end of the line

Today was my last day at the hangar.  What depressing finality.  Of course all of the farewells contained some version of, “Well of course you’ll come back some day soon right?”, to which I could only say, “Yeah, I hope to anyway.”  Who knows if and when I’ll get a chance to return to Kenya, though I really would like to some day.

David, Tim, and I

  It’s been a blast getting to know the people here, and I know I’ve only barely touched the surface.  That’s not even mentioning the beautiful land that Kenyans have the privilege to inhabit. 

I got a chance to see another bit of this beautiful area on Sunday.  Since we just finished the motorcycle project – which included a complete engine overhaul – the bike needs to be broken in.  Using this as an excuse, we decided to cruise out to the Ngong Hills late Sunday afternoon.  They lie to the west of Nairobi, about a 45 minute ride away.  I got to take the nice dirt bike I’ve been riding lately, and my uncle, of course, rode his.  I will admit though, that riding a big dirt bike like mine with such a high CG was more than disconcerting on some of the curves we were zipping around.  I found myself constantly afraid that I would fly/slide off the road in one of those turns, which most likely also would have involved flying/sliding off of a cliff.  Needless to say, I will be quite happy to ride my low street bike when I get home.  Anyway I managed to stay on the road, though not without some close calls, and we rode into the heart of the Ngong Hills.  This is a fairly lush area of Africa, and the rolling green hills looked quite magnificent as the sun was setting.  Before it got too dark, we did a little off-roading up one of the hills to get a better view.  Once I got used to the sensation of the back tire sliding all around, it was almost more fun than I could handle.  Unfortunately we eventually found ourselves on someone’s land, and realized we could go no further.  We talked to this family for a little while, I snapped some shots, and then we headed back down the hill and back to a road.  By this time it was fairly cold and dark, so the ride all the way home was pretty exciting, with plenty of traffic to zip around and through in the dark.  I don’t know if I ended up so tense at the end of the ride because of the cold or because of the constant stress and the concentration that the ride required. 

Monday and Tuesday involved more work on 90U at the hanger, and it’s really coming along.  I relished my last bit of time in the hangar: the work I was getting to do for possibly the last time ever, the funny conversations with different guys on the floor, the Chai times, the aircraft landing out front, lunches up the street, and everything else. 

Today, my last day, was also the first time I really got to talk to Godfrey, one of the guys at the hangar, about anything serious.  Godfrey is a beast of a man, at my height with considerably more bulk.  Since most of the Kenyans tend to be a good bit shorter than me, his height caught my attention from the start.  I’ve known for a while now that he is actually from Uganda, but I never knew anything of his story.  Today he told me, and all I could do was nod my head as he related much of it to me, because there is no way any of us can even begin to comprehend living a life like his.  He served in the Ugandan military for the previous government, and it was during his service that this former government was brutally removed from power.  After it was overthrown, Godfrey and many of his fellow servicemen were hunted down and captured.  He spoke of the torture they endured, and the many friends that were killed in unspeakable ways.  He even pulled up his sleeves to show the scars that he still carries from the torture he received over 20 years ago.  When he got away from these captors, he fled Uganda, even leaving his family, and he eventually ended up in Kenya, were he was received as a refugee.  Even today after so many years, he cannot get Kenyan citizenship, and his residency here is still based on his refugee status.  He belongs to no country.  Kenya won’t truly accept him, and obviously he can’t return to Uganda while the current regime is still in power.  His brother, who was caring for his mother back home, died last year, but still he cannot return to his homeland.  He told me that he has returned home only once, and that was only for a matter of hours.  He was able to go along on an AIM Air flight that was stopping in his home area in Uganda, so he got to see the place he calls home, but he couldn’t identify himself, and he had to leave after only a short time.  What allows people who endure all of that to remain sane? 

