We've made it to Mwanza! I'll post my journal from the last few days, excluding the drive from Nairobi. Getting online required some effort this morning, which I will explain later. I'll also describe the trip from Nairobi to Mwanza and post more pics. I still have to work some computer issues. This post is long, but hopefully informative.
Day Four: Arriving in Nairobi
Though we are leaving London at 10:30am, it is a dark by the time we arrive in Nairobi. Noticeably lacking in the flight across Africa at night are lights. There is an occasional twinkle on the ground, but nothing like the States, and even as we near the city there are not the outlying suburbs illuminated as elsewhere. We deplane as normal, but the lines to obtain a visa are abominable. It seems that just about everyone on my plane needs one, and we que in one long line snaking back up through the terminal. The guy to my right and I agree that we are doomed. Sure enough, it takes almost two hours of standing and inching forward before I finally finish the process and head downstairs to get my luggage. It is no problem to find since I am one of the last ones through the line. I am just thankful the bags are there--kudos to British Air.
It is good to see Rob patiently (?) waiting for me in the front of the crowd gathered just outside of baggage claim. We exchange greetings for the first time in Africa with big smiles on our faces. Rob and I head out of the airport and to a local mall to eat. Though it is late—past 10:30pm—I am a little hungry and he is offering a free meal. The man from which he normally purchases meat has invited him to "one on the house" at his restaurant. I have read about the traffic and driving in Africa and other third world countries, but to experience it is another reality entirely. In typical African fashion there is one exit leading out of the airport and everyone pushes to drive through it simultaneously—imagine cars in three lanes trying to exit a road at the same time, while others are sometimes driving down the ramp to get in. There is no such thing as space between vehicles, because every inch is used to declare intentions and build up collateral in the vehicle turf wars. The next person in that six-inch gap gets to go first. Cars, trucks, SUV’s and vans jockey for position with only fractions of inches between them. Once we get going on the road, all one can do is hold on and believe that Rob knows what he is doing—he does. I am sure to write more about the driving and roads later, but it must be experienced to be understood. No more complaints about traffic in Columbus.
We arrive at a nice looking western-style mall. This particular establishment is like our local Mongolian Grills. You can choose between strips of beef or chicken, then add several vegetables and sauces to a stir-fry with either rice or flat bread. It hits the spot after a long day on the plane. While we eat, there is a live band playing mostly American pop songs in the background. I didn’t think I would hear "Hotel California" in Africa, but sure enough there it is, with African accent and all. How I hate that song. For the next couple days I hear American pop music everywhere I go. We’re only exporting the very best of our culture (sarcasm off). The mall is full of American, European, Asian, or Indian people; there are very few Africans, except to cook, serve, or provide security inside and out. Security is another African reality. From the home of the missionary to the gates of business establishments and stores, the number of people protecting people and property is impressive.
We are staying at the home of Joel and Mary Ann Weaver and we arrive there around midnight. The outside gate is locked and Rob waits for the night watchman to open it for us. Imagine people in your local church having a locked gate at the end of their drive and paying for 24-hour protection. I learn later that the moments waiting for the guard to open the gate are among the most vulnerable, as carjackings often occur while the vehicle sits idle while the guard is coming to the gate. We quickly settle in for the evening as the Weavers are already in bed and it is time to get some rest.
Day Five: Out and About in Nairobi.
Breakfast with the Weavers is relaxing and enjoyable. Cereal, toast, miniature bananas, and coffee are the fare. Joel’s parents were missionaries to Kenya, Joel and Mary Ann have ministered here their entire lives, and one of their four sons will be joining them on the field soon. We get to know one another and briefly make plans for the day. Joel is headed to the other side of Nairobi to visit a property he is developing for a variety of ministries. Rob and I will join him later, then run a number of errands to include: exchanging money, obtaining malaria meds for me, purchasing a stove, buying souvenirs, eating at a couple choice establishments, and other odds and ends.
