Landing in Nairobi

Tonight we landed in Nairobi. The full moon looked so bright and so close—nearly twice as big as the largest full moon I have ever seen from the Mid-West. Oddly enough, the Kenya airport looked more familiar than the moon. It was just slightly bigger than the Des Moines airport. The planes looked the same, except they had names like Kenya Air instead of Delta or Southwest.

At the baggage claim, we were met by Adele, our liason between the village of Eldoret and Kipcaren. She has a rich South African accent and short curly brown hair. A native South African, she has lived in Kenya for two years, and she immediately began showing us the ropes. For example, the baggage claim carts that must be rented in many American airports, are free here, but there is a trick. In order to get the wheels to rotate, you must push the cart handle (similar to a shopping cart) down. She pointed this out as Michele and I were dragging our stuck-wheeled carts across the tile floor, immediately revealing that we were not native Nairobians.

Out of the 29 bags and boxes that were shipped, 28 arrived. The missing box contains sutures and sterilizing drapes—so we have made it here with practically all of the supplies we unloaded in Cedar Rapids. In the Kenya airport, you cannot leave the airport to load a few things and return to grab more from the baggage claim area, once you’ve left the building, you’re out. So the seven of us, 6 on the Kenya team and Adele, packed all 29 bags on 7 of those small luggage carts and headed toward the man Doc has been having nightmares about since her last Kenya adventure…her nemisis, the Customs man. She actually journaled 12 pages of attack and counterattack strategies before stepping off of the plane tonight.

Just to recap, last year she spent 2.5 hours haggling with the Customs man. He wanted money. She was unwilling to bribe. And there they stood, deadlocked. Their conversation last year went:

“Tell me what these supplies and medicines are worth in your country,” he said. (Visitors bringing materials into Kenya, through customs, are required to pay a fee based on the value of what they are bringing in.)

“Nothing. They have all been donated,” she replied.

“Oh, I don’t believe that. Come on, what are they worth?” And so they went. Round and round. When finally she said, “All of these supplies are here to help your fellow Kenyans. If you do not let them in, you’re people will not get the medicines they need.”

And with that he said, “You should have said the supplies were for doctors’ personal use.” Then he paused. “O.k. You may pass.”

Doc and team stood there for a few seconds—probably from surprise—and so he said, “What are you still doing here? I said you can go. Go.”

This year, with 7 packed carts in tow, she walked directly up to the man in the gray suit.

“What are all these supplies for?” he asked.

Doc bowed her head and said, “Doctors’ personal use.”

“You may pass,” said the Custom’s man. So we ran with our medicines out through the airport doors and into the air of Nairobi.

The air had a metalic twinge, as if the breeze had been sucking on a spoon or a penny. We stood there, many of us smelling Kenya for the first time, as our things were loaded into three vans by Adele’s team. We all piled into one van and took off for the place we would sleep for the night.