At the moment I don’t have any final thoughts to wrap up my journey, and I think anything I could come up with would sound kind of trivial in light of the story I just related.  That said, I guess this ends my second “adventure” blog.  Who knows, maybe there will be another saga on here someday.

winding down

The motorcycle is finished!  We put the finishing touches on it Friday night.  I’m sure it looks even more beautiful than it actually is to my uncle and me after all of the hours we put into it, but I’d say it does look mighty fine, even from a more objective perspective.  We did add a few more decals since this pic, but you get the idea:

Friday was also my uncle’s last official day at the hangar.  For the next week, he and my aunt will be packing up their lives in preparation for their home assignment.  I still plan to go to the hangar to work with the guys for a couple more days at least, though I think I’ll be leaving on Wednesday.  I’m definitely not looking forward to saying goodbye to all of my new friends.  I was actually planning to go explore some different parts of Nairobi today with one of my friends from the hangar, Tim, but unfortunately he had to take his sister to the hospital for something.  I’m not sure what exactly is wrong with her, but I’m sure they’d appreciate your prayers.

Since my time with Tim didn’t work out, my aunt offered to show me Kibera slum, which lies right next to their neighborhood.  In case you aren’t familiar with Kibera, it’s the largest slum in Africa, with around 1 million people crowded into absolutely squalid conditions.  I’ve seen poverty in my travels, but this is at least as bad as anywhere I’ve been, and it’s on such a massive scale that it is hard to believe (I’m reminded of the huge refugee camp in Sierra Leone in “Blood Diamond,” when one of the characters says, “This is what a million people looks like”).  So many of the people, though, would greet us with wide smiles.  I was especially impacted by the children.  As we walked through the slum, a constant chorus of “How are you?” seemed to follow us.  All of the children knew this one English phrase, and they intended to get some use out of since there was a white guy around.  The best part of it all was the beaming smile I would get upon responding that I was doing well and asking them the same question.  One really little guy came running up to me so excited that he had his hand expectantly outstretched as he ran so that he could shake my hand.  Right as he got to me, he hit a mud slick and wiped out pretty good, but he was smiling at me from his butt as I lifted him off the ground and shook his hand, haha.  I actually laughed out loud, which provided him with further amusement.  I wish I had some pictures to share, but we didn’t think it’d be wise to carry such a nice camera, and I think I would’ve felt weird taking pictures anyway.  I’m always afraid in those kinds of situations that someone might think I’m taking pictures because I simply think it’s a spectacle.  Anyway, you’ll have to check out someone else’s pics of Kibera, but mine will remain in my head for a long time.

Throughout my time here, many of the Kenyans at the hangar have asked if I plan to return sometime soon, and why I’m not staying longer.  That question always depresses me a little, as I would like to spend some more time here, but I also feel that it’s time to go home as well.  Fortunately, I don’t have to make much of a decision myself, as the departure of my aunt and uncle kind of dictates my departure as well.  I’m thankful for the opportunity I’ve had to learn so many things and help out at the same time.  This has been a great trip, in so many ways, and I really do hope that I can come back someday, just like the guys keep asking.

To all the guys at the hangar: Andai –the first to put up with the new guy and give me jobs to do; Tim –always friendly and making sure to include me with the other Kenyans; Marko –continually cracking jokes while trying (and failing) to keep a straight face; David –always poking fun at me and providing me with a constant stream of Obama jokes and references; Paul –ever inquisitive about the differences between Kenyan and American life; Jim S. –for allowing me to use his motorcycle for the first 3 weeks of my stay; Jim L –usually quiet but always with a friendly smile (and he’s a Lord of the Rings fan: need I go on?); Ryan –for finally admitting that I’m not totally incompetent; Nate –for knowing when to laugh and when to be serious; Jose –for providing another perspective, wisdom, and a little Spanish practice; Jerry –for trusting me to work independently on a big job; Denny –for reminding me why we do what we do; Kurt –for inviting me on my first AIM flight; Bryan –for graciously letting me take his seat and fly the DC-3; Dick –for providing biblical insight at meeting after meeting; all those I forgot –for your kindness; and my uncle –for allowing all of this to happen in the first place: a huge thank you for making me feel welcome and allowing me to enjoy my time here in Kenya and at the hangar so much!  I would be remiss if I didn’t also thank my aunt, who has been an incredibly gracious host and a tremendous cook as well!