As we pull out of the driveway, I successfully resist the urge to tell Rob he is on the wrong side of the road. This urge occurs several more times through the day, but with decreasing frequency as I adjust to a new traffic pattern. Though it is Saturday, the traffic in Nairobi is already bad under an overcast sky and cool temperatures. I’d like to keep the window open, but the exhaust fumes are intense and mixed with bumpy roads and intense driving cause slight nausea quickly.
Right at the end of the Weaver’s street we encounter the stark realities of life in poverty. There are small shacks with products piled on the ground or on tables outside. The shacks are made of wood, concrete blocks, mud, or whatever other building material is at hand, and often topped with a tin roof. The products offered are legion: produce, flowers, pottery, carvings, beverages, haircuts, veterinary services, transportation, car repair, hauling, newspapers, clothing, etc.—basically anything one would need to live from day to day. There are people walking everywhere. As we pull up to our first traffic circle and come to a stop behind backed-up vehicles, men and boys appear beside the car offering goods for sale. They do not stand on the curve and hold up their product for you to see, they walk right up to your window, stop and stare, while holding up their wares. Beside our car, several pause for a longer amount of time, perhaps considering these white guys to be potential customers. Here the range of products is likewise incredible: soccer balls, watches, papers, rabbits, dogs, toys, cds, dvds, bananas, etc. I notice that Rob doesn’t even look over to acknowledge their presence, so I follow suit. Imagine a stranger walking up to your car in traffic and peering in your widow within inches of your face all the while holding up some good and begging you to buy it. And there is not one guy; there are twenty or more that snake between the cars at every stop. It was extremely uncomfortable at first, but looking back, I am amazed at how quickly I grew accustomed to it. Today I will try to keep a list of all the products I see.
A couple other impressions as we drove across town. Though this is the largest city on the continent between Egypt and South Africa, the architecture and buildings are usually not impressive. There are many multiple storied buildings, but most appear to be in some state of disrepair or lack upkeep. Many businesses are surrounded by walls and guard gates. There is one main highway across Kenya and it goes right though town; it is only a divided two-lane road for a short distance. Once you are "in the country" the road is single-lane and passing is treacherous. Some trucks waddle along at 15-20mph, while long-lines waiting to pass "q" behind them. Once it is your "turn" to go, the guy in the car or van behind may decide he wants to go first and attempt to pull out and cut you off at the pass. Needless to say, I saw a different Rob Howell bubble up to the surface than the one I had known in Columbus. At one point I asked him what happens if there is a serious accident with injuries. Well, not much. Someone will probably bundle you up in their car and drive you to the hospital…so much for the "golden hour" (the hour right after serious injuries occur where fast action is statistically crucial to survival).
An uninitiated westerner is overwhelmed at the stark realities of poverty. I saw little shantytowns, and there are slums (just a couple miles away up to a million people are crowded into a little over 600 acres). People huddled around small cooking fires, or hauling some piece of what we would consider junk off to be sold. Others standing beside the road selling tarps, or riding a bike piled high with old tires, empty milk crates, or less. Some are pulling a trailer like an ox, bent over under a load of refuse. Along the highway there are herds of goats or cows often attended by children. One may see a small table with thirty or so bottles of coke and it strikes you that this is a livelihood. I get up in the morning with my bag of five soccer balls and I am going to walk between cars all day long trying to sell them.
Now where this really gets you, is when you pull into a western style gas station with a pizza joint and hamburger shop. We go inside and order Hawaiian-style pizza with a couple soft drinks. We go outside and wait for it to be brought to us. Across the street I can see the shanties. We are within eyesight, but literally worlds apart. I don’t feel guilt. I know this is the real world, but it is strange nonetheless.
