Before leaving Heathrow my instructions on arrival in Nairobi were to look for a small hairy Indian guy called Kalpesh. Not the fullest of briefs but pretty accurate. Kalpesh was indeed small, Indian and looked like he might be more at home roaming the Masai Mara scavenging for carrion (good word, maybe I do have some literary genius).
Now I’m not too sure what clout Kalpesh has at Nairobi Airport but I hope he has a lot of influence because if not security isn’t too flash! Ignoring the queues from two full flights that had just landed, he took me straight to the front of the counter for Kenyan citizens (maybe I’ve been awarded some sort of honorary status already, but I doubt it) and demanded my visa was issued immediately – it was.
In the baggage reclaim area he really showed his class.
The conveyor belt wasn’t going quickly enough for his liking so he climbed aboard the thing and made his way round, throwing off bags he decided were in his way until he ducked into the secure (should be preceded by ‘not very’) area where they load the bags and started shouting at all and sundry to find my luggage. All the while I am left standing smiling nervously at the hundreds of irate fellow passengers looking thoroughly cheesed off at the antics of a mad Indian hobbit, hoping I am not about to be thrown in a Kenyan jail within ten minutes of arriving.
Bags liberated, he came back beaming and informed the lady on the customs desk that there was no need to trouble herself and waltzed straight through while I tagged along. I really do hope he has some sort of authority there because if not they might not let me out after that.
When we got outside I was handed over Kyalo (pronounced Charlo), my errand boy (yes for real) from Cricket Kenya, and Brian (yes for real) the driver.
I was in Kenya, a bit bemused by it all, but there was no turning back now!
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