Africa isn't a single country; from Kenya to Nigeria and back again (Part 1)

(I'm sorry that it's taken so long to update this blog, we've been experiencing wifi problems at the penthouse )

I know, I've only been in Kenya  2 weeks and I'm already taking a break; I got funny looks from my new work colleagues as well.  Yes that's right, I took a holiday. This holiday was planned ages ago. You see, my parents have been married for 50 years this year and we, their children, planned a party to celebrate. Everyone was coming home to Nigeria for the party, including my 'long suffering husband' who hasn't been to Nigeria for over 15 years!

So, on Sunday 21st June I took off to Lagos, flying Kenya Airways.  First observation, why are there so few direct flights between two of the major cities on the African continent, and why are airfares so expensive? Surely there must be enough travel between Lagos and Nairobi to justify frequent and competitively priced flights? The cheaper alternatives (indirect flights via Addis Ababa, Kigali, Dubai) were just too long to be worth the bother (I wanted to spend my holiday time with family not in airport lounges). As it happened, I ended up spending the first few hours of my holiday in the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport lounge as our departure was delayed a bit.

I was asked by a friend how Nigeria differed from Kenya. That's a big question and I don't feel equipped to respond for a number of reasons:
1. I am Nigerian, so I'm probably biased
2. I've only been in Nairobi 2 weeks, hardly long enough to make sweeping comparisons with anywhere
3. I don't intend to fall into the trap of rating countries as better or worse, I'm happy to accept that they are just different.

That said, I was struck immediately by the barn-door differences.

Humidity! Walking out of Murtala Muhammed International Airport (sidebar: why is the main international gateway into Nigeria still named after a former military dictator?), you walk into air so thick with moisture it feels like walking through cotton wool!

Chaos!! Lagos chaos is in a class of its own. In addition to the humidity, you are hit by a cacophony of sounds and movement right outside the airport. It's a well known fact that we Nigerians a loud. Yes we are, and Kenyans as I've observed them, are comparatively mute!

Traffic! Now ever since I arrived in Nairobi, I've heard complaints about the traffic. Yes the traffic in Nairobi is bad but Nairobi residents would probably sing with joy at Nairobi traffic if they spent one day in Lagos rush hour traffic!  'Rush hour' is a misnomer; in Lagos, you ain't rushing nowhere and it takes a heck of a lot longer than an hour to get anywhere! However, in a head to head competition between Lagos Molue drivers and Nairobi Mataru drivers, I think the Mutatus win by a gnats whisker -  matatu drivers are worse!

So take it from me Kenya and Nigeria - or more accurately Nairobi and Lagos -  are different.

I would like to comment on one other difference I observed; the behaviour of staff and how travellers are treated on arrival. In Lagos, Nigerian passport holders are whisked through immigration procedures in no time. When I arrived Nairobi a fortnight earlier, I had observed that the foreign passports queues seems to be better staffed with minimal delays while the Kenyan citizens seemed to wait a while. The reverse was the case in Lagos; the foreign passport holders had the longer wait.  The Kenyan staff were professional and did their jobs without any faff, while the Nigerian staff tended to be more familiar and subtlety (and sometimes not so subtlety) asked for a 'dash' (tip). It is the norm for Nigerian airport staff to ask 'madam, anything for us ?' . No such thing in Nairobi.  Hmmm...

Oh yes, one final difference; Lagos in June is 10-15 degrees Celsius hotter than Nairobi!


As an 'expatriate'  living outside Nigeria for many years now (I chose to describe myself as an expatriate not an immigrant, more on that later, not for this blog); there is no feeling like the one you get when you arrive 'home'. (I have lived more of my years in England than in Nigeria but Nigeria is 'home'.) Everyone in the airport says 'welcome back' and it feels right; you feel right, you feel a sense of shared ownership of the air, the soil and everything that defines the place. You raise your head up high, square your shoulders and strut forward, confident that no one will ask that annoying question 'where are you from originally? If you live in England and are non-white or bear a non-anglicised name, you will have been asked that question at least once.