I might put up one more blog and maybe some more pics on photobucket before I leave on Wednesday.

Final week

I’m sitting here in my room enjoying immensely the aroma from the fire right next to the house.  There is a little guard house for the neighborhood there, and I’ve often heard the guards talking during the night, but the wind has never been just right like tonight to send me such amazing smells, not to mention the sounds of crackling and popping from the fire.  I can’t think of too many scents that are more relaxing; I guess that’s due to all the pleasant memories of camping and camp fires.  Anyway, I figured I’d write something for the blog so that I had a good excuse to stay awake for a while longer and keep enjoying the fire.  I’ve run out of books to read; I’ve worked through first 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and then The Three Musketeers.  It has taken a while, as I only take time to read on the few nights that I don’t stay late at the hangar or spend time hanging out with family.  I must say both of those are very enjoyable reads, btw.

Uncle John and I have basically completed the motorcycle, and we only have to put on the fenders and air up a tire tomorrow.  Sometime I’ll put up the series of pics showing our progression from the many pieces to one very pretty motorcycle.  It’s been a fun – if at times tedious – project, and I feel like a much more confident/competent mechanic than before, not that that is saying a whole whole lot.

The last few days have included some fun work at the hangar as well.  Today I spent the entire day routing aileron and flap cables through the wing of nine-zero-uniform, the second of two Cessna 206’s that were shipped from the U.S. in pieces, to be completely painted and rebuilt here.  Not only was it fun to put together the puzzle based on the various schematics in the manual, but I also had one of my most triumphant moments ever upon finally sliding a hellish bell crank into place after wrestling it for almost an hour.  We’re talking triumphant enough to even permit a victory shout.

Nine-zero-uniform, as I called the plane above, might sound funny to you, but to me it simply sounds like the name of another team member.  All of the aircraft are referred to by the last three letters/numbers of their registered codename in a very familiar, even affectionate, manner.  There’s nine-zero-uniform, seven-delta-golf, charlie-mike-alpha, bravo-lima-golf, S-I-L and X-P-A (I have yet to figure out why these are typically spelled out normally while the others aren’t), eight-echo-alpha, seven-sierra-papa, eight-sierra-papa, and lima-mike-bravo.  The name of lima-mike-bravo has a particularly touching significance that I didn’t even realize until a few weeks into my time here.  Some of you might be familiar with the story of my younger cousin or John and Anna’s son, Benj, who died a few years ago in a freak accident.  Sometime shortly after that tragedy occurred, AIM Air decided to name one of its Cessna 206’s lima-mike-bravo, meaning “in Loving Memory of Benj.”  Just seeing that plane now causes me to take a second and remember – to remember not only Benj but all of the friends and especially family members who we’ve said goodbye to far too soon.  What a small but cool way to provide a reminder.

Routing cables on 9-0-U

It has taken me a while to get to the point where each one of those funny names actually conjures up an image of the specific airplane it refers to, but I really do love how each one is treated as the name of an important team member, with its own unique qualities and personality.  I still remember the first day when I had no clue what on earth people were referring to when they’d throw a “nine-zero-uniform” into the sentence.  We have uniforms?

The fire has stopped burning outside, or at least the smoke has stopped wafting through my window, so I can go to bed now.

Más tripa

If you were following along during my South America adventure last summer (June 16th 2008 post), you might remember that Jonathan and I had an unfortunate misunderstanding wherein we thought we were ordering some tasty fish for dinner, but instead we unknowingly ate cow intestines.  I can now say that I’ve eaten intestines twice in my life, though this time they were from a goat, and I chose to eat them knowing what they were.

I enjoy the days that I go to eat with many of the Kenyans from our hangar and a few of the adjacent hangars.  We walk down the street to this lady who serves up all the food from these large buckets, earning her the name “Bucket Lady” from some of the non-swahili speakers at the hangar.  Usually it consists of different kinds of beans, maybe some rice, some meat of the day, and a chapatti (the Kenyan equivalent of a tortilla).  All the Kenyans go there because it only costs 30 Kenyan shillings for the plate, or about 40 cents.  Not bad.  Anyway, that’s where I had the privilege of eating intestines once again.  My friend, Tim, had a full plate, and I immediately recognized the intestines on top of the rice (I’m not going to misidentify those again).  He assured me they were quite tasty, and I decided to take him up on his recommendation.  This seemed fairer to the intestines, since last time I didn’t even know what I was eating at the time, so I had to give them a proper try.  There weren’t bad, though I still think they are a little chewy.

