Sunday, August 29, 2010
Scattered glimpses of the week.
Thursday
9am: Flying over the jade sea in the early morning, I listened to a podcast on forgiveness. The immense lake below set the mood for a message on canceling the debt of others who may have wronged us. The concept seems so easy alone in a cockpit.
11am: I am a passenger, shooting out over an abrupt cliff. As the Earth disappears out my window, Jeff explains the safe way to depart. This airstrip checkout at Gatab was more exhilarating than I imagined! An hour earlier we were digging up thorn bushes at the lower airstrip, but now we weave a perfect line around the mountain ready to land.
6pm: I rush around the hangar in Nairobi trying to catch people I need to see and prepare a different airplane for the flight tomorrow. It is my first overnight in Nairobi. Kind of strange, since landing in Nairobi used to mean returning home. Now I am again 500 miles away from the family. Everyone at the hangar is extremely helpful, understanding this is my rare chance to be able to take care of issues in Nairobi... Passports, work projects, flight paperwork, labelling items to ship up to Loki...
Friday
4:50 am: I rush around different aisles at Nakumatt (open 24 hours- definitely Nairobi) checking off things for me, things for the family, and things for missionaries in Sudan.
7:30 am: The Cessna 206 groans down the runway. The cargo pod and cabin are completely full with boxes of medicine - almost half a ton. The seats are out to make more space. My seat, unfortunately places me too far forward in the cabin. That's gonna make for a long day...
9 am: The Tachometer shows 0 RPM. The engine sounds fine, so I know it is a display issue. I call Base on the HF radio and ask for their opinion. They give the OK to continue to Loki. I am hoping the problem is just the flexible shaft came off the tach drive of the engine. But I know it was tight this morning when I checked it, and the inspection putty showed it wasn't slipping. I run my numbers for the day and realize I can only afford 15 minutes in Loki to stay on schedule.
10:30 am: I arrive back home in Loki, but just for a quick turn. As Starline begins fueling, I take off the cowl, and unfortunately the cable is securely fastened on the tach drive. I check the cable attachment to the tachometer and it is also firmly attached. Must be a bigger issue. Well, not going any further today. Jon and I call Nairobi and arrange for parts, then I secure the plane and go home to surprise the family.
7pm: I read an e-mail saying a church in Arizona is very interested in helping us put new solar equipment on this house. This is a huge blessing, since the equipment on the house now is old and barely functional, especially during a period of cloudy days.
Saturday
9 am: I retrieve vegetables and fruit that were kept cool overnight at Jon and Ginny's, and meet Starline to go back to the plane. The new parts arrive, and after a little head scratching, find the problem with the old flexible shaft.
12:30 pm: I run the engine to test, then depart to Sudan on a two and a half hour leg.
3 pm: Land in Akot, Sudan. The meds fill up a Land Cruiser, and part of a pickup. I smile thinking that all of those boxes fit inside the small airplane. The apples and oranges I bought at Nakumatt made it fine. After refuelling and talking with the missionary couple there, I blast off. I need to be home before sunset.
4:30 pm: Climbing up past 11,000 feet with rain clouds all around, I finally stretch out my legs. Behind me are two bicycles, imprisoned by my cargo net, and a lot of space around them. And a lot of space behind me so my seat can slide back...
Saturday, August 07, 2010
No idea what to call this
Went to embassy to start renewal of kids passports, bought pet food for trip, looked at options for framing AIM AIR group photo, bought 12v fans for Loki, came home to a major leak in upstairs bathroom, took furniture to hangar to go on next available ride, figured weight available for Bre's Monday flight, went to finance, unloaded trailer, adjusted valve clearance on car's engine, took Bre to a movie, bought replacement flex line for toilet, installed line, still leaks, wrapped a ton of thread tape on connection... leaked stopped, wiped up water on floor, came into bedroom, dog on bed, must get him zzzzz
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
The Days Ahead
Will today mark the end of a calm? Or instead quieten months of
debate and politics. Tomorrow Kenyans take a simple vote ... yes or no
on whether they agree to the proposed new constitution. A diverse
country where members of parliament, I am told, make more than US
senators, yet the minimum wage starts around $60 / month; that diverse
country will decide on the direction it needs to go and the document
to guide it.
debate and politics. Tomorrow Kenyans take a simple vote ... yes or no
on whether they agree to the proposed new constitution. A diverse
country where members of parliament, I am told, make more than US
senators, yet the minimum wage starts around $60 / month; that diverse
country will decide on the direction it needs to go and the document
to guide it.
Most of the debate exceeds my depth, but the bigger issues are the
trajectory of word changes regarding abortion, exemptions to civil
rights to allow Islamic courts to function, and ownership of land. To opponents the words have become too ambiguous and open ended.
Most people I talk to don't feel there will be significant fallout
as a result of the election. Regardless, orders from management direct us to
stock up for the long haul and have everything ready for departure.
That's good and bad for us. We leave Nairobi for good this weekend, so
we're ready for departure. What's tougher is keeping our go bags ready
as we scatter stuff throughout the house in the course of hauling and
packing.
There is uncertainty. Will the vote go peacefully? If not, the road I
drive to Loki follows a string of refugee camps for displaced people
from the election two years ago. Potential hot spots.
Breanna, the kiddos, and our stuff will follow on an airplane flight
Monday, however our flight schedule is in constant flux as we wait for
the Kenya Civil Aviation Authority to decide whether our US registered
aircraft can fly in Kenya.
The days ahead? I wish I could tell you how they will go, but I have
no idea. But I know who holds tomorrow ...
When you have a spare minute- pray for Kenya, pray for our move to
Loki, and pray the work ahead telling everyone of a second chance,
grace from failure, and freedom forever... that the work will still go
ahead.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The forgotten sons of Dodoma
Two weekends ago I flew to Dodoma, the town of the beggar tribe, the Gogos. At least that's what the people in Dar Es Salaam might say. This was my first time to Dodoma, the third largest city in Tanzania, and 35 years ago a would be capital for the country. Dodoma lies in the center of Tanzania on a high plain with several rocky hills thrust upwards around the city.
AIM AIR rarely flies this route. Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) has their Tanzanian base in Dodoma, and between them and the commercial options, our aircraft are not usually needed in that region.
As the captain, it is imperative I know the when and where, but typically on a flight I have very little idea of the why. I planned on a weekend of catching up, but instead, for two days, I raced after Andrea and Dr. James, my passengers, as Andrea gave us a tour at the heart of the city. We saw the children without fathers or mothers in the picture, for whatever reason. Abandoned by the ones who should be caring for them, I could tell not only where these kids living in the heart of Dodoma, but also that our Father's heart was living with them.
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| Click on the picture to see other photos from the trip |
Saturday, May 08, 2010
This is Loki Living
Touch down in a hot afternoon, just before heavy rains. The single engine Cessna shuts down with my family and all our stuff crammed inside. Breanna fights nauseau and illness under the veranda of an abandoned terminal lounge. Olivia waits with her as Grace and Isaiah chase cats around the ramp. During a lull in the rain we load into a Samaritan's Purse Land Cruiser. In under fifteen minutes we are in our new house for the next two weeks.
I nervously look around the house, as Breanna says she needs to lie down. I have visited Lokichogio a lot of times. I told AIM AIR we are willing to move up here. Probably. I hope the family agrees with me. As I make grilled cheese sandwiches, keeping an eye on whining kids, and get ready for a flight the next day, I can't fight the feeling that this was a mistake.
