably my favorite wild animal.

Night fell, and I started to doze again. I woke up and all I saw were bright and colorful neon and plastic signs. We had made it to downtown Nairobi, an incredible city. We were passing right next to a huge shopping mall—Kenya is a far cry from Burkina Faso. We weaved around the busy streets with evening rush hour traffic, seeing the many vans, people, fashionable and walking with a purpose.. I was so excited to be in this bustling and vibrant city. With a population of 3 million, it is known as one of the wealthiest and modern cities in Africa.

It’s late, and we’re tired. So we meet up with Patrick, the Samaritan’s Purse cab driver we’ve arranged to come pick us up. He meets us, and takes to the Samaritan’s Purse apartment where we’ll be staying, which, as to my big surprise, is in one of the nicest apartment complexes I’ve ever seen! We make our way in, and quickly crash.

The next morning we wake up early, as we have a flight to catch. We’re going down to the coastal city of Mombasa, and were able to get a cheap flight. Patrick comes to take us to the airport. We get on the Kenya Airways plane, which has lion designs on the pillows, and take our seats for the short flight. As we’re flying, the captain tells us to look out the right window at Mount Kilimanjaro—the tallest peak in Africa. Its snow-covered peak towers high above the timid clouds, which seem to shy away from the mountain’s massive presence. Neither of us had seen this amazing beauty before, it was absolutely stunning.

We land at the airport, which looked like what I would picture to be on an island resort in a movie. Clean, small, but very professional. “Cute” is what I would call it, for lack of a better word. We make our way out, and decide to walk the 1 mile to the bus stop to catch a matatu, or minibus, to town. As we walk away from the airport, we pass under a sign that says “Barack Obama Road.” It’s nice to be living overseas and have the world appreciate America again. We caught a crowded matatu, and made our way into town. Following our travel guide, we found the hotel we wanted, and decided to relax for a few minutes.

We then set out to walk around this marvelous city. We passed under the famous ‘tusks’, and toured Fort Jesus, a former Portuguese fort from the late 1400s—still standing. We also walked around the city, and ended up getting extremely lost. We even passed a 400 year old mosque! I was enamored with the city! There was such diversity here! There were blacks, Arabs, Swahili (a race which resembles a cross between those two) and a lot of Indians. And no one seemed to care that I was white, a rarity in Africa.

That evening we had a nice dinner of local food, including sugar cane juice. I couldn’t wait for the next day—we were gonna go to the coast and see the famed white beaches of the Indian Ocean, an ocean I’ve never seen before!...

Coming up, hear about biking with gazelles, sea urchins in our feet, and the famous Carnivore restaurant!