Sylvia's Journal

It was my first trip to Africa in half a year, a hiatus I had not had for decades. I forgot things, not stuff, but information. After two long plane rides I arrived at 10PM in Kenya. I had booked a guesthouse room that was , supposedly, near the airport (Airport Homestay), for 36 dollars. I figured it was pointless to spend a lot of money on a fancy hotel room at the airport for a very short night as my plane to Lusaka required my presence at the airport the next day at 5AM.

The driver wasn’t there with the sign with my name, as agreed in my communication with the guesthouse. A friendly taxi driver called the guesthouse on his phone and was told the driver was there. The taxi driver hovered around me, concerned but also hoping he get the ride. Another, this time female taxi driver approached me as well, to help. I was by now one of the few people standing in front of the arrival hall and it was now past 11. Finally, the driver was spotted with a crumpled sign that had my name (defensively and cryptically saying that he had been there all along but had stepped away). I shook hands with the helpful taxi driver who must have been disappointed. In hindsight it would have been hard to find the place as it was hidden away from the highway in a gated apartment complex. I don’t think we would have found it.

My 36 dollar room was a bedroom (with bathroom) in a regular house tucked inside a fence tucked inside a gated apartment complex. Not quite as close to the airport but to no too far either, a 20 minute ride. I was welcomed by Lilian in her tiny living room. She pointed me to the bedroom right next to it. It contained a bed, a mosquito net, towels and bottles of water. Everything I needed and nothing more. I fell into a comatose sleep, instantly.

The next morning everything was dark. I called out in the hallway to Lilian but no peep. I opened the door and was faced with a fence that was locked. There was no guard and Lillian was clearly fast asleep. How was I going to get out with my luggage? I looked at the possibility of climbing over the fence with its sharp points – no way. I banged on the large metal gate until I recognized the voice of my driver. He had been there at the appointed time but had no key to open the fence – I had been tired when I arrived to consider this possibility of locked behind a gate. I did not have a working phone (a big handicap) but the driver had, and he woke Lillian up. She came down the stairs sleepily and full of apologies. The gate was opened and we made it to the airport in a short time. Everything went smoothly from then on. A few hours later I landed in Lusaka. 

The smooth ride continued. Going through immigration was a synch – no long lines, no forms to fill in, no finger printing or photo taking, just 50 dollars. And then the thought occurred to me what if there was no one to pick me up – as I know these things happen fairly frequently.  I didn’t have the phone number of the driver, and I didn’t even know the name of the guesthouse, the latter more problematic.  It was Sunday and I didn’t even have the address of the organization’s office.

Indeed, the driver didn’t show up. I found myself at a loss, and really stupid that I hadn’t written down the name of the guesthouse. The airport in Lusaka doesn’t have internet, so an email or Skype chat was out of the question. What now?

I had noticed a woman with a Dutch passport standing behind me in the immigration line. I asked her about the taxi fare into town and then she offered to give me ride to where I was staying. Her driver was helpful and eventually helped me find the phone number of a friend of a friend who had worked at Save the Children where one of the senior staff of my client organization used to work. He took me to the mall where I might be able to find a café with internet connection so I could try other options.And so we were sitting at the Mug & Bean at a Mall, sipping my Capuccino when the Board Chair and the organization’s president found me – it had been two hours since I arrived, no longer lost in Lusaka. Thank God for small cities and a well connected middle class that works in the health field. I learned my lesson: get the driver’s phone number (he had mixed up AM and PM), and the name of your lodgings. I am clearly out of the habit of traveling in Africa.