Along more serious lines, while we were eating, talking, and hanging out on the side of the road at the same lunch place today, we saw a motorcycle like mine back in the States (a rarity here).  I mentioned that it was similar to mine, and then immediately regretted mentioning this fact as Marko said, “When it gets really old and you don’t want it anymore, you can send it to me!”  He was only half joking, and he continued to imagine what it would be like to have such a bike (he’s 30 but won’t be able to afford his own motorized transportation for a long time).  How much we take for granted…

Swift messengers

Go, swift messengers,

to a people tall and smooth-skinned,

to a people feared far and wide,

an aggressive nation of strange speech,

whose land is divided by rivers.

Isaiah 18:2

Such is the exhortation made in Isaiah to reach out to the people in the land of Cush, now known as Sudan.  A number of years ago, a missionary getting a ride to Sudan on the DC-3 wrote this verse out on a piece of paper and taped it to the wall in the cockpit as an encouragement to those piloting the DC-3.  As that missionary said, these pilots are the swift messengers, bringing aid and encouragement to that inaccessible land and the people who live there.  That faded verse still hangs on the wall as a reminder.

Denny and Bryan were the swift messengers piloting the flights I hopped aboard on Saturday.  We started earlier in the morning than I care to remember, though seeing the sunrise from an airplane is a pretty sweet thing.  The trip would be four legs of flying going up and three on the way back.  After the second leg, we were in Lokichogio, a small town in the northwest corner of Kenya and a staging point for flights into Sudan.  This was the town from which the UN flew their huge C-130s to do food drops over the Sudanese areas in conflict, prior to 2005 and the tentative peace.  From here we headed north-northwest towards Rumbek, to make another refueling stop.  Flying in the DC-3 over such varied terrain was an awesome experience, as the cruising altitude of that beast is only about 12 – 14,000 feet – we all enjoy breathing oxygen – so things on the ground are quite visible.  This particular leg was probably my favorite, because I actually got to fly for the majority of the flight!  Denny asked me if I wanted to sit in the right seat for a while (as opposed to the jump seat), which of course was the question I had been waiting for since we first left the ground.  A few minutes later, when I’d gotten comfortable, he asks me if I’d ever had control of an airplane during flight.  Now I had to respond that I haven’t outside of simulators, but I also quickly assured him that I fully understand the flight instruments (all the while trying not to appear tooo eager).  Whereupon he says, “The plane is yours.”

Sweet. ness.

I got to fly over the southern reaches of the Nile! – where it’s called the White Nile – and countless other beautiful things throughout the course of the next hour of flight.  It took a minute or two to get used to the extreme sensitivity of the flight controls, but after that I didn’t do too much over correcting.  I will admit though, that it is much more challenging to keep track of what all the instruments are doing while you are actually flying the thing than it was from the comfortably removed position of the jump seat.  For the most part, we kept heading north towards Rumbek, and I even got to start the descent before having to relinquish my seat to Bryan, the other pilot, for the approach and landing.  We landed on the dirt strip in the middle of nowhere, fueled up again, and headed on towards our final destination, Akon.

This next leg wasn’t nearly so long, and before we knew it we were landing on yet another dirt strip, but this time we could see a montage of colors lined up at the far end of the runway, awaiting our arrival.