It's usually better in the morning. And it was. AIM AIR's man on the ground: Starline, left a pick up for us to use. After breakfast and coffee, I take it to the airport. I fly to the first major town across the border in Sudan... twice. Once to carry a missionary family in so the can return to their village home. The radio remains quiet on both flights. Sudan, the country I fly over, votes for the first time in several decades. Most missionaries left for this period, but my passengers want to go in. I decide to stay at a higher altitude as long as possible and avoid getting close to the ground until the last five minutes. You never know. Thankfully, both trips in and out proved to be routine.
As I shut down the car, I see two kids swimming in a kiddie pool we had set up last night. Through the giggles, they look up and yell "Daddy's home." I smile and jump out of the truck. This could work after all.
Day three:
Crammed inside a white taxi, sending up a cloud of dust in Sudan. A motorcycle swerves in front of the car, bouncing over deep ruts. The bike falls over as the rider hops off. Our driver locks up the brakes. The motorcyclist and driver yell at each other. Our driver throws up his hands and turns the car around. A Kenyan pastor in the cab explains that we went through a checkpoint without stopping.
Twenty minutes later and the verbal onslaught continues, mainly against the driver. Listening proves to be our punishment for going past an invisible checkpoint. My watch keeps lifting into view. I planned to be on the ground for an hour, and the hour slips by. Finally, the Man wraps it up with a firm don't ever do it again.
"Thank you, sir!" A missionary lady says as we walk off.
"Sir! Sir! You know what the bible says. No one should have titles. I am not a Sir!" He launches into another diatribe, but it only lasts three minutes.
Our shaken driver starts the car, and with the remaining minutes we have, we visit a new church just outside of town. We gather in a circle with the pastor and the leaders. They share the struggles of the work they are in. As we pray together, I sneak a peak at the men and women who work here in Sudan so a new church grows... even in these uncertain times.
Ten minutes later we roll up to the airplane. "I've never seen something so beautiful in my life!" a missionary points out, excitedly. We fly for an hour over valleys and mountains and the Didinga Hills. We arrive in Loki where our ways part. They board another airplane back to Nairobi, still talking about their adventure in Sudan.
Day Five:
Steve Irwin's trademark vernacular comes out of the TV in the corner. We share a good Kenyan meal with Starline and his family. We sit at a long table in a large open room. Next to Starline, John watches the DVD episode on catching deadly snakes with horrified fascination. With excited gesturing, John describes snakes back in his home that can stand as tall as a man. When I ask if he wants to look for them like Steve Irwin, he recoils in his seat, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.
John's home is near Mewoun... a rugged, "overgrown" section of Sudan. We met him the first day in Loki. Not really sure who he was, I gave him some distance. He told me he was going to high school, sponsored by an AIM AIR pilot. I asked him what grade he was in. He told me he would be in 12th, but Jon, the pilot, told him he needed to repeat 11th since his grades needed improving.
The more I talk to John from Sudan, the more I admire him. Breanna asked him once where his family was. He deliberately; cautiously; painfully described that during the civil war in Sudan many children were scattered from their families. He heard from relatives that both his mom and dad died. He spent a few nights in a house next to "ours," but told me he moved to Starline's house because of loneliness.
As I sit at Starline's table, eating rice and greens, I hear Isaiah and Griffens (Starline's lad) running around the table, Steve Irwin exclaiming about a beautiful snake, and I see John staring at the TV in rapt attention. He doesn't enjoy watching snakes, but I can tell he loves the company. I realize that maybe John has a family after all.
Children herd chickens through the house to the back yard. A lot of chickens live in the compound. Many of them sneak into the house when they can. We hope they will go into the backyard to devour ticks.
Two dogs reside here at the house. Two dogs and a lot of ticks. Breanna's list of favorites puts dogs and ticks near the bottom, but she spends a lot of time pulling ticks off the restless pups. First we smashed the ticks with a hammer: too messy. So now she drowns them in mouthwash. One dog had at least 300 that Bre pulled off of him. She also pulls them off of the kids. Now its time to bring the fight to the ticks in the yard.
The chickens refuse to go where the bread crumbs and popcorn trail lead. Olivia's new friend, Lucy, grabs one by the legs, carrying the hen through the house to the backyard. Eventually three hens and two roosters feast in the backyard.
I continue working on the maintenance projects for AIM AIR which kept me busy all week. I decide to drink a cold coke while I work, but the first taste is repulsive. It tastes like bleach, not coke. Breanna had complained about the same thing on another bottle. I look at the bottles closely and realize they are a couple of years old. I suddenly remember taking a crate of bottles from a storage container where we worked on the truck. I guess they don't last forever, especially in a hot container. The old cokes would kill ticks, though.
At night it rains and rains. I wait for the rain and lightning to die down before returning the hens and roosters to their roost. I find them huddled on the corner of the patio by the fence. Breanna and the kids hold towels up as a wall to keep them from running. I grab a hen by the legs and throw it over the fence. It grabs the top of the wire mesh and beats it wings. I push on it, hoping to move it off the fence. It bobs forward, squawking, and swings right back up on top. It takes a couple pushes. The next hen tries to peck while I grab the legs. It stops as soon as I hold it upside down. This time I throw well above the top of the fence.
The kids love this. Grace wants a turn holding the chickens, but loses her nerve when they flap their wings and squawk.
The sounds of singing, strange and beautiful, arrive with the whisps of breeze through the screened window. Even though Loki is a town, right now it sounds like a village. The voices repeat a chorus following a leader. Other voices trill while the beat pulses out of hand claps and stomps. I can picture the youth in their Sunday evening celebration jumping and swaying in a circle. This morning we went to the Turkana / Swahili church service. We didn't understand much, but the music came across in an unbridled way straight from their heart. I remember thinking "This is the Africa I thought we would live in..."
As always, I loved working with Starline this week. We discussed a lot of our different perspectives on living up in Loki while polishing brake cylinders. When the conversations ended, he couldn't resist singing.
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| Isaiah tries starting an AIM AIR generator ... but the noise is a concern for him. |
At the auto parts place, I popped the hood on the vehicle we have been driving. It makes a terrible knocking sound when accelerating, a problem I couldn't figure out. I took it to the shade tree experts at the auto parts store. I watched them work, chasing the source of the problem. I love troubleshooting, and these guys did an impressive job of "fencing" instead of "hacking" at the problem. They narrowed the problem to the sensor system on the throttle. One of mechanics ran into the back and returned, armed with a light bulb, a piece of coat wire wrapped around it, and electrical wire terminated in an alligator clip. Following the wire back to a relay, they found the problem... a corroded connection to the relay. After they cleaned it, we went for a test drive. The car ran great: problem solved!
Day Thirteen:
We pack up the suitcases we lived out of and drain the pool, while listening to the sounds of quiet one last time. Lucy, Olivia's new friend, brings her a monkey as a gift. Lucy and another girl tell us they got the monkey as a baby. A rope lies tied around the monkey's waist. In a couple hours the rope is tangled around the trees. Breanna frees "Rafiki," the name given by the kids, and he follows her around. He loves to hang from her neck, or sit on her shoulder. I can almost see Breanna rapidly softening towards him.
When I get close he snarls and runs away. I don't soften towards him at all.Olivia, Grace, and even Isaiah want to keep him. I tell them he needs to stay in Loki, and when we move up here we can take care of him then. I hope Lucy won't be offended. She had asked for help with school fees, and these past two weeks I thought she had ulterior motives for spending time with the family. I think I misjudged her.
I watch the monkey following the kids around the house, then jump into Olivia's arms. I'm still not happy about him. I turn to Breanna and ask if she could live here. "Definitely," she says. "I would really love to be a part of the ladies co-op that makes crafts."
