Yearning to be Understood and Known
“When we love, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too.” – Coelho, The Alchemist
The United Airlines (UA) representative said in the most logical tone, “It appeared that your flight was pending and no one finalized it on our end.” I bought the ticket 2 weeks ago. The next 2 ½ hours was a ping pong game of me going between Chase Bank (CB) and UA representative. Jennifer, the Chase Bank rep stayed on the phone with me, as both reps were trying to figure out how a ticket that was confirmed via the UA website had not gone through. I went through Kubler Ross’s death and dying stages in a matter of 30 minutes. When I finally accepted I was screwed, the UA rep finalized my ticket. As I packed for my trip, I thought to myself if this was any kind of foreshadowing of what my adventure was going to be, I needed to pack more sedatives. Three days later, I boarded a plane for Nairobi, Kenya.
The 19-hour flight plus 13-hour layover in Chicago was surprisingly uneventful. I did find out that when you have a layover for more than 12 hours you have to pick up all your luggage and schlep it around until 4 hours prior to your next departure. This was a challenge as I was carrying two 40lbs bags full of paper, yarn, scissors, and what not for the two projects at Kakuma Jesuit Refugee Services and Kenyatta University. For myself, I only had a small backpack and a carry-on. In light of this, I was grateful for my ol’ Chicago friends, Theresa and James. They collected me at the airport, fed me Tanzania Banana Stew, gave me crash course of Kiswahili language, and shared with me the numerous projects they are doing in Tanzania (Check this out https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/). As James dropped me off at the airport, he said, “Staci, we need people like you out the in the world.” I remarked, “We already have people that are doing good things. You.” As I left James we smiled, embraced, and knew that each of us no matter how many small acts of kindness we do, we are making a difference in the world. We matter.
+2 days…9:30PM. When I arrived in Nairobi, something occurred to me that I hadn’t anticipated. The Kenya’s customs officer asked me, so when are you leaving Kenya. I replied, “March”. He repeated the question which I thought was strange, “NO, tell me when are you leaving Kenya?” Bewildered, I repeated the same answer. Then he looked at me and pointed at the dates in my visa. Apparently, the dates were marked 21 Dec 2016 to 20 March 2016. By that time, the sedative I took to sleep started to wear off and I woke up to a nightmare. I calmly said, “Help me, this is how I received the visa from your embassy in Washington DC.” He shrugged his shoulders, stamped the passport, and waved me good-bye. I replied, “Asante sana (in Kiswahili, Thank-you very much).”
11:35PM. I arrived at the hotel. I start getting ready for bed and I wanted to plug in my electronics so that they could charge overnight. I pushed a button that turned the socket on. Suddenly, I stood in darkness. I scrambled to find my headlamp. I called the front desk and they sent their maintenance man to help me. He turned the breaker back on and then he knocked on my door. He told me that it was fixed. I said alright and I turned the socket back on. Darkness found me again with my strawberry shortcake bottoms and t-shirt, however now I stood in darkness with this gentleman. He said, “Hmmm…it’s not fixed. Let me go again and fix it.” Minutes later, there was light. He came back up and said, he needed to fix the socket. I asked him, how long did he think that will take. He didn’t respond. He left.
12:35AM, the manager called me and explained the situation to me. I said that I am not sure if I am being unreasonable when I tell him that I would appreciate to have electricity and not have a maintenance man in my room at 12:45AM to fix a socket. There must have been despair in my voice because all of sudden, he said, “Staci, we will upgrade you and give you internet in your room for free. Can you be ready?”
12:46AM, the only difference from my room and the upgrade was a small love seat. I will say, I was grateful for the internet in my room.
I awoke at 6AM and sent out emails. I am going to be teaching an online course and continue to work for PSUFA, PSU’s part time union while I am doing these two projects in Kenya. I am not exactly clear how I thought I could do all this, but I will.
That morning, I received an email from Jesuit Refugee Services (JRS), my partner. They needed my visa. I explained to Lucy, JRS support person about the situation of my visa. She remarked, “Staci you need to go to Nyayo House immediately and get your visa fixed. Right now it is invalid and you won’t be able to get on the United Nations plane to Kakuma Refugee Camp.”
According to Wikipedia (never thought I would utter those three words), “Nyayo House is particularly known for its detention facilities in its basement, often called as Nyayo House torture chambers” (para. 3). I asked the hotel manager if they could hold my luggage so that I could get my visa revised. Stephen, a Hilton employee and north star, started to give me directions. I thought perhaps he sensed that I was directionally challenged because he asked, “Can I walk you over to Nyayo House?” I said, yes without thinking. He left me in the front of the Nyayo House building and as I entered the building, I am told foreigners need to go to the side of the building. I arrived at the immigration office and took a number. I envisioned that the so called “torture chamber” was synonymous with a “DMV’s waiting line.” And yet, they called my number within 2 minutes. As I went to the teller 5, a man stepped in and started a lengthy conversation with regard to his visa issue. I thought to myself, perhaps this was where the “DMV purgatory” will start, I will have endless people stepping in front of me…5 minutes later, the woman told him that he needed to wait his turn and looked at me. I explained my situation to her. She said something in Kiswahili to her colleague and laughed. Then she sternly looked at me and said, “Go to G-8 room and talk to Beatrice.” I walked over to Beatrice’s office and sat down in wooden upright brown chair. I felt like I was in a principal’s office. I plead my case. She looked at me and said, “But this is correct, it’s for 3 months.” I told her well the month and days are correct but not the year. She looks at it again, smiled, and remarked, “Yes, I see the mistake.” I asked, if a visa could be reissued. She said, “No.” As the no echoed in my head, she took a ruler and pen and changed the date to reflect the correct year. She signed her name on my passport and said, “There you go.” I repeated, “There I go?” She said, “Yes, I changed it.”
Lo and behold, the visa went through and I have a UN Chartered flight to Kakuma on what I thought was for Tuesday, changed to Friday, but now it is for Monday morning.
I wish the story ended there, however there was more much more excitement to come! As I waited to get my taxi, I told Stephen’s boss how grateful I was for his kindness to walk me over to the Nyayo House building. His boss was very happy and told me that made her day to hear that her workers are making customers happy.
The taxi arrived. I was off to Jesuit Refugee Services (JRS) Guest House to stay until the flight on Monday. I arrived at JRS and as I got out of the taxi. John, the taxi driver was chatting quickly on his phone. He gently grabbed my arm and said wait. He continued his conversation. He then said, “Staci, you have forgotten your passport at the Hilton hotel, shall I go back and get it for you?” I blurted out a couple of 4-letter words and in the same breath, I realized how lucky I was. I told him, “No, I will go back with you.” So, I journeyed back into town and there was Stephen, the kind man who walked me to Nyayo House. He walked over to my window and handed me my passport. He said, “Staci you forgot your passport on the chair.”
Apparently, as I was taking a photograph of the revised visa with my phone, I thought I had put it back in my purse, and yet the passport inadvertently slipped through my bag into the seat cushion of the chair. There are some deep thoughts to this long story: 1) Make sure your visa has the correct year; 2) Make sure you offer gratitude to the people you encounter for they may come across your passport along the way and save your arse; 3) Despair can be your friend, just don’t let it hang out for too long. 4) Last, wouldn’t it be great if life was as easy as crossing out a mistake and initialing it.
Two hours later, $70 loss for two round trips to downtown Nairobi, I arrived at Jesuit Refugee Services for the second time that day. Lucy, my navigator of everything, walks into the room and says, “You know you are stranded in a place you don’t know. I am here to help you. Sooner or later you will belong here.” I am looking forward to belonging somewhere.