Landing at Akon

  As soon as we were parked, the cargo doors were thrown open and many helping hands appeared at the door out of the hundreds of people that had surrounded the plane.  We wasted no time in commencing the unloading of all the different supplies we had carried up there.  One of the big deliveries was solar panels, and those were among the first things I handed down to the many people eager to help.  Countless boxes and even a full-size canoe followed, but after a short time and a lot of sweat, the plane was empty.  I was actually sad to see that there was nothing more to deliver.  As another pilot later said, “getting to play Santa Clause is a lot of fun”, especially when you see the eagerness with which such supplies are received.  I would’ve liked to distribute supplies all day, despite that heat, but even a fully loaded DC-3 can only carry so much.  So it was that before too long and after only briefly meeting some of the people who would be using the supplies, we were on our way home.  We stopped again in Rumbec, flew back over the many winding rivers and the Nile itself, stopped in Loki, and then headed back to Nairobi, seeing the sun set during our return journey.  It was a long but good day.  Yes, a very good day.

Sunday was less eventful, with an enjoyable worship service in the morning and a fairly relaxing afternoon.  O yeah, I got to ride an ostrich.  Though before you get visions of me cruising across the plains at 40+ mph, you should know that it was actually at an ostrich farm, and two guys were running along on each side to make sure I didn’t fall off.  Still though, it was an ostrich.

Anyway, I’ve gotten tired of whacking myself in the ear every time I hear a mosquito buzzing around it, so I’m gonna go to bed and let them eat me while I dream.

You can do THAT in a DC-3?

On Monday I had the opportunity to go on my first flight with AIM Air.  Denny and Kurt took me on the King Air 200 to Mwanza, in northern Tanzania right on Lake Victoria.  The King Air is an amazing aircraft, and by far the most high tech of the fleet.  It is the only pressurized plane they have, and it cruises at much higher speeds than the others.  Most of the journey there and back was spent at 24,000 feet, so with all the cloud cover below us, I didn’t get too much of a chance to check out the Serengeti as we passed over it.  The view of Lake Victoria as we crossed over it and turned for our approach to the runway – which is right on the edge of the lake – was pretty impressive though. The flight was just a short trip to pick up some missionaries who needed transport out of Mwanza back to Nairobi.  My favorite part was definitely listening in on the headsets and chatting with the pilots from time to time during the flight.  I’m getting fairly confident in my knowledge of all the flight instruments after the time I’ve spent working in the airplanes, going on engine test runs, and now accompanying on a couple of flights.

I say a couple of flights because on Tuesday I got an even cooler opportunity.  I managed to get onto a DC-3 training flight.  For starters, the DC-3 is my favorite plane in the fleet.  We’re talking about a plane that is 64 years old (built in ‘45), has been rigged with turboprop engines instead of its original radial engines, and is in immaculate condition.  It’s beautiful, and it is after all one of the most successful aircraft designs in history – hard to go wrong there.

Anyway, I hopped on a training flight out to Magadi airstrip, which is southwest of Nairobi.  The flight there was too much fun.  As it was a training flight, the pilot was being run through different simulations, so we were doing stalls and all the like in this big thing.  The best part by far involved the pilot pushing the turning capabilities of this giant to the limit – I guess because he needed to be fully aware of what it could do.  That means he was pulling it into 45 to 60 degree hard turns – something you would almost never do in an aircraft like that – and you could feel some serious G’s in the back.  As if the stunts weren’t enough fun, we were flying over some incredible natural formations and lakes during this entire period.  The only other guys who came on the flight were these two media guys who are putting together some film and pics on AIM Air (one of them is also a pilot for AIM).  Anyway, even that pilot was getting a little sick in the back as we spun and banked through the sky.  I’m glad my stomach seems unresponsive to that kind of thing, ‘cause I was having a blast.

We then landed on this dirt airstrip in the middle of nowhere, amid some strange-colored salt lakes.  Since they were going to practice numerous take-offs and landings on that strip, they let the two media guys and myself off the plane, so we could watch/film/photograph the plane in action.  It was hot stuff out there!  I haven’t really been down from high elevation prior to that point (Nairobi is at 5,500 ft), so I wasn’t yet acquainted with the typical heat on the equator in Africa.  Anyway, we just hung out among the sparse brush or on the airstrip, taking all manner of photos and talking.  I would definitely enjoy being a photographer of some sort…  Some of my pics turned out quite well, if I do say so myself.  I’ll have one included in this blog when I get a chance to upload it:

Magadi airstrip

After about 5 or 6 landings, we got back aboard and headed toward Nairobi.  All in all, what a cool experience!

