March 1- 2, 2012
Jef Foss, ASAH board member and architect, and I began our journey to Duk Payuel on March 1st, leaving Fargo on Delta airlines at one pm. Once again, Delta's service proved both charitable and helpful, allowing us to check 15 bags of supplies for the ASAH Home and School for Girls including the panties and washable sanitary pads donated to us at our recent "Get Your Panties in a Bunch" lunch in Fargo. These panties and pads will be distribute through the school in Duk Payuel and to neighboring communities as well.
We flew Fargo to Minneapolis; Minneapolis to Amsterdam; Amsterdam to Nairobi. Nearly 24 hours later with an eight-hour shift in time we arrived at Jomo Kenyatta. At 9 pm local time, we proceeded to immigration for our transit visas—available instantly at the airport, retrieved all 15 bags and headed toward customs at the exit. The agents asked a few questions about the contents and destination of the bags and waived us through.
The driver took us to Mayfield Guest House run by Africa Inland Missions, a mission organization that flies religious and humanitarian groups into remote areas with inadequate or unsafe roads like Duk Payuel, South Sudan. Jef was to share a room with another guest, who was already in bed for the night. We stay at Mayfield on most of our trips through Nairobi, and they are often bustling with missionaries and their families and others working on projects in South Sudan and Kenya. When they are full, they ask if we are willing to share rooms.
At Mayfield I saw Samuel, one of the drivers I met on an earlier trip. Samuel procured Moringa (Olifera) seeds for us to plant at the ASAH Home and School for Girls. The plant has tremendous nutritional and medicinal value. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moringa_oleifera
From Mayfield, the driver drove me down the street to the Fairview, where Andrew and Miriam Mara, NDSU professors in Nairobi on sabbatical, are staying. Andrew and Miriam sponsor two of our Sudanese students in boarding school in Kenya. They had invited me to stay in the guest bedroom in their apartment. We all rose before dawn to travel to Wilson Airport by 6:30 am for our flight to Duk Payuel.
Showing posts with label Nairobi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nairobi. Show all posts
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Sunday, November 27, 2011
In Nairobi with our Kenya Kids
I'm giving thanks for the opportunity to share Thanksgiving dinner with my husband and about half my children and grandchildren at our son Adrian's house last Thursday, since I left the following day for Nairobi--about 23 hours of traveling. Once again, Delta came through for us, letting me check seven bags of underwear, sanitary napkins, clothing and other supplies for the ASAH Home and School for girls at no charge.
Two weeks earlier, I went with Board member Ron Saeger to see if they would allow him the same. When we arrived at the counter, the two agents said, "oh, we know you. It's no problem." Their support of our program allows us to take needed suppliies to South Sudan, along with thousands of pairs of donated underwear and washable sanitary pads to Kenya, and Kenya customs lets me through because the bags are on their way to South Sudan.
The Mayfield Guest House driver was waiting for me after I collected my bags. I expected the guard at the gate to give me the key, but instead I was met by Ron. He came with the kids a day earlier than I expected. Moses, John, Joseph, Michael, Simon, Agot, and Sarah all greeted me. Only James was missing. He is spending the beginning of his school break on a trip with his Scout troop.
Mayfield is owned by AIM International (Africa Inland Missions). Guests here are missionaries and their families and other humanitarian workers working in Kenya and South Sudan and other places. It is very inexpensive with simply furnished rooms with a sink, toilets, bathtubs, and shower rooms are along the halls. It is a cozy house with a living room and large dining room, with many dormitory additions up, down, and across, nice outdoor garden seating, and a friendly staff. Meals are simple, too, served family style, with Sunday lunch the best meal of the week. We had fried chicken, potatoes, gravy, mixed vegetables, Chai, and ice cream for dessert. Sunday dinner is a little simpler--tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches--and the ever-present ice cream. Ron wasn't able to get the large group of boys to understand that they needed to let us know if they would be present for meals, so they missed lunch, which is a problem for the Mayfield staff as they prepare the food based on expected number of guests, and this is a budget operation which doesn't waste food unnecessarily.
