Saturday, Dec. 16

It’s 9:15 p.m. when I arrive in Nairobi. It takes more than an hour to deplane, purchase a Kenyan visa, and claim my luggage. Many British families are here, apparently coming for holiday safaris. American Christmas music is playing on the overhead system.

I exit the baggage claim area to the lobby, hoping to see someone holding a sign with either IMC or my name on it. A knot of people stares me down. Some people are waiving signs with names of individuals or organizations, but there is no IMC. I begin wondering what I’ll do if there is no one to meet me. I circle behind the crowd with my cart full of luggage, bringing on several “madam, taxi please,” solicitations. On my second pass I spot a small sign fashioned in red marker: IMC, Miranda. The taxi driver takes me to my hotel, about 20 kilometers away. The four-lane highway is decorated with flag -- advertising campaigns for cell phones, milk products, and tires. I can scarcely believe I am in Africa and that I am now a humanitarian aid worker. A dream has been realized.