Three Years

Three years! We wondered if we’d ever get back to Africa as COVID and the ever-changing information about it spread throughout the world. But, finally, we were able to not only plan for a trip, but with confidence that the time was right, we bought our tickets to come. I felt like a kid going home after being gone for a while. The anticipation and excitement of seeing friends and scenes we have come to love so much grew, I couldn’t help wondering what it was going to be like to be there again.

We flew to London and after some time there, flew the long nine-hour flight onto Nairobi. Finally, finally we landed. As our plane ground to a halt and the cabin door eventually opened, people started piling out the door. No longer were we at LAX or London Heathrow. Here, as before, there were steep metal steps to go down, most of us loaded down with heavy bags and hand luggage. Then, we walked on the tarmac to get onto the already crammed-full buses to take us to the terminal. It was all coming back to us – yes, this is how it’s done at Jomo Kenyatta International (Nairobi). The bus jerked to a stop and we got off the buses and walked the long distance up to the uneven steps going through the double doors into immigration. First, we were greeted by a female officer asking for our Covid documentation, no yellow cards documenting immunizations for yellow fever or diphtheria, just Covid. Yes, we had ours. The building, the people, immediately brought all my sense alive to the familiarity of Africa – the smells, the sights, the sounds. Yes, we’re actually finally here!

Ahead of us were a division of five long lines of other passengers waiting for their turns - Kenyans, East Africans, Residents, E-Visas, Fast Track VIP. All of us were staring at the desks where the immigration officers sat wondering what was taking so long. Our line, of course, was the longest. At last our turn. As we handed over our visas and passports, I couldn’t help but notice the officer at the desk had her blue official uniform on but over it she was wearing a sweatshirt. (I had long since taken mine off in the balmy equatorial 10:00 pm air, but it’s winter here and now goes down to a cool 58 degrees at night.) On the sleeve of her sweatshirt was written “Daddy’s Girl.” I smiled. So Africa! In all her respected authority as an officer who could easily deny entry into Kenya, here she was in a brown hooded sweatshirt that would be worn in the US by a young girl. It was awesome! After our business was completed and I was confident she would let us pass, I said, “I like your sweatshirt – you must be very special.” Her stern face quickly changed into a broad girlish grin and she replied, “Isn’t it just perfect?!” And, yes, it was just perfect…in every way. She kept turning to speak to me as I walked through the gate saying repeatedly, “Karibu (Welcome)!” over and over again. It’s all coming back to me – we’re home, our Africa home – where family is family no matter what or how long it’s been. We are again welcomed into their hearts and into their homes.