This is the first trip to Nairobi for all but Moses, so there are delightful things to see. They'd gone to a small amusement park nearby. After lunch, Ron, and Moses, and Agot and I walked about a mile to the Nakumatt, a large department store, to buy more supplies for our compound in the village. Three hoes (actually just the hoe part, they'll fashion their own handles), rugs for the inside of the tukuls, batteries, biscuits, nuts, dates, powdered juice, sweater jackets for the girls on cool evenings (Agot snared one for herself), and mascara for me. I don't know how I missed packing mascara. Believe me, the Nakumatt makeup selection is limited. Tomorrow morning, Sammy, the purchaser for AIM who has acquired our plumbing and electrical supplies, will come to pick up my bags and the new purchases to take to Wilson Airport, the airport where AIM and other small airlines are based. I've known Sammy since my first trip in 2007, as he was the technical guy at the Lost Boys Clinic in Duk Payuel. It's nice to see familiar faces here at Mayfield and in Nairobi. I expect to see a few more this week before heading to Duk witty Mos on Friday.
About a year ago, Moses learned he has two living siblings he hasn't seen since he was a small boy. We've got word they are In a village near Duk Payuel, and Dau, the head teacher will arrange for him to reunite with them.
Two weeks earlier, I went with Board member Ron Saeger to see if they would allow him the same. When we arrived at the counter, the two agents said, "oh, we know you. It's no problem." Their support of our program allows us to take needed suppliies to South Sudan, along with thousands of pairs of donated underwear and washable sanitary pads to Kenya, and Kenya customs lets me through because the bags are on their way to South Sudan.
The Mayfield Guest House driver was waiting for me after I collected my bags. I expected the guard at the gate to give me the key, but instead I was met by Ron. He came with the kids a day earlier than I expected. Moses, John, Joseph, Michael, Simon, Agot, and Sarah all greeted me. Only James was missing. He is spending the beginning of his school break on a trip with his Scout troop.
Mayfield is owned by AIM International (Africa Inland Missions). Guests here are missionaries and their families and other humanitarian workers working in Kenya and South Sudan and other places. It is very inexpensive with simply furnished rooms with a sink, toilets, bathtubs, and shower rooms are along the halls. It is a cozy house with a living room and large dining room, with many dormitory additions up, down, and across, nice outdoor garden seating, and a friendly staff. Meals are simple, too, served family style, with Sunday lunch the best meal of the week. We had fried chicken, potatoes, gravy, mixed vegetables, Chai, and ice cream for dessert. Sunday dinner is a little simpler--tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches--and the ever-present ice cream. Ron wasn't able to get the large group of boys to understand that they needed to let us know if they would be present for meals, so they missed lunch, which is a problem for the Mayfield staff as they prepare the food based on expected number of guests, and this is a budget operation which doesn't waste food unnecessarily.
This is the first trip to Nairobi for all but Moses, so there are delightful things to see. They'd gone to a small amusement park nearby. After lunch, Ron, and Moses, and Agot and I walked about a mile to the Nakumatt, a large department store, to buy more supplies for our compound in the village. Three hoes (actually just the hoe part, they'll fashion their own handles), rugs for the inside of the tukuls, batteries, biscuits, nuts, dates, powdered juice, sweater jackets for the girls on cool evenings (Agot snared one for herself), and mascara for me. I don't know how I missed packing mascara. Believe me, the Nakumatt makeup selection is limited. Tomorrow morning, Sammy, the purchaser for AIM who has acquired our plumbing and electrical supplies, will come to pick up my bags and the new purchases to take to Wilson Airport, the airport where AIM and other small airlines are based. I've known Sammy since my first trip in 2007, as he was the technical guy at the Lost Boys Clinic in Duk Payuel. It's nice to see familiar faces here at Mayfield and in Nairobi. I expect to see a few more this week before heading to Duk witty Mos on Friday.
About a year ago, Moses learned he has two living siblings he hasn't seen since he was a small boy. We've got word they are In a village near Duk Payuel, and Dau, the head teacher will arrange for him to reunite with them.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Day 2 Nairobi—Long and slightly off-topic
I’d like to say I had a great night’s sleep after catnapping on the flight from Amsterdam to Nairobi. Even if I’d been sleepy at the half point of the eight-hour flight, I would’ve been kept awake by two phenomena. First, numerous humorous Dutch men gathered near the exit row across from the aft restrooms just behind me. They were told they must sit if they were drinking alcohol. So then they gulped them down and kept talking. Loud.