After a forty-five minute bumper car ride, we arrive at Camp Lukenya. It is one hundred acres on the grass plains of Kenya. Just outside of Nairobi, Rob spots giraffes grazing in the distance. Joel sees monkeys scurrying off in the high grass while we converse, and Joel talks of employees scaring off zebra with slingshots. It is a different world. Joel possesses a grand vision for this property and appears to have the skills and wherewithal to see it come to fruition. He plans a bible college, an orphanage, and a camp. The property was only purchased four years ago, but there are already several buildings constructed—these include the main building for the school, kitchen, several cabins, a dining hall/chapel, and rest room facilities. There is a well, electricity, and generator backup. The infrastructure is in place for serious development. A few employees are working on projects today: repairing cement work, welding a trailer, maintaining equipment, and cutting grass. These men are from different locations in Nairobi. They come here looking for work, stay on the property in small rooms, and travel back home periodically to visit family. Jobs are difficult to obtain and thousands are coming to Nairobi to find a source of livelihood. Joel has already conducted camps on the property for young people (13-18), single adults, and families.
After the tour, Rob and I head back for town. This is when we stop for pizza and then head for the mall. Rob knows one of the parking attendants and they exchange greetings before we head in. Rob only sees this guy a couple times a year, yet he remembers Rob and stands by the car while we go inside. This extra attention is worth a few schillings. The mall is just like any small shopping mall in Columbus. The stores are numerous: electronics, toy/game, pet, leather goods, clothes, internet café, coffee shop (a cappuccino just like home), etc. The other half in Nairobi can live according to western standards.
I’ll just relate one other experience from today. Since it only makes sense to purchase souvenirs in Nairobi, where there is a better selection, we decided to buy some things now and then leave them at the airport to pick up as I am leaving. This will save space in the truck for other things Rob needs to bring to Mwanza. So we head off to the shopping stalls. These consisted of a host of small shanties bound together in a little community. Each stall is roughly six by six feet. The front side is open and products are piled on the floor and shelves inside. The seller sits on a small stool inside the stall, or stands outside compelling you to come in, and I do mean compel. There is a passageway about three feet wide between stalls, and as you walk down this narrow corridor, people are standing in your path, or touching your shoulder, or trying any means possible to get your attention. I though we would just be free to "window shop," but there is no such thing here:
"My friend, come in and see my goods. It is free to look. Everything is on sale today. Business has been bad all day. Let me hand this to you so that you can see it. Low prices. Excuse me, friend. How are you?" Etc.
Of course, there are no prices, and everything is negotiated. Well, I had done this once in Saudi, but it was in a very nice mall and there was no pressure to buy. Rob and I have not really talked about how this is going to happen, and so he initially takes the lead. He asks how much something is and then offers two-thirds to half the asking price. We go back and forth between the three of us. Well, this is a little awkward, and so for the last few purchases I am on my own. By this time, I feel reasonably comfortable negotiating (it is all in English in Nairobi). I might highlight a flaw on the product when I ask for a lower price, or at one point, remind a seller that we have come back to his stall, therefore, we deserve a bit better price. Once, we even do the "turn around and walk away" tactic, which works magnificently. In this case a guy wants 2500 schillings for a product I like, but don’t really need to walk away with. I counter with 1000 and don’t budge. It works. A couple times we accept their final price but then ask them to throw in an additional item. You don’t really know, in the big scheme of things, how you are doing, but Rob thinks we have a reasonable go at it. Now what is funny at the end of the day is that I really don’t know the exchange rate. I just figure Rob won’t let me spend an inordinate amount of money. He asks me how much I thought I spent and I say, "About a hundred dollars." He laughs, "Try two hundred." We later figure that it was actually $170 or so (don’t worry, Linda, the souvenir shopping is complete and the malaria med was less than $20).
Well, this is long and I should stop for now. More power to you, if you have read the whole thing. I went to bed at 9pm on Saturday, but awoke at 1:30 or so. It is now 5am and I will try to catch a short nap before we head out for a cup of Joe this morning. Church is at 9:00am. Afterwards, we plan on eating at the Carnivore, running a couple more errands, and then eating at an Italian place tonight. Rob is trying to squeeze all the good eating in he can. Life is Mwanza is not going to recognize life in Nairobi. Rob tells me to enjoy it while it lasts.
Day Six: A Sunday in Nairobi
The internet is still out at Joel’s house, so I will not be able to post anything on the blog until after we arrive at Rob’s place on Monday evening. Right now it is about 2:30am on Monday. My body is still adjusting to the time change and so I have found myself wide awake just four hours after going to sleep the last two nights. There is nothing to do but get up and type, so here you go.