This evening seems worth savoring. John, an AIM AIR Pilot, Starline and his family, and all of us eat at the "Hotel California," a camp and buffet catering mainly for relief workers coming through Loki. Isaiah and Griffens chase each other around, while Starline tells us story after story about the unexpected in Sudan and stories about AIM AIR.
He had asked me earlier if there was a way we could keep living up in Loki.
As I walk outside the front door of the house, looking up at the stars, I hope so.
Day Fourteen:Running from the airport bathroom, the girls head for the Cessna Caravan. They had waited until the pilot, Dan, was ready to close the airplane's doors before they realized they needed to "go."
"Grace, do you want to sit up front?" I ask. I think she will enjoy it, but I also know it will make Dan's flight interesting.
As we climb out next to southern hills in the valley, Grace says: "I love flying in airplanes. You know, how in the beginning it is really exciting and interesting, then you get tired and fall asleep. I think that is really neat."
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| Grace's picture of our pilot, Captain Dan |
I think about our two weeks: my initial thought that this was a mistake, the fun I had working with Starline, watching the shade tree mechanics figure out a sensor problem, the adventure in Torit, meeting John, and watching my kids open up to new friends. The first thought that this was a mistake fades quickly in my mind. I realize we won't survive living in Loki. No, we will actually love it. Love the open space, the people, the challenges, the slow pace, and especially the work God has for us there. The future of Sudan may be uncertain, even tense, but as long as people come wanting to care for the orphans, wanting to start bible schools, wanting to spread the news of freedom from law and sin, we will thoroughly enjoy taking them where they need to go!What's Next for Us? There are three main areas that require prayer and support for us to be able to serve in Loki.
1. Adequate housing for our family. AIM AIR is deciding how best to pursue this. Their are several options, but we are waiting for a decision. AIM international, our mission organization, had a recent change in leadership over AIM AIR and this probably impacts the timeframe for a decision.
2. I need to complete my New Pilot Status. This is time for me to expand my pilot experience in eastern Africa under close guidance of the training captains here at AIM AIR. Moving to Loki would require I be moved off of New Pilot Status. This means a lot of flying for me in the next months if we are to move soon.
3. A rugged vehicle. The road from Nairobi to Loki is extremely rough. One missionary told me there is just a big enough ribbon of tarmac to hold the potholes together. He says he will never drive it again. However, for me to feel comfortable living in a border town, I think it is necessary to have a second option to evacuate besides air, and a four wheel drive vehicle would fit the requirement (also AIM's requirement as well). Our vehicle project is at 22% of the funds needed towards this goal.
Please pray during this time that all three things will come together in God's time. For now we are learning to be content in either home.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Please pray for Sudan, Loki, and us
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| On the ground in Doro. Shade provided free of charge by the DC-3. Outside temp was 42 C (108 F). |
Theories abound regarding tactics of the northern government to destabilize the south by supporting an armed cult driven north out of Uganda, as well as fueling the existing animosity between tribes of the south. Whether these are true or not, most people agree the south is not very unified right now, and peace is tenderly held.
The best thing to do RIGHT NOW: pray for the elections that have started. We hope peace will continue, violence will be thwarted, and the work of the gospel will be allowed to continue.
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| AIM AIR 206 and DC-3 on the ramp in Loki |
AIM AIR asked us to move to Lokichoggio to serve there. Lokichoggio, a ghost town near the Sudan border in Kenya, stages a lot of our flight ops into Sudan. It is fairly remote, hot, dry, and dusty, but does have its down sides as well. I have visited there several times to fly into Sudan, but never more than several nights. Breanna and the kids have never seen or experienced "Loki." So this week we plan on changing that.
We will fly up together later this week and stay in one of our co-workers houses for two weeks (they are finishing up a furlough, so the house should be available :). This is a trial run for us ... we want to make sure we aren't biting off more than we can chew. I imagine the kids will love the endless sandbox of the desert there, but it does mean giving up the convenience of the city.
Please pray it goes well and we are able to make a good decision on how to best prepare for our new assignment.
Obviously the elections in Sudan, and the reforendum next year, could have a significant impact on the operations in Loki. There has also been a change in our organization that could affect how our part in Loki operation is set up. We are learning once again the need to be flexible.
Finally, in unrelated news, we found out after church today that a fellow missionary was shot in the knee. An airplane was flown up to their area in northern Kenya to evacuate her to Nairobi for medical care. Please pray for this family. They were part of the AIM AIR team several years ago, then left to help run a bible school up in the rural part of this country.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Unthinkable
Put this down as "You'll do it once, but never again."
Yesterday I hitched a ride from Nairobi to Loki on the DC-3. I decided to stay with them as they went over a lot of Sudan, and come back to Loki in the evening. It was going to be an opportunity to see a lot of ground I need to learn in Sudan ... and they were giving me a lot of "stick time" during cruise which is always fun... think heavy on the ailerons and light on the pedals.
Well, our best laid plans ran out of time. Delays in Juba, plus a long unload and reload in Loki (including offloading four motorcycles and loading a six wheeler golf cart on steroids), put us in Kurmuk with no option to get back to Loki before sunset. So I got to see a little taste of non-South Sudan. Really interesting.
We got into Loki this morning at 10. The freight was already loaded in the 206, so I did my preflight, loaded fuel, got my passenger ready, tied down the cargo, and taxied out. I was dropping of my passenger in Werkok, a small community near the Nile River. I would pick up four passengers with not much cargo, so it was an easy trip.
In Werkok I pulled out my freight, uncovering the stowed seats I needed for the return... and slowly realized there were only two and I needed three. That meant one passenger couldn't come. I got out the satellite phone and called base to let them know and start thinking options, then broke the news to the passengers. Three needed to catch an international flight from Nairobi that night, and one was just going to Nairobi for a visit. Unfortunately, she was the one that had to stay. I wish I could describe the look on her face when she found out she had to stay one more night there... but I have blocked it out of my mind.
I spend tonight in Loki, missing the kids (even IF Grace didn't want to talk on the phone tonight... "Dad, I just don't like talking on the phone. I just want to say good night...") and especially Breanna, then tomorrow I will slip over to Werkok at the end of my day and pick up the marooned soul. The DC-3 agreed to wait in Loki for us, and we will come down to Nairobi on it. So, hopefully, not too many feelings hurt. It was a madhouse this morning as they were getting the DC-3 ready to leave, and that was part of the reason the seat got missed, among a few other things. Hopefully a cold Coke or a milkshake will help her overcome another night spent in Werkok. I'm praying so.
Goodnight from Loki.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Chapter 47: Development
This sounds post-modern. Maybe it is, or maybe it is just over-revealing, too much of an open page in a public diary.
I acknowledge I am extremely privileged to do what I do here. I will see first hand what amazing things are happening in Africa. As a pilot, I will meet and talk to people who have lived through extraordinary events. But the flip side are the times I am a small part in a big story that I can't always wrap my intellect around. Like my part was written into a middle chapter of an epic novel, between the introduction and denoument. A part of the plot development.
That was last Thursday. I looked over my right shoulder, straining against my shoulder harness to look down, towards the floor of the Cessna 206, in which I had spent around five hours that day. Mary was there, eye lids barely open, and completely unresponsive to the world. At least, I was told her name is Mary. An IV hung from a cargo ring, tied with a bandana. And I can still hear her labored, raspy breathing. It sounded like her diaphragm was moving fluid more than air. The nurse kept pushing on her left side, I am guessing to help clear the fluid. Mary's whole body seemed unnaturally swollen and yellow.
"We need to get her into a hospital now so they can remove the fluid," the nurse told me, no longer with a level tone in her voice.