So I stepped out of the airport into the heat, humidity, noise, traffic, crowds, chaos and loving arms of Lagos and thought 'Ebere, welcome home'

Just call me 'Wanjiku'

My Kiswahili vocabulary is expanding slowly. I now know enough words to con a local for about 5 seconds. I don't use 'Jambo' often as I gather it marks one out as a tourist.  General greeting 'Habari yako', response Nzuri sana'. If you don't know what to say but are general happy with what's going on, then 'sawa sawa' will usually do. It's my favourite term. It means, ok, cool, fine, sorted, I agree, I'm with you etc. etc. Such a convenient term. Other terms:
asante = thank you, but as Kenyans love emphasis, asante sana is better (thank you very much);
karibu = welcome;
la = no, but as Kenyans are generally polite, you say, la asante, no thank you.
Kwaheri = goodbye

Feeling that I have enough Kiswahili to venture forth safely, I decided seek out some Maasai souvenirs. A friend mentioned a roving Maasai market that moves around the city so on Saturday I took a taxi to downtown Nairobi to the Maasai market in the high court car park.

We took the scenic route, past the state house and through the commercial / business districts. Downtown Nairobi on a Saturday morning is pleasant; the traffic is reasonable, the roads are in good condition and there's a lot of greenery and flowers on the verges. We drove through Nairobi's equivalent of Whitehall - where all the ministries and infrastructure of government are based. It all looked remarkably familiar, like the post war parts of London. In fact, I am certain that the Nairobi international conference centre was designed by the same architect that built The Barbican Centre in London (must check that).

I commented on how clean everywhere looked and how impressed I was with the state of the roads and the clear signs of continuous maintenance. To which the taxi driver responded with a derisory laugh, that it was all 'because of Obama'. At my clear lack of comprehension (I haven't indulged in much TV or radio news since my arrival), he explained that Barack Obama, the president of the United States of America was about to make his first official visit to Kenya. So everywhere was being spruced up in his honour. Whatever was spurring the activity, the result was very pleasing.

We got to the market and I was given very stern instructions by my driver, Steve:
Do not to pay the first price
Do not give money to the beggars, no matter how sad the baby looks
Watch your purse

 He should have warmed me not to be open to flattery as well.

We women of a certain age especially those of us who've been married for many years to men who are rather miserly with compliments (you know what I mean ladies, don't you?), don't realise - until we are paid a compliment - how much we appreciate it. Despite my feminist opposition to it, I confess to hiding a small smile when I get the occasional cat- call when walking past a building site. Now don't get me wrong; I am a confident, self-assured woman. I know what I'm worth and don't need anyone to validate me (my favourite poem after all is Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Phenomenal-Woman-by-Maya-Angelou). But being admired for your physical appearance, particularly when one has worked hard to loose weight and get fit, does cause a frisson of pleasure. (Note to self: remind husband that paying compliments is a good thing)

Well, I walk into the market and am accosted by two good looking men, a young one and a slightly older man nearer my age, who offer to show me around the market. I quickly figure out that they are some sort of brokers. They seem to have arrangements with various crafts people in the market and gather everything I show the slightest interest in, with the assurance that when I've finished looking around the whole market I can chose what I want to buy at leisure. The older man, let's just call him TDH (tall, dark and handsome), declares that I am his soulmate and that he will call me 'Wanjiku'! He offers to divorce his wife and marry me. When I inform him that my husband may take a dim view of that arrangement, he offers to settle him with as many cattle as he asks for, and will throw in an elephant as well!

Despite knowing that this was all a sales ploy, I found myself totally charmed by it. It is a very effective sales ploy, no pressure, no aggressive sales chatter, just a seemingly natural charm offensive. And it almost worked until he told me what my selection of items would cost! That made the Igbo woman in my sit up and pay attention. At this point I reminded him that I wasn't a 'mzungu' (Kiswahili term for white person, usually one who is just arrived and is therefore an easy con), and that I'm not made of money. Then the fun part started with my counter offer of 10% of his opening gambit.

We eventually settled at a mutually acceptable price, though I suspect that I was more generous than I might have been had I not been so thoroughly charmed by the compliments I received. So my sister now has a Maasai table runner and mats, amazing daughter has a Maasai blanket, I have a kikoy shawl, and a selection of carved elephants and cattle to show my husband that my Maasai suitor means business!

Today's lesson? Flattery works.

Settling in (and the stupid things we do when we leave home)

Settling in (and the stupid things we do when we leave home)

Sorry for the late update. There was a problem at 'The Penthouse', so I got moved to a new apartment in the same complex. The new penthouse is lovely, bigger and more glam than the last one, but the downside is the wifi connection is a bit hit and miss. The management have been promising to have it repaired for a week now. Pole pole!