Sunday is a relaxing day. Rob is preaching at Emmanuel Baptist Church so he is up early and studying. At just a little after 7:00am we head off for a coffee shop named, "Java House." The streets are fairly quiet at this time of the morning. The stalls and shops do not open until around 9:00am, and some will not open at all on Sunday. Only a few pedestrians are out and about, but there are men in the street selling newspapers. When we arrive at the shop it is just like walking into a Starbucks, only they offer a full breakfast menu. We each order cinnamon French toast and enjoy it immensely. Over the hour or so we are at the restaurant it slowly fills with the usual mixture of whites, Indians, and a few blacks.
We head off just a short ways to church. The congregation is meeting on the porch of a children’s day school. There is a small sign out front announcing the name of the church and times of services. Rob squeezes the Land Cruiser between two large trees in the middle of a postage-stamp size parking lot. It is a cool morning as we begin to help Pastor and Mrs. Weaver distribute hymn books on the white plastic lawn chairs arranged in neat rows under the roof of the open veranda. There are a handful of people gathered as Pastor Weaver begins the Sunday School hour and launches into a verse-by-verse study of Galatians chapter 2.
This church is unique in that it is truly cosmopolitan. The congregation is composed of a variety of families and individuals that are Africans, but also whites that serve on various mission agencies headquartered in Nairobi. I meet an airplane mechanic who has just returned from four weeks in South Africa. He works for Samaritan’s Purse and is finishing his first year of a two-year commitment. His wife and two children are with him on the field. I also meet two women who work for Child Evangelism Fellowship. They hold two-week training seminars in Nairobi for churches scattered throughout the area, as well as hold bible clubs, day camps, and training sessions in the field. I meet an African man named Tedi who says, "Welcome," to me in Swahili, and then encourages me to learn one or two words for conversation. I assure him I will. He is holding a MacArthur Study Bible.
Several more people file in for the worship hour. Many are absent, but on a full Sunday the congregation fills the 100 or so seats. The worship consists of hymns singing, scripture reading, prayer, and preaching. Prayer requests include missionaries who are laboring in war-torn Sudan, as well as the need for political stability in Kenya as the parliament drafts a new constitution, and finally several members that are wrestling with illness or anticipating travel. Rob does a fine job preaching from Joshua chapter 2, emphasizing that in the story of Rahab the harlot, we learn that God can regenerate anyone, anytime, anyplace. He can radically alter a person’s worldview, dependence on traditional religion, or heart’s attitude toward Yahweh as they hear of who He is and what He does. It is not hard to imagine why Rob so appreciates the message of this passage. One other unique moment, while I was talking to someone after the service a monkey walks right down the sidewalk toward us. It turns out there are a few in the trees above us.
With the service complete, we head out for lunch at the Carnivore; the restaurant has a reputation for specializing in exotic game meat. Today the only unique items on the menu are crocodile, ostrich, and camel. I order ostrich, pork, and beef because the croc and camel are not recommended--nothing too extravagant, and they are all quite good, but we are a little disappointed at the lack of variety. The seats are almost empty at 12:30pm, but by 1:00 they are beginning to fill. The meal schedule resembles a European model, with all of the meals pushed back one or two hours in the day. For the remainder of the afternoon we run errands, purchasing a stove for Rob’s guesthouse, several kitchen utensils and place settings, as well as coffee beans and other odds and ends. The store is just like a Wal-Mart, only on a bit smaller scale with a comparable selection.