Mary was intubated through a nostril, and I asked the nurse if she had a syringe that could be used to pull the fluid out through the tube. She just shook her head. Because of someone's miscommunication, we were waiting on the ramp in Nairobi for an ambulance to arrive and take her to a hospital. We didn't know where because that decision was still being made. The thought grew stronger in my mind that she may die on the floor of this airplane. On the ground. In Nairobi.
I was supposed to be on a flight to Sudan. The "seventh crew member on the DC-3" one of the pilots later joked with a half smile. The DC-3 would have been my ride to Lokichoggio along with several other pilots who were flying for a couple days in Sudan. I was looking forward to it since it would be an opportunity to get checked out in a few new areas. Then the flight request came. A sick person wanted to go home and another sick person needed a ride to Nairobi. Our chief pilot could take the flight, but he thought this would be a good experience for me. So I decided to see those parts of Sudan another time.
The details sauntered in. One passenger would pay at the destination, but I needed to get cash from the other passenger for their portion of the flight. The sick lady couldn't sit up, so we needed a way for her to lie down in the 206. More importantly, I was briefed on the route of the flight. The first stop is inside military airspace, and required special instruction. All three stops were new airstrips to me, so I studied our airstrip directory and listened to the briefings about each of them.
Thursday morning I found myself taxiing into Nanyuki airstrip. I had been there before on a weekend trip with friends to the base of Mount Kenya. It is a different airstrip than most we fly to- with a nice cafe and interesting selection of general aviation aircraft in the hangars. It feels a lot like the States. It is also at a fairly high elevation, as the ground rises towards the tallest mountain in the country. As I rolled to parking, AIM AIR base told me on the radio that my passengers called and said they were still 10 minutes away.
I replied I understood, but was confused why they weren't already here... I took the time to check my fuel and oil, take a first stab at the cargo and passenger loading and work on my takeoff performance. I was planning on a sick man and his wife plus a small travel bag for both of them. As I was leaning through the pilot door scribbling numbers down on the pilots seat turned desk, out of the corner of my eye I caught a matatu (public mini bus) pull into the gravel parking lot. It stood out from the safari vans and Land Rovers next to it. As I stared, four Kenyans emerged. They stood out from the clientele that was lounging in the open air cafe. I started walking over to the group of dazed people in faded worn clothes. One of the men was as skinny as a rail, and I had a hunch these were my passengers.
"AIM AIR?" I asked,
No recognition. I motioned to the north... as if that would communicate more.
"Gatab." One of them said.
OK, right people. That's where they are going. Then they started pulling things out of the back of the matatu. A lot of things. A double or queen mattress, a large woven plastic sack of potatoes, four back packs, four boxes, and several shopping bags. My ground time was already hitting fifteen minutes, and I needed to think about arranging this cargo in a small airplane already arranged for a makeshift stretcher.
I hung our fish scale on the right wing tie down, and guessed at what would fit in the pod. One of the airport personnel helped as I weighed things and he put them in the pod. Then we rolled up the mattress and placed it with the oversized box in the rear of the plane. I pulled the net back against the mattress and tied it back.
"You are going to tie it down?" The sick man asked. I nodded. Everything inside gets tied down, even his mattress.
I ran my numbers again. Fortunately I had overestimated body weights, but underestimated the amount of cargo. It worked out still, and after 45 minutes on the ground, we were moving.
AIM AIR has a pilot family based in Gatab, and Jeff was there to meet me. I am not checked out on the upper Gatab strip, which is by the mission station. I haven't seen it, but it is a little tricky since it ends at the edge of a cliff. So I went to the lower airstrip. It meant Jeff had to drive down to pick up these passengers. He arrived in time to pull out some thorn bushes on the runway and gave me a good touchdown zone to shoot for. I overflew the dirt runway, then went into a pattern for landing. The terrain in the area is amazing, with deep gorges cut into the mountain that Gatab is built on. As I lined up on final, it was all I could do to work the throttle to keep the airplane stabilized on the approach. The wind whipping over the hills was turbulent at best.
On the trip to Gatab, base had informed me that the lady in Marsabit was getting worse, and they needed me to do a quick turn at Gatab. I just had to unload, so it shouldn't be a problem. Plus, with Jeff helping, it should go fast. After the rocky approach, we touched down firmly, rolled to a stop, then taxied back to Jeff's Land Rover. He was running up from the approach end of the runway, engulfed in a cloud of dust from the slipstream of the propeller. I shut down, and was ready to pop open my door when the man said something about prayer.
I didn't quite understand. I prayed with the whole group before we took off, and I thought he wanted me to pray again. I said that I could, then he pointed to his wife. He wanted her to pray. I looked at Jeff running up to the airplane. "OK," I said as I nodded my head. I was thinking maybe the landing was rougher than I thought, and they had seen their life flash before their eyes. I was also thinking, though I hate to admit this, that I hope this goes quickly because I needed to keep moving.
It didn't. She prayed slowly and deliberately thanking God for His blessings, for life, and for health. Thanking Him for the safe journey. I think about it now, and I get goosebumps, but at the time I was not focused on what she was saying.
After "Amen" I popped the door open, and helped them get out. I started unloading the pod while Jeff unloaded the rear of the plane. He gave me some pointers on taking off from the airstrip and a briefing on landing at Marsabit. Then I checked fuel and oil. Both were doing great. This whole trip would be on round trip fuel. It amazes me that I can do that in this plane, and still carry the load I did. It was also my first time to need to use the tip tanks, which carry two extra hours of fuel that I can transfer into the main tanks as their fuel is burned off. The whole process worked perfectly.
Jeff asked if I had lunch yet. "Nope, that's next." I replied. He laughed and said I had enough time between here and Marsabit to eat something.
The 40 minute flight went fast. I wolfed down sandwiches and pulled hard on the water that was still ice cold. Then I ran some numbers for my next stop. I hoped this time the cargo wouldn't be excessive.
As I arrived and taxied into the parking area in Marsabit, I saw a white Cessna Caravan parked there with a huge crowd behind it. I was trying to figure out why the crowd was there. Then I saw an ambulance in the middle of the crowd and the pilot of the Caravan looking at me arrive, and I suddenly knew.
The other pilot is a Christian man who flies for an operator also at Wilson airport. He said hi to me, then "Well, captain, I'll leave you to it." As headed off.
Akeem was my contact person for this flight. I spotted him quickly in the crowd from the clothes he was wearing, and his shape was totally different from the rest. He is a transporter, and has helped out a lot of the missionaries in the area. I still don't know his relationship to the sick lady, other than he wanted to help them.
"You are late!" Was the first thing out of his mouth. The crowd had waited since 11 am. It was now 1pm. Not sure why they thought I would make it by 11, I dismissed his comment. He also said that there would be now a total of four passengers. This was news to me.
"I was told there was only three."
"Yes, but you see you are late, and now we need to take four."
I didn't follow the logic, and decided I should make a quick call home. I explained the situation to our base, and they said it was my call. I ran the numbers, and I could take all of them out within our AIM AIR guidelines with margin to spare. Fortunately the only luggage they had were two briefcases and two plastic bags. Praise God!
I asked Hakeem why the extra person? He explained that as the day wore on, the patient's condition became worse, and they felt they needed to send a nurse along. The extra person was a nurse. That convinced me. "OK, no problem."
From the first minute I arrived in Marsabit, I was shadowed by a man who I always bumped into when I turned around. I had to part the crowd to get to my seat, to get to the cargo door, or to the wing and engine. Everytime I turned around, this guy managed to be right there.
"I have flown on these airplanes!" He told me over and over. "I know AIM AIR!"
He told me he almost died and one of our planes flew him to Gatab where he was treated in our clinic. I wish I could have heard more, but now wasn't the time.
