jambo, or what time is it?

The entire lot of us spent the afternoon sleeping in our Mennonite Guest House quarters, even Hannah and I, and we don’t sleep during the day. Where was a WestJet flight attendant when you needed one? Not on Virgin Airlines. Madelyn, Hannah and Rachel were scattered around the plane. We managed to switch Madelyn’s seat, but six year old Rachel was left to sit beside the Pakistani twenty-something fellow. And Hannah beside two kind Kenyan women…here was where I was thankful for her independent spirit.

My ire was up when then they were unwilling to move Rachel away from her suicide-bombing seatmate (okay, so if he really was a suicide bomber, we’d be all done for). They didn’t want the kids sitting on our laps, and told me to get napkins from the toilet when Zach spilled hot chocolate, and didn’t bat an eye when Madelyn was puking in the morning. By the end of the flight, Hannah, Jim and I might have slept a couple hours total. The others were adequately medicated and slept a few hours, but not without tears of ‘please let me be with you’. Aiy, need I express my maternal frustration, or maybe I have. (Oh, and Rachel’s seatmate turned out to be a friendly Tanzanian born, electrical engineering student from Birmingham, who was most eager to share about his home country, and sadly, terribly stereotyped).

Easy passing through Nairobi airport, with only a question of: is that your family? Yes. Good, go through. Simple. Not like Canadian or American customs.

Hannah’s first remarks of Nairobi: Looks like Florida.

My first impressions: People walking everywhere. Soil the colour of PEI’s…reddish brown. Newspaper sales boys standing in middle of major road selling their wares. No discernible traffic rules: survival of the fittest. Thankfully, we survived.

Everyone hungry, so better go for dinner now…no lunch served today, because someone is having a wedding.


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