Though I was able to ignore this, engrossed as I was in my Kindle version of The Curious Case of the Dog in the Nighttime was the (we later learned) drug-addled, young man who growled in a voice so low and loud I would have guessed he was old, old, old, and very very crazy. His voice was one of loud desperation, calling “Heeeelllp me, heeeelllp me, spurring various doctors at various times to offer their services. He got help in the form of handcuffs and ankle bracelets, which caused a little wrestling (heard not seen by me) and resulted in a move behind closed galley curtains. There, a few rows in front of my row, his pleas grew in intensity, his help me’s punctuated by Mama—which stirred my own instincts as though I could offer assistance, which I didn’t. He also used called other less-universal names, but they didn’t help either, and then he started up with some pretty outrageous obscenities. This continued about every ten minutes for approximately three hours. In truth, it was not nearly as tough as sitting through an airplane crying baby episode primarily due to the novelty. I imagine that would wear off if I experienced such things frequently on flights—Oh no, not another wolf-crying druggie sitting behind me, kicking the seat. One bonus about this ride—there wasn’t a single moment of air turbulence when we were asked to return to our seats and put our seat belts on. I believe officers were waiting for the turbulent passenger on landing.
This blog seems overly-long and not humanitarian-aid oriented. I’ll try to shorten it up from here. And I did feel sorry for him.
I was worried about customs—how to physically get my eight bags from baggage claim through customs without a problem. I envisioned my two arms, one with a rotator-cuff impinged shoulder, and fine-tooth combs examining a thousand pair of undies. But a young porter named Kevin helped me get all the bags onto carts and the two of us wheeled our way through the masses to customs, where I handed my sheet which declared 35 lbs of seeds destined for Sudan among other things. The official didn’t look at the sheet, said, “Anything to declare?” while shaking his head. I shook mine, and he waved me through.
Pacing back and forth in front of the lineup of drivers with little signs—one read “James Bond,” but none said “Deb Dawson, ” I started to worry a little because I didn’t have a phone. I was thinking of asking Kevin if he had one, when I spotted a guy with a Fairview Hotel sign. I signaled. Turns out he wasn’t there for me, but had been waiting for a guy for two hours who hadn’t seen him and took a cab to the hotel. Francis was hanging around in case, by chance, someone wanted to go to Fairview. Lucky me that I stayed at the Country Lodge and ate at the Fairview a few steps away and owned by the same folks: the Fairview is the elegant elder aunt to the upstart boutique nephew, the misleadingly-named Country Lodge. No lion heads, no brass and wood—it’s all chrome and white and down. It’s the setting that gives them their names—an oasis in the midst of the city.
This morning, Carol Wamuyu appeared after six-hour night bus ride from Kisumu to spend the day helping me get ASAH business done in Kenya. She was a nurse at the JDF clinic in Duk Payuel when we were there in 2007 and is now working in the slums of Kisumu. The whole clinic crew lives in the slums as well, thus experiencing the full reality of their patient’s lives. She is continuing the humanitarian work she was doing in Duk Payuel in her country of Kenya. When I posted on Facebook that I was preparing to go to Sudan—Carol thought—I bet she’ll be in Nairobi—and arranged to come see me and help me out.
Our driver, Patrick, filled his vehicle with bags to be taken to AIM Air to be weighed and taken through customs early so as to speed our departure tomorrow.
We spent the entire day in the car, dodging pedestrians, boldly forging our way between vehicles or yielding to those more forceful than we. I asked Patrick if a lot of pedestrians got hit. He said, “No, we know they are there.”
First, we made a stop at a hard-to-locate business Ron found on the Internet—but couldn’t find on his last visit. The address describes itself as “Besides the fly over bridge.” A more accurate descriptor would be “below.” A fly over bridge is a pedestrian bridge over the highway. We were looking for treadle (manual) sewing machines. Apparently this company doesn’t keep its website up-to-date—though they do have grinding mills—all sizes and shapes. Fortunately Patrick had purchased a machine at SINGER and knew where that shop was. Still, it took several hours to complete the transaction. Deciding on the machine—should we go with the one with the sturdy table or the rickety one—we chose sturdy. And decided to get three. Which meant all of them had to be opened and assembled to make sure they work, then disassembled and repacked.