I had one more matter to settle. I told Hakeem I had been told that he would pay for the flight here in Marsabit. I hated to have to bring it up now, but it needed to be addressed. Hakeem pointed to the lady's brother, who was eager to pay what was expected.
I loaded the three well passengers in and briefed them on the doors and seat belts, as well as first aid and survival equipment and fire extinguisher locations. Then I told them they could put the patient in the plane. I was shocked when I first saw her. She was much worse off than just anyone who had to lie down. I gingerly helped put two seat belts over her legs and waist to secure her onto the back board we had mounted in the airplane. I couldn't quite tell how hard to sinch the belts, since it seemed her body was quite bloated. Her breathing had a rattle to it, and the sliver of her eyes that was showing showed no recognition of what was going on around her.
When she was secured, a sickly odor filled the airplane. One that almost made me want to give back my hurriedly eaten lunch from a half hour ago. Before I got in I told everyone I wanted to pray first. I wasn't sure what they believed, so I prayed for protection and for the strength of the patient and for her health. I also thanked God for sending His Son so we could all have Life.
It was a two hour flight to Nairobi. It had been bumpy all day, and I wanted to get above the scattered clouds, but I didn't want to go too high and cause undue stress on the patient's laboring lungs. I found a good smooth altitude that put us up just high enough to scoot over Nanyuki in the shadow of Mount Kenya again, then down to Nairobi.
After landing at Wilson, base said to call them when I shut down. That's when I learned that the original planned hospital couldn't admit her. They had been told she would be an outpatient, but when they realized how critical she was, they knew they didn't have the room to care for her.
Those ten minutes of waiting on the ground were hard. I racked my brain trying to figure out what to do. I was just about to call AIM AIR and ask if we can have one of our missionary nurses come to help, when I saw the ambulance pull up to the gate. I ran up to the driver and started giving him directions to the plane. He looked at me like I was crazy.
"Are you Saint Johns?" He shook his head, and drove across the ramp to the emergency garage for the airport.
Then I saw another ambulance pulling up. In blue it said "Saint Johns," the name of the company I was told would be coming to get her. Musioki, one of our flight line dispatchers, and a pastor and friend, was their to guide them to the airplane. They carefully moved Mary from the 206 into the rickety mini bus ambulance. I noticed they put her on oxygen, and she was still breathing.
Musioki asked me which hospital they were taking her to. I told him, and he shook his head slightly. "That is the worst! She will die there." I didn't want to believe it, but I knew he might be right.
There must have been relatives that arrived on the ambulance. One of them burst into tears when he saw her laying in the airplane. The brother had been sitting next to me on the flight down. He had come because he knows Nairobi. I think he was still out of his league because he spoke absolutely no English. I had shared a candy bar with him and let him take some pictures with my camera. Before he left with the ambulance he grabbed my hand and told me his name, slowly, while his eyes watered. I just nodded my head. I think he was saying thank you.
Musioki and I watched the ambulance drive off, now with their sirens going. I don't know if I will see Mary again, but I hope so. It would be nice to see how this story ends.
As I try to understand all that happened on that day, I do find a joy in knowing that even though I never know the opening or closing chapters, I am part of God's story, and those unknown chapters will be the very best they could be.
I acknowledge I am extremely privileged to do what I do here. I will see first hand what amazing things are happening in Africa. As a pilot, I will meet and talk to people who have lived through extraordinary events. But the flip side are the times I am a small part in a big story that I can't always wrap my intellect around. Like my part was written into a middle chapter of an epic novel, between the introduction and denoument. A part of the plot development.
That was last Thursday. I looked over my right shoulder, straining against my shoulder harness to look down, towards the floor of the Cessna 206, in which I had spent around five hours that day. Mary was there, eye lids barely open, and completely unresponsive to the world. At least, I was told her name is Mary. An IV hung from a cargo ring, tied with a bandana. And I can still hear her labored, raspy breathing. It sounded like her diaphragm was moving fluid more than air. The nurse kept pushing on her left side, I am guessing to help clear the fluid. Mary's whole body seemed unnaturally swollen and yellow.
"We need to get her into a hospital now so they can remove the fluid," the nurse told me, no longer with a level tone in her voice.
Mary was intubated through a nostril, and I asked the nurse if she had a syringe that could be used to pull the fluid out through the tube. She just shook her head. Because of someone's miscommunication, we were waiting on the ramp in Nairobi for an ambulance to arrive and take her to a hospital. We didn't know where because that decision was still being made. The thought grew stronger in my mind that she may die on the floor of this airplane. On the ground. In Nairobi.
I was supposed to be on a flight to Sudan. The "seventh crew member on the DC-3" one of the pilots later joked with a half smile. The DC-3 would have been my ride to Lokichoggio along with several other pilots who were flying for a couple days in Sudan. I was looking forward to it since it would be an opportunity to get checked out in a few new areas. Then the flight request came. A sick person wanted to go home and another sick person needed a ride to Nairobi. Our chief pilot could take the flight, but he thought this would be a good experience for me. So I decided to see those parts of Sudan another time.
The details sauntered in. One passenger would pay at the destination, but I needed to get cash from the other passenger for their portion of the flight. The sick lady couldn't sit up, so we needed a way for her to lie down in the 206. More importantly, I was briefed on the route of the flight. The first stop is inside military airspace, and required special instruction. All three stops were new airstrips to me, so I studied our airstrip directory and listened to the briefings about each of them.
Thursday morning I found myself taxiing into Nanyuki airstrip. I had been there before on a weekend trip with friends to the base of Mount Kenya. It is a different airstrip than most we fly to- with a nice cafe and interesting selection of general aviation aircraft in the hangars. It feels a lot like the States. It is also at a fairly high elevation, as the ground rises towards the tallest mountain in the country. As I rolled to parking, AIM AIR base told me on the radio that my passengers called and said they were still 10 minutes away.
I replied I understood, but was confused why they weren't already here... I took the time to check my fuel and oil, take a first stab at the cargo and passenger loading and work on my takeoff performance. I was planning on a sick man and his wife plus a small travel bag for both of them. As I was leaning through the pilot door scribbling numbers down on the pilots seat turned desk, out of the corner of my eye I caught a matatu (public mini bus) pull into the gravel parking lot. It stood out from the safari vans and Land Rovers next to it. As I stared, four Kenyans emerged. They stood out from the clientele that was lounging in the open air cafe. I started walking over to the group of dazed people in faded worn clothes. One of the men was as skinny as a rail, and I had a hunch these were my passengers.
"AIM AIR?" I asked,
No recognition. I motioned to the north... as if that would communicate more.
"Gatab." One of them said.
OK, right people. That's where they are going. Then they started pulling things out of the back of the matatu. A lot of things. A double or queen mattress, a large woven plastic sack of potatoes, four back packs, four boxes, and several shopping bags. My ground time was already hitting fifteen minutes, and I needed to think about arranging this cargo in a small airplane already arranged for a makeshift stretcher.
I hung our fish scale on the right wing tie down, and guessed at what would fit in the pod. One of the airport personnel helped as I weighed things and he put them in the pod. Then we rolled up the mattress and placed it with the oversized box in the rear of the plane. I pulled the net back against the mattress and tied it back.
"You are going to tie it down?" The sick man asked. I nodded. Everything inside gets tied down, even his mattress.
I ran my numbers again. Fortunately I had overestimated body weights, but underestimated the amount of cargo. It worked out still, and after 45 minutes on the ground, we were moving.