Wednesday was a fairly typical day of work at the hangar, although during lunchtime, two of the younger Kenyan guys and I played futbol for quite some time.  We were mostly playing juggling games back and forth, and I was surprised by how quickly my touch came back.  Marko even called me a “dangerous footballer”, haha.  After these couple of years unable to really play sports, I had forgotten how much they can bring people together.  We were all dying with laughter by the end.

Well I think that hits most of the big stuff of the last few days.  On Saturday, I’m planning to take another flight on the DC-3, but this time on an actual mission.  We will be going up to Sudan to deliver supplies.  It’s going to be a very long day, but I’m really looking forward to this trip.  I probly won’t blog again until after that.

Safari Time

Alright, so it’s been a while since I’ve thrown one of these up here, but it’s just been that busy.  Where to start…

Last week I put in a bunch more hours at the hangar, as usual just doing whatever needed to be done.  Much of that work was on one of the well used Cessna 206’s, doing a maintenance check.  My memory is getting hazy already on some of the other specifics since I had such an eventful and tiring weekend afterwards.  I also spent a little more time with my younger cousin last week, and I’ll admit that I had a blast doing some soap carvings with him during one of the evenings.  My uncle and I have also been putting in lots more hours on the motorcycle, so it’s coming along.  At the end I might have to upload a before and after pic.

Anyway, this past weekend was spent in large part in my aunt and uncle’s little 4-wheel drive SUV, but it was not in any way as dull as that sounds.  My uncle, my cousin, another father and his two young sons, and I all went up to Lake Nakuru National Park on Saturday.  What a trip!  It took a few hours to reach the park, but much of that driving was through the Great Rift Valley, an incredible natural formation that stretches for thousands of miles, all the way from northern Syria to Mozambique.  We reached Nakuru Game Park in the afternoon on Saturday, and got to go on a game drive before dark.  The sun roof of their car was quite handy as we cruised through the park among the game (when I wasn’t driving).  Were I to mention all of the different animals that we saw, we would be here for quite a while, so I will try to limit myself to the highlights.  The park covers quite a large geographic area, all surrounding Lake Nakuru, which is home to millions – yes, millions – of flamingos.  The mind cannot wrap itself around those kinds of numbers, even when you are staring at that many of them first hand.  They covered a large part of the lake, just hanging out and munching on their algae.  Interesting fact of the day from Wikipedia: Scientists reckon that the flamingo population at Nakuru consumes about 250,000 kilos of algae per hectare of surface area per year.  The next day with the mid-day sun on them, the pink seemed to over-saturate one’s eyes.  There were quite a few other incredible bird species, including some marabou storks and secretary birds that both stand over 4 ft high.  The other colorful birds that dotted the trees are too numerous to mention.

As far as larger game goes, there were a good number of white and black rhinos, giraffes, cape buffalo, gazelles, impala, water bucks, warthogs, eland, zebra, baboons, syke (sp?) monkeys, etc.  I was especially impressed by how close we were able to get to all of these larger animals, even the rhinos and buffalo (whether we should have from a safety standpoint can be left to another conversation).  The rhinos were probably my personal favorite.  They are awe-inspiring creatures, and they’re pretty goofy besides when you really look at how they are built; God had a little bit of fun with those ones.

So on Saturday, we went for a game drive for a few hours and ended up being caught out in the night, as we had a long drive to our little farmhouse.  We were trying to keep a look out for reflective eyes in the night, since there are a couple different types of large cats in the park, but alas we didn’t see any.  We did, however, see the remnants of a kill the next day.   For the night, we got to stay at one of the few locations actually inside this huge park.  It’s an old farmhouse on the north side of the lake.  We were thoroughly reminded of our presence within the game park when my uncle went to lock the front door later in the night and found a monstrous male cape buffalo laying down only a few feet from the front door, right amidst the bushes.  We supposed he was enjoying the protection of the light and the wall from lions, etc.  That was an impressive sight!

