The way to the mountain camp is along a treacherous mud path that hugs the inner wall of a river gorge. I creep the Toyota RAV4 along the path, dreading…
Author: <span>Patrick Cumby</span>
Patrick Cumby is a science fiction writer who also blogs about exploring the real world. He's sharing his thoughts at PatrickCumby.com.
They are waiting in front of the house as our tuktuk arrives from the airport, lined up along the driveway in identical poses, backs straight, hands clasped gently at their waists, smiling. Two women and three men. One of the women is wearing a smart business suit, the other is dressed in a housekeeper’s smock. One of the men is in a blue security uniform, one is wearing a high-collared white chef’s uniform, and the third is dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. None of them are sweating, despite the oppressive humidity.
When the car’s headlights flicker and go dark, I panic. “Shit!” I yell. The Moroccan girls in the back seat giggle and echo, “Shit! Shit!”
An insistent lorry is tailgating me. I lean forward and desperately try to follow the tail lights of the car in front. SLAM! We hit a deep pothole and muddy water splashes over the windshield. I fight the steering wheel so I don’t veer into the oncoming lane. Motorcycles with no lights whatsoever crawl on the verge like dark phantoms. People dart between the moving cars. And, it’s raining—raining so hard that with every stroke the windshield wipers fling a gallon onto the curbside pedestrians. What are all these people doing out in the pouring rain in the dark?
The mall is empty and the storefronts are still shuttered this early in the morning. I’m trying to find the clinic, which the security guard has advised me is on…
The receptionist at the Nairobi health clinic sits behind a commanding desk that confronts me as soon as I walk inside. It would be intimidating except for her friendly smile.…
With the sole exception of Italy, I’ve never been to a country as fashion-conscious as Kenya. Kenyans (or at least Nairobians) are for the most part uncommonly sharp in their…
“Is there a problem?” I ask. The Uber driver, a soft-spoken man in a ramshackle Toyota, is smiling, but his expression is strained. He’s leaning through the driver’s door, searching…
Our Nairobi apartment community is lovely. It is also a fortress. It is not only gated, it is completely surrounded by high walls and guarded by a dozen colorfully-uniformed security…
Nairobi is both what I expected and not at all what I expected. The climate reminds me of California, as do the eucalyptus trees. The tropical flowers and ornamental trees are amazing. There’s the obvious poverty but also obvious wealth, and a palpable feeling of optimism among the citizens we’ve met. Kenya is poised for greatness, if the attitude of its people is any indication.
The man offers me a date. “Very good dates. My wife buys them at our local market.”
I take the date and eat it. The skin is dried and tough, not at all like the store-bought dates from the States. He watches me carefully, waiting for my reaction. I nod appreciatively and swallow. We’ve been waiting together at the departure gate for about ten minutes. The Cairo airport is shabby by western standards, and there are very few amenities in the terminal. I am grateful for the tough date.
The man yawns, and I remark that perhaps we’ll get some sleep on the five-hour flight to Nairobi. He chuckles and shakes his head. “I can never sleep on a plane. I was kidnapped once while flying. Since then, I am always nervous when I fly.”