While this was happening, we went to a money exchange—got 80 Kenyan shillings to a dollar—a good rate—but the 20 $100 bills I exchanged for 1000 shilling notes resulted in a three-inch-stack. Don’t worry—I didn’t spend it all on machines—the three machines with tables, spare parts, accessories, extra oil, and so on cost about $800 total. They gave me a teeny tiny discount for buying three—I didn’t have time to negotiate as AIM wanted them by one. We loaded them up and got them there by two but had to return to Singer for the bobbins and bobbin cases that they had assured us they had in stock, but when we arrived to pick up, admitted they didn’t. If they didn’t have it, and they couldn’t get it, probably nobody could so came back. On each visit, we were the only customers in the tiny shop, though there were more than a half a dozen people working on our order—the sales girl, her manager, two finance ladies, and three or four guys who schlepped the equipment in and out of boxes. At each juncture and decision point and delay, they urged Miriam and me to sit on the two available chairs they moved in place depending on where we were in the process. There was also the unseen manager who approved the tiny discount. I wish I was a better haggler. I bet if board member Ron Saeger had been with me we would have gotten a hell of a deal.
Carol brought me to another spot for more thread. Turns out she’s working with a group of girls in the slums, and hygiene is one of the primary areas they are teaching. I dug a sack full of pads and some of the precut, unsewn pads and liners and gave them to her along with some thread and needles to get her going. Talk about paying it forward Bismarck and Fargo ladies!!
She helped me put some credit on the phone Jeremy Groce, our Kenya/Sudan work-experienced board member gave me to use on the trip. He recommended Safaricom, but she got it through Zane because you can call nation from Kenya for three KES per minute—about four cents and she says they’re cheaper for other calls, too. Jeremy Groce texted me and I texted back—no problem. And then I called my husband and he said—how does that work? All I have to dial is a + sign and 1 and Area Code and number.
Enough said. 8:30 am flight to Loki with Jon Hildebrandt, the AIM pilot we met at Mayfield Guest House, a mission hotel. He didn’t fly us, but he did tell us about Country Lodge since Mayfield was closed near Christmas and unavailable. And introduced me to Jean Wood in Colorado, working with two Boulder Lost Boys from Duk Payuel who will be adding on to the school there in February.
Though I was able to ignore this, engrossed as I was in my Kindle version of The Curious Case of the Dog in the Nighttime was the (we later learned) drug-addled, young man who growled in a voice so low and loud I would have guessed he was old, old, old, and very very crazy. His voice was one of loud desperation, calling “Heeeelllp me, heeeelllp me, spurring various doctors at various times to offer their services. He got help in the form of handcuffs and ankle bracelets, which caused a little wrestling (heard not seen by me) and resulted in a move behind closed galley curtains. There, a few rows in front of my row, his pleas grew in intensity, his help me’s punctuated by Mama—which stirred my own instincts as though I could offer assistance, which I didn’t. He also used called other less-universal names, but they didn’t help either, and then he started up with some pretty outrageous obscenities. This continued about every ten minutes for approximately three hours. In truth, it was not nearly as tough as sitting through an airplane crying baby episode primarily due to the novelty. I imagine that would wear off if I experienced such things frequently on flights—Oh no, not another wolf-crying druggie sitting behind me, kicking the seat. One bonus about this ride—there wasn’t a single moment of air turbulence when we were asked to return to our seats and put our seat belts on. I believe officers were waiting for the turbulent passenger on landing.
This blog seems overly-long and not humanitarian-aid oriented. I’ll try to shorten it up from here. And I did feel sorry for him.
I was worried about customs—how to physically get my eight bags from baggage claim through customs without a problem. I envisioned my two arms, one with a rotator-cuff impinged shoulder, and fine-tooth combs examining a thousand pair of undies. But a young porter named Kevin helped me get all the bags onto carts and the two of us wheeled our way through the masses to customs, where I handed my sheet which declared 35 lbs of seeds destined for Sudan among other things. The official didn’t look at the sheet, said, “Anything to declare?” while shaking his head. I shook mine, and he waved me through.