We spent quite a few hours Sunday morning into the afternoon on a game drive as well.  That’s when we ran across most of the big game, or at least we were able to see it at that point.  The weather was absolutely perfect that whole day, as it often is here.  It’s going to be unfortunate to go back to hot and humid Charlotte, NC from that standpoint.

On another note, I had another opportunity to see how similar my dad and uncle are.  It was pretty amusing to watch him intentionally throw the car into skids through the mud as we were cruising along; I know my dad would have been doing the same, and I have a feeling that’ll be me some day as well: just another big kid.

P.S.  A decent number of my pictures from our safari can be found on my photobucket site (link at bottom of page).  I figured I’d better save this tidbit of information until the end or no one would actually read my writings about the place; at least I know I’d jump straight to the pictures.  I’m also going to try to have another post up within the next day or two, just so you know.

Building/Riding Motos, etc

So it’s been a busy couple of days.  Yesterday was spent almost entirely in the hangar, with only a short break for dinner before uncle John and I went back to work on his motorcycle.  I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned that or not yet, but right now his bike is entirely in separate pieces, so we are finishing the painting and beginning reassembly, with the goal of finishing before they leave on home assignment.  Then we were back to the hangar early this morning.  I’ve been working on a number of different smaller jobs with various people; from riveting to sanding/prepping a plane for its first Aim Air paint job (this is a new Cessna 206 which still doesn’t have wings on it). 

I haven’t yet mentioned how much fun I’ve had riding motorcycles here.  I’m borrowing an old Honda 600cc dirt bike from another missionary in order to get to and from the hangar and around Nairobi in general.  Riding a motorcycle here is so much more of a rush than back home, despite the fact that you usually aren’t driving quite as fast – the pot-holes see to that.  Very few laws are actually followed by drivers in general here in Nairobi, but motorcycles seem to be treated about the same as bicycles, in both a good and bad way.  It’s bad because you constantly fear for your life owing to the absolute disregard drivers show motorcycles, but it’s also an advantage because police are even more lax toward motos, meaning that you can get away with almost anything.  It’s practically expected that motorcyclists will be weaving in and out of traffic and driving in between lanes of opposing traffic.  During my first days – when I was driving more like an American – cars were noticeably impatient behind me, upset with the fact that I was taking up the 7 feet between them and the car in front of them.  They seemed to be confused about my presence in an actual lane.  I actually feel safer now that I drive like the rest of the bikers here, moving almost independently of the flow of traffic (fortunately, I’ve also adapted to driving on the left hand side without any noteworthy mishaps).  I’m not looking forward to driving again in the States and actually having to consider the rules of the road.  Bother.

As a side note, despite the fact that it is quite the rush, feel free to pray for my safety in that area, although I’m sure the prayers of my mom alone should cover me after she has read this blog-post.

One Body

Today I had the privilege of attending church at Mamlaka Hill Chapel. What a powerful service in so many ways. I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to visit a number of churches in different cultures, mostly in Latin America, and now this one. Once again, today I was presented with a beautiful reminder of the global scale of Christ’s church. We spend a lot of time in Intervarsity Christian Fellowship at UNC emphasizing the global Church and all of its members, who will one day be worshiping God together in heaven, but to actually see a reminder of that fact is always an awesome experience.

Today I was blown away by how musically gifted the congregation and worship leaders were. We sang the coolest rendition of “Our God is an Awesome God” that I’ve ever heard. I also didn’t feel as out of place as usual in my desire to dance a little bit to such upbeat songs. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so encouraged by the worship as today. The pastor was also quite the eloquent speaker, and he delivered an extremely challenging message on using our gifts and talents. I could get into a fairly long discourse on how I’m trying to figure out the application of that in my life, but I’ll save that for another time. Anyway, I really enjoyed the service and I’m hoping I’ll get a chance to go to another one or two before I leave, but the next weekends could end up being fairly busy. I know at least next weekend we’ll be out at the game park, which will be sweet.