AIM AIR has a pilot family based in Gatab, and Jeff was there to meet me. I am not checked out on the upper Gatab strip, which is by the mission station. I haven't seen it, but it is a little tricky since it ends at the edge of a cliff. So I went to the lower airstrip. It meant Jeff had to drive down to pick up these passengers. He arrived in time to pull out some thorn bushes on the runway and gave me a good touchdown zone to shoot for. I overflew the dirt runway, then went into a pattern for landing. The terrain in the area is amazing, with deep gorges cut into the mountain that Gatab is built on. As I lined up on final, it was all I could do to work the throttle to keep the airplane stabilized on the approach. The wind whipping over the hills was turbulent at best.
On the trip to Gatab, base had informed me that the lady in Marsabit was getting worse, and they needed me to do a quick turn at Gatab. I just had to unload, so it shouldn't be a problem. Plus, with Jeff helping, it should go fast. After the rocky approach, we touched down firmly, rolled to a stop, then taxied back to Jeff's Land Rover. He was running up from the approach end of the runway, engulfed in a cloud of dust from the slipstream of the propeller. I shut down, and was ready to pop open my door when the man said something about prayer.
I didn't quite understand. I prayed with the whole group before we took off, and I thought he wanted me to pray again. I said that I could, then he pointed to his wife. He wanted her to pray. I looked at Jeff running up to the airplane. "OK," I said as I nodded my head. I was thinking maybe the landing was rougher than I thought, and they had seen their life flash before their eyes. I was also thinking, though I hate to admit this, that I hope this goes quickly because I needed to keep moving.
It didn't. She prayed slowly and deliberately thanking God for His blessings, for life, and for health. Thanking Him for the safe journey. I think about it now, and I get goosebumps, but at the time I was not focused on what she was saying.
After "Amen" I popped the door open, and helped them get out. I started unloading the pod while Jeff unloaded the rear of the plane. He gave me some pointers on taking off from the airstrip and a briefing on landing at Marsabit. Then I checked fuel and oil. Both were doing great. This whole trip would be on round trip fuel. It amazes me that I can do that in this plane, and still carry the load I did. It was also my first time to need to use the tip tanks, which carry two extra hours of fuel that I can transfer into the main tanks as their fuel is burned off. The whole process worked perfectly.
Jeff asked if I had lunch yet. "Nope, that's next." I replied. He laughed and said I had enough time between here and Marsabit to eat something.
The 40 minute flight went fast. I wolfed down sandwiches and pulled hard on the water that was still ice cold. Then I ran some numbers for my next stop. I hoped this time the cargo wouldn't be excessive.
As I arrived and taxied into the parking area in Marsabit, I saw a white Cessna Caravan parked there with a huge crowd behind it. I was trying to figure out why the crowd was there. Then I saw an ambulance in the middle of the crowd and the pilot of the Caravan looking at me arrive, and I suddenly knew.
The other pilot is a Christian man who flies for an operator also at Wilson airport. He said hi to me, then "Well, captain, I'll leave you to it." As headed off.
Akeem was my contact person for this flight. I spotted him quickly in the crowd from the clothes he was wearing, and his shape was totally different from the rest. He is a transporter, and has helped out a lot of the missionaries in the area. I still don't know his relationship to the sick lady, other than he wanted to help them.
"You are late!" Was the first thing out of his mouth. The crowd had waited since 11 am. It was now 1pm. Not sure why they thought I would make it by 11, I dismissed his comment. He also said that there would be now a total of four passengers. This was news to me.
"I was told there was only three."
"Yes, but you see you are late, and now we need to take four."
I didn't follow the logic, and decided I should make a quick call home. I explained the situation to our base, and they said it was my call. I ran the numbers, and I could take all of them out within our AIM AIR guidelines with margin to spare. Fortunately the only luggage they had were two briefcases and two plastic bags. Praise God!
I asked Hakeem why the extra person? He explained that as the day wore on, the patient's condition became worse, and they felt they needed to send a nurse along. The extra person was a nurse. That convinced me. "OK, no problem."
From the first minute I arrived in Marsabit, I was shadowed by a man who I always bumped into when I turned around. I had to part the crowd to get to my seat, to get to the cargo door, or to the wing and engine. Everytime I turned around, this guy managed to be right there.
"I have flown on these airplanes!" He told me over and over. "I know AIM AIR!"
He told me he almost died and one of our planes flew him to Gatab where he was treated in our clinic. I wish I could have heard more, but now wasn't the time.
I had one more matter to settle. I told Hakeem I had been told that he would pay for the flight here in Marsabit. I hated to have to bring it up now, but it needed to be addressed. Hakeem pointed to the lady's brother, who was eager to pay what was expected.
I loaded the three well passengers in and briefed them on the doors and seat belts, as well as first aid and survival equipment and fire extinguisher locations. Then I told them they could put the patient in the plane. I was shocked when I first saw her. She was much worse off than just anyone who had to lie down. I gingerly helped put two seat belts over her legs and waist to secure her onto the back board we had mounted in the airplane. I couldn't quite tell how hard to sinch the belts, since it seemed her body was quite bloated. Her breathing had a rattle to it, and the sliver of her eyes that was showing showed no recognition of what was going on around her.
When she was secured, a sickly odor filled the airplane. One that almost made me want to give back my hurriedly eaten lunch from a half hour ago. Before I got in I told everyone I wanted to pray first. I wasn't sure what they believed, so I prayed for protection and for the strength of the patient and for her health. I also thanked God for sending His Son so we could all have Life.
It was a two hour flight to Nairobi. It had been bumpy all day, and I wanted to get above the scattered clouds, but I didn't want to go too high and cause undue stress on the patient's laboring lungs. I found a good smooth altitude that put us up just high enough to scoot over Nanyuki in the shadow of Mount Kenya again, then down to Nairobi.
After landing at Wilson, base said to call them when I shut down. That's when I learned that the original planned hospital couldn't admit her. They had been told she would be an outpatient, but when they realized how critical she was, they knew they didn't have the room to care for her.
Those ten minutes of waiting on the ground were hard. I racked my brain trying to figure out what to do. I was just about to call AIM AIR and ask if we can have one of our missionary nurses come to help, when I saw the ambulance pull up to the gate. I ran up to the driver and started giving him directions to the plane. He looked at me like I was crazy.
"Are you Saint Johns?" He shook his head, and drove across the ramp to the emergency garage for the airport.
Then I saw another ambulance pulling up. In blue it said "Saint Johns," the name of the company I was told would be coming to get her. Musioki, one of our flight line dispatchers, and a pastor and friend, was their to guide them to the airplane. They carefully moved Mary from the 206 into the rickety mini bus ambulance. I noticed they put her on oxygen, and she was still breathing.
Musioki asked me which hospital they were taking her to. I told him, and he shook his head slightly. "That is the worst! She will die there." I didn't want to believe it, but I knew he might be right.
There must have been relatives that arrived on the ambulance. One of them burst into tears when he saw her laying in the airplane. The brother had been sitting next to me on the flight down. He had come because he knows Nairobi. I think he was still out of his league because he spoke absolutely no English. I had shared a candy bar with him and let him take some pictures with my camera. Before he left with the ambulance he grabbed my hand and told me his name, slowly, while his eyes watered. I just nodded my head. I think he was saying thank you.
Musioki and I watched the ambulance drive off, now with their sirens going. I don't know if I will see Mary again, but I hope so. It would be nice to see how this story ends.
As I try to understand all that happened on that day, I do find a joy in knowing that even though I never know the opening or closing chapters, I am part of God's story, and those unknown chapters will be the very best they could be.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
White tents and gold bars
Another white tent is fluttering in our neighborhood. Breanna and I learned several months ago what that meant. Last year it was in the front yard of a house two doors down. We received an invitation to attend the memorial service and donate to help cover costs.
This white tent is further down the street from us. However, it has had a bigger impact. It has meant an empty desk across the hall from where I sit. Carolyn, who provides a great service in our bookings
department, lost her son two weeks ago. In an airplane accident.