Pacing back and forth in front of the lineup of drivers with little signs—one read “James Bond,” but none said “Deb Dawson, ” I started to worry a little because I didn’t have a phone. I was thinking of asking Kevin if he had one, when I spotted a guy with a Fairview Hotel sign. I signaled. Turns out he wasn’t there for me, but had been waiting for a guy for two hours who hadn’t seen him and took a cab to the hotel. Francis was hanging around in case, by chance, someone wanted to go to Fairview. Lucky me that I stayed at the Country Lodge and ate at the Fairview a few steps away and owned by the same folks: the Fairview is the elegant elder aunt to the upstart boutique nephew, the misleadingly-named Country Lodge. No lion heads, no brass and wood—it’s all chrome and white and down. It’s the setting that gives them their names—an oasis in the midst of the city.
This morning, Carol Wamuyu appeared after six-hour night bus ride from Kisumu to spend the day helping me get ASAH business done in Kenya. She was a nurse at the JDF clinic in Duk Payuel when we were there in 2007 and is now working in the slums of Kisumu. The whole clinic crew lives in the slums as well, thus experiencing the full reality of their patient’s lives. She is continuing the humanitarian work she was doing in Duk Payuel in her country of Kenya. When I posted on Facebook that I was preparing to go to Sudan—Carol thought—I bet she’ll be in Nairobi—and arranged to come see me and help me out.
Our driver, Patrick, filled his vehicle with bags to be taken to AIM Air to be weighed and taken through customs early so as to speed our departure tomorrow.
We spent the entire day in the car, dodging pedestrians, boldly forging our way between vehicles or yielding to those more forceful than we. I asked Patrick if a lot of pedestrians got hit. He said, “No, we know they are there.”
First, we made a stop at a hard-to-locate business Ron found on the Internet—but couldn’t find on his last visit. The address describes itself as “Besides the fly over bridge.” A more accurate descriptor would be “below.” A fly over bridge is a pedestrian bridge over the highway. We were looking for treadle (manual) sewing machines. Apparently this company doesn’t keep its website up-to-date—though they do have grinding mills—all sizes and shapes. Fortunately Patrick had purchased a machine at SINGER and knew where that shop was. Still, it took several hours to complete the transaction. Deciding on the machine—should we go with the one with the sturdy table or the rickety one—we chose sturdy. And decided to get three. Which meant all of them had to be opened and assembled to make sure they work, then disassembled and repacked.
While this was happening, we went to a money exchange—got 80 Kenyan shillings to a dollar—a good rate—but the 20 $100 bills I exchanged for 1000 shilling notes resulted in a three-inch-stack. Don’t worry—I didn’t spend it all on machines—the three machines with tables, spare parts, accessories, extra oil, and so on cost about $800 total. They gave me a teeny tiny discount for buying three—I didn’t have time to negotiate as AIM wanted them by one. We loaded them up and got them there by two but had to return to Singer for the bobbins and bobbin cases that they had assured us they had in stock, but when we arrived to pick up, admitted they didn’t. If they didn’t have it, and they couldn’t get it, probably nobody could so came back. On each visit, we were the only customers in the tiny shop, though there were more than a half a dozen people working on our order—the sales girl, her manager, two finance ladies, and three or four guys who schlepped the equipment in and out of boxes. At each juncture and decision point and delay, they urged Miriam and me to sit on the two available chairs they moved in place depending on where we were in the process. There was also the unseen manager who approved the tiny discount. I wish I was a better haggler. I bet if board member Ron Saeger had been with me we would have gotten a hell of a deal.
Carol brought me to another spot for more thread. Turns out she’s working with a group of girls in the slums, and hygiene is one of the primary areas they are teaching. I dug a sack full of pads and some of the precut, unsewn pads and liners and gave them to her along with some thread and needles to get her going. Talk about paying it forward Bismarck and Fargo ladies!!
She helped me put some credit on the phone Jeremy Groce, our Kenya/Sudan work-experienced board member gave me to use on the trip. He recommended Safaricom, but she got it through Zane because you can call nation from Kenya for three KES per minute—about four cents and she says they’re cheaper for other calls, too. Jeremy Groce texted me and I texted back—no problem. And then I called my husband and he said—how does that work? All I have to dial is a + sign and 1 and Area Code and number.
Enough said. 8:30 am flight to Loki with Jon Hildebrandt, the AIM pilot we met at Mayfield Guest House, a mission hotel. He didn’t fly us, but he did tell us about Country Lodge since Mayfield was closed near Christmas and unavailable. And introduced me to Jean Wood in Colorado, working with two Boulder Lost Boys from Duk Payuel who will be adding on to the school there in February.
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