journal entries: my first trip (2007)

--May 2^nd 2007--

I am here, not yet in Sudan, but here, walking through the straight hallways of Concourse-A of the Charlotte airport. I left goodbye tears on my family’s shoulders, went through the security checkpoint, and gave one final wave before turning towards Gate-6. I can’t help but smile as joy grows in my soul, replacing my teary eyes with fiery eyes. With each stride my grin widens and I think to myself, “This is it. Here I go!!!”

--May 3^rd 2007--

Long waits in the airports and even longer flights have worn me out. It’s 10:15 in the night here in my little guest room at the Samaritan’s Purse compound in Nairobi; I’m so tired I can hardly see straight to write.

Flying into Nairobi wasn’t exactly the African experience I was expecting. I don’t know really what I was expecting. I guess I thought that maybe there would be baboons in the trees, or men with spears walking around the airport. But, I soon realized I didn't need bug spray or even hiking boots. It was much like the airport I left in the states. I looked around and saw some other white people, who must have had the same expectancies of arriving in Africa, dressed head-to-toe in safari gear and equipped with every accessory needed for jungle survival. They lacked only a machete, which I can imagine they had packed in their underneath luggage, just in case. Nairobi was like any Big City U.S.A, but with a wild, lawless undertone. Though there were sky scrapers, highways and billboards, there appeared to be no traffic laws regarding speed, staying in your lane, or staying on the road for that matter. Note to self: when walking down the sidewalk in Nairobi, watch for oncoming taxis. Pedestrians don’t have the right of way so they seemed to be running for their lives rather than crossing the road. I remember riding in the taxi thinking, “I know I’m in Africa, the people speak in a funny Swahili accent, and I’m driving really fast on the wrong side of the road, but I feel like I’m driving through downtown Winston-Salem. Where are the monkeys!?! Where is the real Africa!?!” Then we passed a group of policemen strapped with AK-47s and straps of bullets...not quite Winston-Salem.

I am going to spend two months in Sudan serving as a right-hand man to an engineer named Peter. Peter is Kenyan, which is exciting for me because I want to practice my Swahili. So far all I know is “hakuna matata,” which means, “there are no problems,” and “asante sana squashed banana,” which means, “thank you very much squashed banana.” I learned those from the Lion King. But honestly, Swahili or no Swahili I am just excited to be working in Sudan. Everyone I have met so far, when told I am going to spend two months in Sudan, just chuckles and says, “Well you sure are in for an adventure.” I just smile and hope that they are right.

Adventure is here. It is in the African’s tongue that rolls the native language fast and rhythmic; it is in the coffee-table artifacts lying around my room that hold the history of Africa; it is in the pictures on the walls of the Masai warriors and Turkana chiefs. And if you look past the skyscrapers, out over the horizon, follow the sound of the tribal drums, and find a land that no man owns, you can see the beautiful wild revealing its dangerous romances; it is too much for any young man to resist. I can’t wait for the toughness of it all. Two more days and I’ll be there--witnessing the sweet love of Christ contrasted by the ruggedness of His creation.

MORE TO COME!!