The tent went up the next day.
Every night she has had friends come over from church, from work, and from family, and they spend time singing from the hymn book, and then share some updates on the arrangements for the burials. His flight training complete up to the point of being a flight instructor, Daudi (David in English) was attending a bible school in Michigan. Getting his body over here took a lot of time. The bible school paid for everything to bring his body to Kenya.
The more I hear about Daudi the more I am impressed. I actually had heard of him two years ago while I was talking to a friend at Eastside Community Church in Wichita. My friend's uncle, Barry, was one of several people wanting to help Daudi get through his training as a pilot / mechanic in the US.
He must have been very focused, dependable, and charismatic. All the old timers speak well of him. Many wanted to help, and he turned them down. While he wanted to be a professional pilot, he wanted to keep his options open. Perhaps we would return and join AIM AIR, or perhaps he had his sites elsewhere. Wherever that was, no one doubts he would be serving God.
Tomorrow we bury him here in Nairobi. Again, pilots have been asked to attend in uniform... white shirts with the gold bars. As I imagine wearing that shirt again, the bars become heavier and heavier.
I went to Carolyn's house for one of the evening services under the white tent. Her strength of character is amazing to see. I think I see where Daudi got his quality. She fled her home country when Daudi was
still small, and has lived in Nairobi as an estranged non-citizen. But you would never know it. She tackles each assignment with grace and poise that makes a person feel good about the day when you leave the office. That is how the time was under the tent. Catching up with friends, sharing memories about her son. Meeting previously unmet wives or husbands attached to coworkers.
I don't know what tomorrow will be like. It will be my first African funeral, and I am a little apprehensive. I don't think I need to be, though, knowing as much as I do about this mother and the son she raised across borders and set free to pursue a dream of flying in a distant country. And as hard as it is to see a mother bury her son, this was no ordinary son, and this is no ordinary mother. Those bars
don't feel so heavy now...
This white tent is further down the street from us. However, it has had a bigger impact. It has meant an empty desk across the hall from where I sit. Carolyn, who provides a great service in our bookings
department, lost her son two weeks ago. In an airplane accident.
The tent went up the next day.
Every night she has had friends come over from church, from work, and from family, and they spend time singing from the hymn book, and then share some updates on the arrangements for the burials. His flight training complete up to the point of being a flight instructor, Daudi (David in English) was attending a bible school in Michigan. Getting his body over here took a lot of time. The bible school paid for everything to bring his body to Kenya.
The more I hear about Daudi the more I am impressed. I actually had heard of him two years ago while I was talking to a friend at Eastside Community Church in Wichita. My friend's uncle, Barry, was one of several people wanting to help Daudi get through his training as a pilot / mechanic in the US.
He must have been very focused, dependable, and charismatic. All the old timers speak well of him. Many wanted to help, and he turned them down. While he wanted to be a professional pilot, he wanted to keep his options open. Perhaps we would return and join AIM AIR, or perhaps he had his sites elsewhere. Wherever that was, no one doubts he would be serving God.
Tomorrow we bury him here in Nairobi. Again, pilots have been asked to attend in uniform... white shirts with the gold bars. As I imagine wearing that shirt again, the bars become heavier and heavier.
I went to Carolyn's house for one of the evening services under the white tent. Her strength of character is amazing to see. I think I see where Daudi got his quality. She fled her home country when Daudi was
still small, and has lived in Nairobi as an estranged non-citizen. But you would never know it. She tackles each assignment with grace and poise that makes a person feel good about the day when you leave the office. That is how the time was under the tent. Catching up with friends, sharing memories about her son. Meeting previously unmet wives or husbands attached to coworkers.
I don't know what tomorrow will be like. It will be my first African funeral, and I am a little apprehensive. I don't think I need to be, though, knowing as much as I do about this mother and the son she raised across borders and set free to pursue a dream of flying in a distant country. And as hard as it is to see a mother bury her son, this was no ordinary son, and this is no ordinary mother. Those bars
don't feel so heavy now...
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Just the other day...
... actually, the same day, just a year ago, we were leaving Pearl River, NY. We had expected the time there to be a chance to "get to know" other missionaries all heading out to various parts in Africa. Instead, it was actually a day to get all affairs in order. As we drove to the airport in several vans, apprehension was mixed with fatigue and relief.
We arrived just before midnight on the 17th, and got to our room around 3 am on the 18th.
I am sorting through the towers of video tape we took during the last year, and will put a little montage together to share. I don't think it will be done by the 18th! :)
It's an hour until practice for our church's music team. I am also catching up on e-mail. A friend is organizing a trip from the US to offer help in Haiti (let me know if you would be interested, in can put you in touch). I wish I could lend a hand, but at the same time after a year, I understand what it means to live here, the place God has put us, or perhaps it is better to say: the place God made us for?
Finally, I thought I would share some surprises we found during this year:
1. My English is not very good (At least according to the Kenyans I work with).
2. Getting up to flying status would be such a lengthy process (thanks to the unexpected)
3. Talking on the radio feels a lot like starting over (related to number 1)
4. Kids adjusting to Nairobi life so fast (the families living nearby are a big help)
5. How much of an American I really am (just wishing things would work smoothly over here :)
6. Everybody flashes each other (ringing them on the cell phone just short enough so they don't answer - it saves money).
7. We sing a lot of hymns in church.
8. We're actually feeling cold with unseasonably cool 65 degree temps.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Nairobi Eclipse
This morning (Jan 15) we had a solar eclipse. Kenya was one of the prime viewing areas, apparently. Second hand information said that the next event like this would occur in 1000 years... Oh and we had completely overcast skies!
Out came the cell phones to take pictures of the eclipse!
The eclipse was supposed to peak at around 8:20. This was taken at 8:44. We only caught glimpses of the sun through thinning in the clouds.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Saturday mornings - jumamosi asabuhi
It has been awhile since the last post. No, it's not that I have been busy. I have really come to hate that word. It seems like "stayin' busy" is almost an American greeting these days. It always seems like a vague excuse for not getting something done, while reassuring oneself.
The reason for the gap is that the road grader of my mind has had its blade set too deep, and a quick blog post turns into a five page essay. I forget what I wanted to convey, then I wake up and it is morning, the next day. Just like I'm about to do again here... my quick Saturday morning story turning into a philosophical introspection.
Saturday mornings for me offer a golden opportunity. From 9am to 1pm the hardware stores are still open deep in the bowels and just below the heart of the city. Because of traffic, the golden time is really 9 am to 11 am. During the week, they keep the same hours as I do at the hangar, so I rarely get a chance to get to them.
I whip out my PDA the night before and make a to do list.
Screen material for our windows
AC compressor for the car
Machine a flywheel puller for a BMW F650 motorbike
Look for a suit for a wedding in two weeks
This morning I got a late start. I have been wanting to slow down in my quiet time and spend more time with fewer Bible verses. Then I discovered a GREAT resource: www.biblestudytools.com. It has a complete Strong's reference with quick links to click on and a tenth the weight of hardcopy! Then I felt inspired on how to write an end of year letter for AIM AIR, so I typed out a rough draft. By then, it was almost 10.
I drove into the industrial area. It is kind of exciting place, especially if diesel fumes, dust and vehicles going every direction seems exciting to you. I found General Engineering, the machine shop. I had to wiggle the car over a curb between a Mercedes and a pickup. I didn't want to drop off the curb and bump the Mercedes, so I left the car kind of angle out, ready for a quick getaway.
The machine shop supervisor saw my picture and instantly knew what I wanted. "I can have it ready by Monday," he said in a strong Indian accent. He assured me it would be made with strong steel.