Well, I've been in Nairobi over a week now. The security men at the gates now recognise me, wave and say Habari yako (hello, how are you) as I pass by.  My Kiswahili is expanding from zero to a few words, so I now know to respond with Nzuri sana (I'm very well). I've adjusted to the weather and to the hazy sunshine.

I spent the first week feeling tired all the time, then it struck me - altitude sickness! (well a very mild version of it anyway). Nairobi is at a much higher altitude than Yorkshire and takes some getting used to. Pepto-bismol (the luminescent pink gooey stuff) has been recommended as an effective remedy. Not sure how or if it works but as I am prone to heartburn anyway, it can't hurt to try.
I've been welcomed by Kenyan residents - Nigerians and Kenyans alike - who've gone out of their way to help me settle in. I've been shown where to go for essentials and been advised - repeatedly - not to wander about on my own as it's not safe and to avoid downtown because of the risk of crime. I've found the place to replenish my supply of Merlot! I've ventured outside Lavington and Kilimani to Kileleshwa, Parklands and Westlands. The family of a friend of a friend took me to lunch at a lovely roof top Chinese restaurant with a panoramic view of the city (and some delicious crispy friend okra).

Now, I have been advised repeatedly not to walk from the penthouse to the office. But it seemed absurd to wait ages for a taxi that takes 30 minutes in traffic to complete a journey that I can walk in 20 minutes. So one evening a few days ago, I decide to walk home after work.
Now, those of you who know me will know about my legendary sense of direction; legendary for its non-existence - I get lost in a carpark! But there's something about being in a new place, away from home that is totally disinhibiting; we start to believe that we are invincible and capable of stuff we would normal not be. We become less risk averse. That's why people do daft things on vacation. Well, that's my excuse. I mapped the route in my head, checked google maps, checked my phone data was working as back up, loaded my backpack and set off for what Google estimated would be a 25 minute walk (I reckoned 20).  (I can just imagine the look of horror on my PA Deby's face right now).
Thirty minutes later, yes you guessed it, I was lost!!

Now I had been warned repeatedly not to speak to strangers so that I don't reveal my JJC (Johnny just come, as we say in Nigeria) status, and thus mark myself out as an easy target. So I decide to try and retrace my steps. I get even more lost. It's now an hour since I left the office; Google maps refuses to load on my phone and it's getting dark. I'm beginning to panic. I look around for a friendly face and pick a harmless looking young woman and ask for directions, thinking I can't possibly be that far off target. Boy am I wrong! When I ask for directions to Valley Arcade (the shopping centre close to The Penthouse', she looks at me in amazement and says 'where have you walked from, you are very far from there'!  She issues a series of complicated instructions, sees the mounting panic on my face, then offers to walk me part of the way back.

Did I say how nice Kenyans are?

She walks with me for about 25 minutes, then points me in the right direction and goes about her way. It's dark now, phone is dead and I don't recognise any landmarks. I take the turn she indicated and hope to spot something familiar soon. Another 20 minutes and I'm about to burst into tears; I must have taken another wrong turn! I walk up to one of the gated residential blocks and tell the security guard that I'm lost and could he call a taxi to take me home. I must have looked a right state. The poor chap sat me down gave me some water and asked where I was headed. Turns out I was less than 5 minutes from my destination. He walks me back to The Penthouse and refuses my offer to give him a little something for his troubles. Tells me his is a church minister and that it's his duty - and I quote - 'to lead lost sheep home'.  Well this particular lost sheep was glad to finally make it home more than 2 hours after setting off on a 20 minute journey.

Lesson learned: yep, I still have no sense of direction and don't trust Google maps!

Light and sounds of Nairobi (or more accurately, of the Lavington district of Nairobi)

I’ve always preferred the pictures in my head to the actual ones before me, which is why I much prefer books and radio to television and film. Speaking of which I should have brought my radio with me, the shops here don’t seem to sell radios. But I digress…

I decided to try and reproduce the pictures in my head in this post. I would like you to see /hear Nairobi as I have in the few days I’ve been here. I’m no poet, so apologies if this is rather pedestrian.

I live in a part of Yorkshire that is semi-rural and quiet. The early morning sounds are usually made by a rather pesky bird in my back garden that insists on serenading the dawn each day and fails to appreciate the fact that I prefer silence until I’ve finish my second cup of coffee! We also hear the occasional noisy car or motor bike and very rarely, a police or ambulance siren. What we never hear on a Yorkshire morning is people; Yorkshire folk are not very vocal in the mornings (or any other time of day for that matter, except perhaps, after the pub on a Friday night).