It seems that this culture is in general more musically oriented than most, which of course I love. It’s a lot of fun in the hangar to hear the multiple expert whistlers conversing back and forth as they go about their work. Occasionally I try to pipe in myself, with varying degrees of confidence. One of my favorite guys to work with, Andai, is probably the best whistler there, so I enjoy just listening to him as we take care of the task at hand. He’s also incredibly knowledgeable about the aircraft, and he’s always willing to share his knowledge and general mechanical experience with me (he also probably doesn’t mind having someone to throw on the tedious projects, like the hundreds – maybe thousands – of screws that I got to check the other day, haha). 

My uncle’s got the carburetor from his motorcycle in pieces on the kitchen table next to me, so I’m gonna check that out a little I think.

I just felt like throwing this pic of the DC-3 up as well cuz I like it so much:

Settling in

One of the fun things about traveling to new places is getting to know the local customs.  Since day one here, the continuous consumption of chai tea with copious amounts of sugar and milk has stood out.  Though unlike many cultural practices, I must say this custom is enjoyable on the very first try – no time required to acquire a taste for it.  Every day there is a dedicated chai time at 10:00 AM and 3:00 PM on the spot, at least for the Kenyans who work at the hangar.  Today I even got to sit with a group of Kenyans in the shade outside the hangar during chai time, though what was discussed I haven’t the faintest idea.  Other than the guy who invited me to join them occasionally speaking to me in English, it was all Swahili.  Clearly any aptitude I have for languages is limited to the romance variety, but I didn’t really expect to pick up the language during my month here anyway.  Fortunately, almost everyone seems to also speak English, though many people’s accents are so strong it still seems like a language I’m not totally fluent in.  I do enjoy hearing the Swahili constantly spoken around the hangar, but it’s also really nice when I’ll join some guys on a project and they’ll switch to English so that I can understand, even when they are talking amongst themselves.

Speaking of working with the other guys in the hangar, I feel a little more accepted as part of the crew at this point, though it’s not that they were exclusive initially.  On Wednesday I somehow found myself working with a couple of guys on an odor/sanitation issue in the hangar.  Apparently about once a year one of the administrative staff will come into the hangar and mention the unpleasant smell that has developed right under the mechanics’ noses.  It is usually caused by the poor drainage of water out of the hangar’s drainage system.  The stagnant water mixed with the oil and other waste that drains off the hangar floor create quite a nice sludge-like mixture, which I got to help clear out.  I felt like I could’ve been on that “Dirty Jobs” show on the Discovery Channel with all the handling I got to do of the sludge, and we eventually got the drainage water looking a more grayish color, as opposed to the chunky black mess it was before – a small success.  Anyway, all that to say, I think some of the guys were impressed that I was involved in that undertaking, so maybe I gained a few bonus/acceptance points that way.

Much of the rest of my time in the hangar has been dominated by work on the modified DC-3 with turboprop engines.  I didn’t realize, but it’s the only DC-3 in east Africa, so maintenance on it can be kind of tricky sometimes.  We’ve just been doing a general inspection the last couple of days, so I’ve gotten to climb all over and in it, which has been fun.

Sorry this is so long, but this blog is just gonna have to come in chunks like this.  The next part is reminiscent of an earlier blog post from my South America journey, as today we had two goats slaughtered in the middle of our hangar floor.  I got an incredible picture of the slaughtering right in front of the Beech King Air; what a bizarre backdrop! 

This year's festivities

 They were slaughtered in preparation for the goat roast we are having tomorrow (Friday) in honor of certain people leaving on home assignment for a few months.  The situation might have been a little more bizarre for me had Jonathan and I not witnessed the sacrifice of 2 llamas last summer in the highlands of Bolivia.  Clearly the consensus on the most effective killing method extends across continents (see pictures).  For once though, the smells of the slaughter actually started to get to me as I was trying to focus on work nearby on the hangar floor.  Don’t worry; I

Last summer's festivities

won’t bore/disgust you with any more details about that.

Anyway, it’s late, so goodbye for now (I honestly can’t remember the last time I considered 10:30 late).

ps. I’ve added a link to the Africa pics section of my photobucket at the bottom of this page if you’re interested.  It’s going to be hard to upload very many with the connection speeds here, but I will try.  Just click on one of the albums on the left, right now all I have up is “AIM Air”.