As I walked back to my car, a city official in a yellow trench coat intercepted me. She was selling parking permits for the day. 140 shillings. Lucky it was her and not the trench coats with the tire boots. I pay my fee, and put the ticket in the window.
Because I really like my parking job, I decide to walk to some of the other shops. I walk from one end of the street to the other trying to find a good deal on a 12 volt air compressor to put in our car. Not on the list, I know, but I could really use it. One shop has a decent one for a higher price than I like. The other has a cheaper one made in China. It looks like it might fall apart in the first attempt at operation. While I look it over, Breanna calls me back. I had tried to get ahold of her between shops.
"Hey babe, I found some air compressors for the car, and I want to buy myself a Christmas present." She asks about my previous wish for Christmas. "I could really use this today!" I plead. It's true. I am trying to get a tire fixed on a Honda XL 600, another bike I am borrowing until... forget it, it's a complicated story.
I find a store with screen material. They also have foot pumps, so I decide to ask for the air compressor there. The owner sends a Kenyan boy out as a runner to some other shop. He returns with a Craftsman unit. For 7000 shillings, almost $100. I don't need one that bad. So he sends out another runner, and the guy comes back with a cheaper one of still decent quality. I take it. It will be a big help today, and provides peace of mind when we are driving outside of the city.
Time is running out, so I move down to Dar Es Salaam road where the used car part stores are lined up. A missionary gave me a tip on finding AC compressors. Traffic is getting bad, and I finally find the area he mentioned. The street is full, but I pull into a parking area made for about 5 cars. It is so tight, I crawl out the passenger side.
I find the shop. It is upstairs in what would work in the US as a small used CD shop. Here it is a junkyard. With shelves of car parts: stereos, mufflers, engines, wheels, rims, I squeeze in trying to find an employee. I explain what I am looking for. A guy comes downstairs with me and looks at the part on the car.
We run back upstairs. On top of the car stereos I had noticed a Fender bass guitar plugged into a boom box stereo unit. Apparently one of the customers was interested in it and a worker was showing it to them. I guess neither of them knew how to play it.
"Do you play this?" they ask me. I nodded, wondering what about me would have even made them ask. With grease and oil stained hands, I strap on the bass. The strap is so tight, I almost feel choked. We get it loosened, and I start pounding away. It is terribly out of tune, and produces sounds of perhaps a different culture's scale system. I tune it briefly, slap the strings a little more, then realize I am losing focus.
"It sounds very good, but the strings are raised way too high" I tell the guys.
Meanwhile, the other worker found an AC compressor of the same part number still bolted to an engine on the bottom shelf. I can't believe in this small of a shop he could find one.
"How can I be sure it will work?"
"You can install it. If it doesn't work, then bring it back."
"How long do I have to bring it back?"
"Maybe one or two days."
Hmm, not too great, but probably a decent deal for here. I ask for their number and promise to think about it.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I am let to get home and load up the kids for a small group Christmas party. With traffic the way it is, there is no time to swing by a taylor and ask about a suit.
I'll put it on the list for next Saturday...
The reason for the gap is that the road grader of my mind has had its blade set too deep, and a quick blog post turns into a five page essay. I forget what I wanted to convey, then I wake up and it is morning, the next day. Just like I'm about to do again here... my quick Saturday morning story turning into a philosophical introspection.
Saturday mornings for me offer a golden opportunity. From 9am to 1pm the hardware stores are still open deep in the bowels and just below the heart of the city. Because of traffic, the golden time is really 9 am to 11 am. During the week, they keep the same hours as I do at the hangar, so I rarely get a chance to get to them.
I whip out my PDA the night before and make a to do list.
Screen material for our windows
AC compressor for the car
Machine a flywheel puller for a BMW F650 motorbike
Look for a suit for a wedding in two weeks
This morning I got a late start. I have been wanting to slow down in my quiet time and spend more time with fewer Bible verses. Then I discovered a GREAT resource: www.biblestudytools.com. It has a complete Strong's reference with quick links to click on and a tenth the weight of hardcopy! Then I felt inspired on how to write an end of year letter for AIM AIR, so I typed out a rough draft. By then, it was almost 10.
I drove into the industrial area. It is kind of exciting place, especially if diesel fumes, dust and vehicles going every direction seems exciting to you. I found General Engineering, the machine shop. I had to wiggle the car over a curb between a Mercedes and a pickup. I didn't want to drop off the curb and bump the Mercedes, so I left the car kind of angle out, ready for a quick getaway.
The machine shop supervisor saw my picture and instantly knew what I wanted. "I can have it ready by Monday," he said in a strong Indian accent. He assured me it would be made with strong steel.
As I walked back to my car, a city official in a yellow trench coat intercepted me. She was selling parking permits for the day. 140 shillings. Lucky it was her and not the trench coats with the tire boots. I pay my fee, and put the ticket in the window.
Because I really like my parking job, I decide to walk to some of the other shops. I walk from one end of the street to the other trying to find a good deal on a 12 volt air compressor to put in our car. Not on the list, I know, but I could really use it. One shop has a decent one for a higher price than I like. The other has a cheaper one made in China. It looks like it might fall apart in the first attempt at operation. While I look it over, Breanna calls me back. I had tried to get ahold of her between shops.
"Hey babe, I found some air compressors for the car, and I want to buy myself a Christmas present." She asks about my previous wish for Christmas. "I could really use this today!" I plead. It's true. I am trying to get a tire fixed on a Honda XL 600, another bike I am borrowing until... forget it, it's a complicated story.
I find a store with screen material. They also have foot pumps, so I decide to ask for the air compressor there. The owner sends a Kenyan boy out as a runner to some other shop. He returns with a Craftsman unit. For 7000 shillings, almost $100. I don't need one that bad. So he sends out another runner, and the guy comes back with a cheaper one of still decent quality. I take it. It will be a big help today, and provides peace of mind when we are driving outside of the city.
Time is running out, so I move down to Dar Es Salaam road where the used car part stores are lined up. A missionary gave me a tip on finding AC compressors. Traffic is getting bad, and I finally find the area he mentioned. The street is full, but I pull into a parking area made for about 5 cars. It is so tight, I crawl out the passenger side.
I find the shop. It is upstairs in what would work in the US as a small used CD shop. Here it is a junkyard. With shelves of car parts: stereos, mufflers, engines, wheels, rims, I squeeze in trying to find an employee. I explain what I am looking for. A guy comes downstairs with me and looks at the part on the car.
We run back upstairs. On top of the car stereos I had noticed a Fender bass guitar plugged into a boom box stereo unit. Apparently one of the customers was interested in it and a worker was showing it to them. I guess neither of them knew how to play it.
"Do you play this?" they ask me. I nodded, wondering what about me would have even made them ask. With grease and oil stained hands, I strap on the bass. The strap is so tight, I almost feel choked. We get it loosened, and I start pounding away. It is terribly out of tune, and produces sounds of perhaps a different culture's scale system. I tune it briefly, slap the strings a little more, then realize I am losing focus.
"It sounds very good, but the strings are raised way too high" I tell the guys.
Meanwhile, the other worker found an AC compressor of the same part number still bolted to an engine on the bottom shelf. I can't believe in this small of a shop he could find one.
"How can I be sure it will work?"
"You can install it. If it doesn't work, then bring it back."
"How long do I have to bring it back?"
"Maybe one or two days."
Hmm, not too great, but probably a decent deal for here. I ask for their number and promise to think about it.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I am let to get home and load up the kids for a small group Christmas party. With traffic the way it is, there is no time to swing by a taylor and ask about a suit.
I'll put it on the list for next Saturday...
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