In Lavington Nairobi, I am woken each morning by some very loud and determined grunting (and no, it isn’t the couple in the apartment below, take your mind out of the gutter!). The grunting comes from the basement and upon investigation I discovered a group of women, many of whom (to quote Alexander McCall-Smith http://www.alexandermccallsmith.co.uk/books/no-1-ladies-detective-agency/the-no-1-ladies-detective-agency/), were of a  ‘traditional build’, being urged through a vigorous exercise class by Kenya’s answer to Mr Motivator and emanating grunts that would make any female tennis player proud!

These grunts are punctuated by cheerful exchanges of greeting, ‘Habari’, ‘Nzuri’, between residents and staff and I find myself asking ‘doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?’ By the time they start the second exercise class of the morning, I’ve had my second cup of java and am more appreciative of the dedication that gets these women (and they are all women), out of bed each morning to be tortured by the fitness gestapo. I observed the class briefly and thought it did look like fun, but decided that going up and down the 4 flights of stairs to the penthouse each day constitutes adequate exercise for me. Might join them in the sauna though …

Now a slight diversion but it will make sense, I promise. Bear with me…

I visited Bangladesh for the first time in February and was struck by how familiar Dhaka felt when I stepped out of the airport. The heat, intense afternoon bright sunshine, the traffic noise and the ‘eau de gutter’ were so familiar that I thought, this  could be Lagos Nigeria, and immediately felt at home. Having arrived Nairobi at night, I anticipated the same feeling of familiarity the next morning, I was therefore unprepared for the cool temperature, and despite the occasional whiff of ‘eau de gutter’ on my Sunday morning walk, Nairobi did not feel familiar in the way Dhaka had. 

I had this niggling feeling of a memory that I couldn’t quite recall but not of familiarity. I was rather struck by the strange quality of the light; the sky was grey and overcast as if a rain storm was brewing and the air had this sense of stillness before the heavens open and there was a pinkish haze. Three days later and still no rain; sun a bit brighter and weather a bit warmer. Then on my walk this lunchtime, it hit me; Lavington reminds me of the campus of University of Nigeria Nsukkawhere I started my medical education. Those of you who know UNN will recall the lecturers’ residences of Ikejiani and Margaret Cartwright with the trees, hedges, red dust, narrow tarred roads, the hazy quality of the sun and the cool harmattan breeze. Close your eyes, picture that then add a few hundred cars whose drivers believe that the only rule of the road is survival of the fittest and you have it! Welcome to Lavington Nairobi

First impressions

This is about first impressions so lots of generalisations. I apologise in advance if this isn't the Kenya / Nairobi you know, but this is my blog, so I can say what I like - within reason.

Arrived Nairobi Jomo Kenyatta International Airport just after 9 pm on Saturday. Breezed through immigration and customs. (I gather that had I been travelling on a Nigerian passport, the experience might have been very different.). 

First impression of Kenyans: Kenyans are very friendly to visitors - everyone responds to a smile, says hello and welcome, and offers assistance. The staff at the luggage belt kept offering to help me with my bags, expressing concern that I was too small to manage my 4 large suitcases (I packed the kitchen sink, remember?). The customs lady decided not to open my bags so as not to delay me as 'it is getting late'. I was out of the airport in no time and immediately found a smiling gentleman called Josephat holding a sign with 'Dr Ebere IRC' on it. I must say that I was thrilled to bits! I have always wanted to be one of those people met at the airport by official-looking people holding signs! I can now tick this one off my bucket list - simple pleasures. 

Observation: despite my insistence, everyone I've been introduced to insist on calling me 'Dr Ebere' rather than just Ebere. I wonder why ...

I was whisked away in a Princess Taxi towards my accommodation. I say whisked away, more like crawling out - traffic at JKIA is pretty similar to that at any other major airport - gridlocked most of the time. My driver, called Bernard, was ever so nice and offered advice on dos and don't, brought me up to speed on the political situation and terrorist threats, and we learned that we had a UK university in common - his dad and I both studied for Masters degrees at Newcastle University (not at the same time I might add!)