I should mention that I managed to obtain another warning for a breach of security regulations. I have been carrying my camera from place to place, but taking relatively few pictures. The Africans can be sensitive to having their pictures taken and I don’t want to put Rob in an embarrassing situation. Today I was bit more determined to get some shots while we drove the streets, so I would point and shoot quickly when the vehicle was moving slowly or on smooth pavement (a rarity). Outside one of the malls, you can see what is called the "American Compound"—a group of beautiful stone homes with red tile roofs nestled on a bright green hill. The scene begged to be photographed. I made the mistake of hopping out of the vehicle in a parking lot to take the picture. After I hopped back in and we started out the driveway, two "security guards" stopped us and asked us what we were doing. Once again, I thought it was pretty obvious and so I answered, "Taking a couple pictures." He asked, "Why?" I said, "Because it is beautiful." He responded, "You know because of security reasons that you can’t do that." We went back and forth for a couple more lines and then Rob jumped in and recommended they post a sign that says not to take pictures. I am thinking, "Good point, Rob." They then launch into a conversation in Swahili while I sit there fat, dumb, and happy. The guy stays with his argument that we ought to know better. Surely we couldn’t just take pictures of anything in our own country. Rob asks him if he has ever been to the States. Well, of course not. Then how could he know what we do in our own country, and by the way, we live in a free country where we can do whatever we want. Needless to say, we drove away--score one for Rob. I am rather proud of myself for obtaining three warnings in two countries. I tell Rob I’d like to try for a third country—Tanzania, but he doesn’t seem too impressed. I’m just the ugly American.
I almost hesitate to include this, but tonight we ate in one more spectacular restaurant. You must understand that Rob only gets to do this once or twice a year, so he is making the most of it. This evening’s meal is the icing on the cake. We go to an Italian Restaurant just a couple blocks from the Weaver’s home. It is nestled between run down shops on a narrow, dirty street. Shanties line one side of the road. You would never in a million years think of finding a nice restaurant on this street. We walk inside to find white tablecloths and a candlelit room. Numerous waiters in sharp dress greet us and guide us to a small table with carefully placed utensils and folded cloth napkins. The waiter lights the candle at our table and takes our beverage order. The menu is several pages, rivaling any of the nice restaurants I have frequented in Columbus. I order a creamy tomato soup as an appetizer, red snapper for the main course, and lemon sorbet for dessert, topped off with a cappuccino. Am I in Africa? The portions are perfect, the food tastes as good as it sounds, and the waiters (we have several) hover over us. I wish that I had my camera to catch the presentation—it is perfect to the last detail (e.g. the cinnamon on the cappuccino is splayed in a flower-like pattern on top of the foam; the items in the salad are cut and arranged to look like a bouquet). To Linda and Kara, we both missed you immensely tonight, and would have preferred your company to our own at the drop of a hat. Next time, we’ll do this together.
In four hours we leave for Mwanza. I am assured the drive of my life: rough roads, crowds of people, wild drivers, and spectacular views. Rob is absolutely dreading it, which dampens my enthusiasm somewhat. The adventure begins.
Jon,
Thanks for taking the time to post and allow us to follow your day and all the adventures you encounter in the course of it. Our family eagerly awaits your next move. We are praying for you.
Posted by: Dianna S | July 26, 2005 at 09:21 AM
Way to include the food.
Posted by: Joel | July 26, 2005 at 11:09 AM
Dianna: I see a trip to Africa in the Seay's future! It's the ultimate field trip.
Joel: I was thinking of you, Unk (nice second interview).
Posted by: jon | July 26, 2005 at 03:38 PM
Love the journal - so interesting! I'm just tuning in after being away on vacation.
Posted by: Jennifer | July 26, 2005 at 04:35 PM
You're doing a great job with the journal. nice touch on that cappucino!
Posted by: Paula | July 26, 2005 at 11:32 PM
The food in the field will not be as wonderful. We forget, or take for granted, the bounty of this great land we call the United States! We truly are a blessed nation from God's Gracious Hand.
I am looking forward to reading more of "The Adventures of Jooooooooon" (intro music)
"We pick up with Jon, and his sidekick Rob as they leave Nairobi..."
Hey, that would make a great kids radio program...!!!
Posted by: Doug | July 27, 2005 at 10:40 AM
Jennifer, Paula, and Doug: Thanks for reading and thanks for the encouragement. Now I am just beginning to realize how important contact from home really is on the mission field. One needs it. Doug, wait till I write this episode: "Rob and Jon Visit the Local Jail." It's going to be a good one.
Posted by: jon | July 27, 2005 at 03:15 PM