Staff at the serviced apartment that is to be my home for the next few months were roused from their beds and without complaint, between them and Bernard, my suitcases were carried up 4 flights of stairs to what I have decided to call 'the penthouse suite'. Too dark and late to get any further feel for the place but reinforced my opinion that Kenyans are nice people. 

One final bedtime impression - this is coldest place in Africa that I've visited so far!

Went for a stroll the next morning and was again met by friendly faces. Discovered the apartment complex has a swimming pool, but decided it's too cold to take a dip.

The coffee shops and restaurants (there are a lot of Chinese restaurants about this area) were teaming with Kenyans out for Sunday brunch. I am told that this is the norm.

Monday morning - driver arrives a little late to pick me up and I discover that IRC had moved offices over the weekend. I arrived at the swanky new building amid chaos of hanging wires, unpacked crates and on and off intranet service. They must have been really pissed off to have to babysit a newcomer as well, but they didn't show it, everyone was nice and friendly. 

Sat in on an SMT meeting and learned some fascinating facts about Kenyan government gender equity initiatives; do you know that there is a '2/3 rule' in Kenya which requires that no senior management / leadership positions should be more than 2/3 one gender? Isn't that amazing? And I gather the county governments are actually making progress on this agenda. As an unapologetic feminist, I think this is wonderful and I love Kenya for doing this!

Downside - Nairobi is colder than I anticipated and essentials are rather expensive! 

Oh, I went to the bank at lunchtime to open an account and I think the young clerk fancies me - LOL! When you're approaching 50 and have been married for over 2 decades this is quite flattering. I didn't have the right documents, so I have to go back tomorrow and the young fellow gave me his personal mobile no ...

I think I'm going to like this place. Now if only I could find a place to buy a decent bottle of Merlot ...

Getting here

So I got the job and re-negotiated the terms of reference and was asked how 'soon can you get out there?' This was in January. I just got here 2 days ago!

Between January and last week, all sorts of things happened: 

Amazing daughter got into the drama school of her choice. We (I say we because every 'stage mum' knows that we might not be in front of the audition panel ourselves, but we live through every audition with our children), we applied to 6 schools, decided to audition for our top 3 and were offered places in 2. We accepted amazing daughter's top choice

So she's sorted and  I don't feel guilty going off on my adventure. I informed my employers I would be ready to leave by mid-February. Being a bit of a control freak, I went into full planning mode:

• I did 'le big shop' (almost had to hire the Costco self-drive van!) 
• Cooked enough food to feed an army for 6 months and filled the freezer
• Bought all amazing daughter's drama school supplies (apologies to the drama school admin for hounding them for information while they were still auditioning). 
• Started hunting for accommodation for amazing daughter for September (had to give this one up as Estate Agents and landlords just were not willing to hold a flat for me until September unless I actually started paying rent right away!)
• Got a health check and updated all my vaccinations (this is important folks; do as I say AND do, get your jabs if you're planning an adventure!)
• Invited all my friends for a big dinner and announced my imminent departure 
• Filled a gazillion forms for my employer in line with our 'international secondment policy'
• Bought a couple of new suitcases, read up a little bit on Kenya and waited ...

And waited...

For a work permit! 

Then the call from our international office at the end of March 'when do you want to fly out to Nairobi?’ the cheerful officer asks. Since this was just a few days before Easter, I opted for the weekend after Easter, mid-April.

Re-packed my suitcase, invited more friends over for dinner; went for my office leaving lunch, then...

Oops, we applied for the wrong permit; we need a 'Special Pass, not a Work Permit! How long will that take? Anything from 2 weeks to 6 months!!! Two weeks to 6 months!! I this point I was introduced to my first Kenyan phrase: 'pole pole' (means slowly slowly....)

Well it took another 6 weeks, but here I am, in Kenya, with the right paperwork, about to embark on my adventure

Now if I was one of those people who believe in signs and portends, I should still be home in Yorkshire (which I hear is having nicer weather than Nairobi right now). After all the delays for the paperwork, I was set to travel only for the British Airways website to refuse to allow me to check-in online. Called their customer service and spent one hour on the phone with the most incompetent call-handler in the universe who still didn't fix things. Spent over 4 hours in total on the phone with British Airways in the 24 hours preceding my departure before the problem was resolved. Then, just 3 hours before I was due to fly from Leeds to London on the first leg of my journey, British Airways cancelled the flight!!! You couldn't make it up!! 

But not being superstitious, I hopped on a train with my 4 large suitcases (never understood the concept of travelling light; I might actually need that kitchen sink!) and made it to London and caught the connecting flight to Kenya

Downside, family have already worked their way through most of the 6 months worth of food in the freezer, so long-suffering darling husband is going to have to brush up his culinary skills!

Next post, first impressions

Introduction

First of all, the title of this blog is deceptive; the only thing that's true is that I'm in Kenya. I'm not on a 'gap' - I'm still doing my regular job,  and I'm not here for a year. But since I never had a 'gap year' and a change is as good as a break, I'm calling this my gap year. 

A bit about me

My name is Ebere. I'm on the right side of 45 ( so right, I've started planning my 50th birthday!); I'm a women, correction, I'm a Phenomenal Woman (see why http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Phenomenal-Woman-by-Maya-Angelou; http://youtu.be/VeFfhH83_RE); mother to the most amazing daughter anyone could pray for; wife to a very long-suffering husband; a public health physician; and a stage mum (did I mention that said amazing daughter acts, sings and dances?).   

Why am I in Kenya?

I'm still asking myself that question! But here's how I got here. This is a long story, over 2 decades in the making. You might wish to skip ahead a bit. 

I've been a public health physician now for coming up to 20 years, working almost entirely in Yorkshire, the best county in England! I, like many other expatriates in Britain,  had a 'five year plan'.  In fact, I've had many '5 year plans'. You may guess from my name that I'm not a born Yorkshire lass, I'm a Londoner! Actually, I was born in London to Nigerian parents of Igbo ethnicity and spent most of my formative years in igboland in South East Nigeria, so awum onye Igbo. But I digress, back to the 5 year plan. 

 

My first '5 year plan' started right after graduating from medical school; I was going to spend a few years in specialist training in internal medicine in the U.S. or the UK. Three of those 5 years went according to plan in the UK (I also got married, which wasn't in the plan, but was a fantastic bonus). Then I realised that I actually didn't want to spend my life in internal medicine and I had no idea what I wanted to do. I resigned from my training programme! I did locums for a while and decided to study for the Diploma in Tropical Medicine & Hygiene from the Liverpool school of Tropical Medicine while deciding on an alternative career. During that course, I was introduced to community medicine and communicable disease control and I found my professional home. 

Second 5 year plan - specialise in communicable disease control. Again, this went more or less according to plan, with the added bonus of becoming a mother along the way (did I mention my amazing daughter?). Qualified as a consultant in communicable disease control and have worked in this field ever since. 

There was a third 5 year plan which was to take my public health skills and work in international health. That plan was suspended so I could be mum to said amazing daughter. So third 5 year plan stayed on the back burner for over a decade. Amazing daughter is now getting ready to fly the nest, so a year ago, I dusted off 5 year plan no 3 and decided to work towards getting into international health:

Step 1: Spring 2014, I went back to the place where I had my first career 'eureka moment' the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine (it's an amazing institution see http://www.lstmliverpool.ac.uk) and applied for the international health consultancy course, directed by the wonderful Dr Vicki Doyle (http://www.lstmed.ac.uk/learning-teaching/lstm-courses/short-courses/mg01-international-health-consultancy//).

Step 2: Get the family's support. That was amazingly easy! Husband said 'what took you so long, you've talked about it long enough'; daughter said 'go for it mummy!'

Step 3: Stop procrastinating Ebere (have I said how brilliant I am at procrastination?)  and make a public commitment! At TedXeuston (surely everyone knows about TedXEuston http://tedxeuston.com , curated by my brothers from another mother Chikwe Ihekweazu & Ike Anya?) I committed to move work in international health on the African continent within the next 5 years (5 year plan no 4). 

Now, moving into international health is not easy when you are not in the first flushes of youth and would rather not work for peanuts - I have responsibilities, bills (did I mention amazing daughter is an actor? somebody has to feed her ...). Jobs available at entry level don't pay much if at all and higher paid jobs want people with 10 years experience in international health. So I bought a lottery ticket and hoped to win enough to take an unpaid job. Shock- horror, I did not win the lottery!! Just as I was about to give up in despair, my current employer advertised an internal secondment to work in global health with the opportunity to work in Africa or the Caribbean. I applied - first job application in over 10 years (thank you Vicki and Emma from LSTM for the CV writing tips) and I got the secondment!

And that's how I got here! 

The actual logistics of getting from job offer to physically arriving in Nairobi will be the next instalment.