Why I am travelling to Addis Ababa to represent Kenya
I can’t believe that by this evening, I will leave the country for the first time and board a plane for the first time ever.
I don't know if the names Smiffy and Hempstone ring a bell. If they don't, let me remind you. In 2018, the two gentlemen from the UK landed in Mwisho wa Lami, ready to support an NGO my brother Pius had established. The organisation focused on helping schools with classroom construction, toilets, and libraries. Don’t ask me how much work has been done so far.
I was appointed as the Regional Coordinator for the NGO, and the wazungu’s sponsors even invited a few of us to visit London. Visiting London was a big deal in Mwisho wa Lami, with everyone wanting to go.
What limited the number of people to travel were the stringent passport and visa requirements. Only six people managed to get passports, and only two—Pius and Fiolina—were granted visas. I wasn’t going to allow my wife to travel with my brother to London without me. When I was denied a visa, I discreetly ensured the whole trip didn’t happen.
Pius and I were even called conmen by the villagers we had transported to Nairobi to apply for visas. We eventually let the matter rest. I made peace with the fact that perhaps I’d never leave the country. Some things, I concluded, weren’t meant to be.
But now, it looks like things are about to change. Another trip has come up, though this time it’s not to London.
It all started three weeks ago with a call from Pius. Smiffy and Hempstone had been in touch.
“Are you still a government teacher?” Smiffy asked when we later spoke. I confirmed that I was.
“We’re working on an education expansion project, and Kenya has been identified as a country that could help others improve their education standards.”
I assured them that I was the right person for the job. I even exaggerated, claiming I had been promoted and was now in charge of education in our county. How would Smiffy and Hempstone verify that? No way!
“That’s exactly what we’re looking for,” Smiffy said during a Zoom call we had last week.
The next day, they said they urgently needed someone to travel to Ethiopia. Would I be ready? Of course, I said yes.
All they needed was a letter from the Ministry of Education confirming I could undertake such a trip on behalf of the Teachers Service Commission (TSC). I didn’t get the letter from TSC, but I presented a letter from TSC! They then asked me to travel to Nairobi, where I met their local office.
Their office in Nairobi was housed by London Kenya Education Trust, an NGO Pius had registered. It had two employees, and Pius rarely showed up there. The programme officer, a young man who spoke as if he were born knowing everything, assessed my experience in pedagogical matters.
Answering his questions was a breeze. I was already teaching before he was born. They approved my trip to Ethiopia, and I returned home to prepare.
Given that the same organisation had tried to take us to London years ago but failed, I was hopeful but not overly excited. I remained skeptical about whether the trip would actually happen.
Life went on as usual until I received another call from Pius, confirming the trip to Ethiopia. He informed me that three of us would be going: Pius, the young man from the office, and me. Smiffy would travel directly from London, and we would meet in Addis Ababa.
To say I was excited would be an understatement. I even changed my walking style. I wondered what I needed to pack and how to prepare.
Pius told me not to worry, as he knew I had everything I needed.
“Just pack a few Kaunda suits, and maybe some shorts and T-shirts for the weekends. And some open shoes” he advised.
I reminded him that I didn’t own any T-shirts or shorts—just Kaunda suits. I wore them even in Mombasa, and nothing went wrong. The few T-shirts I had—like the Kick Polio Out of Kenya one, the Corona one, and an IEBC one—were strictly for wearing underneath the Kaunda suits.
My only preparation was buying a new suitcase and reading up on everything I could about Ethiopia. I also asked Pius if I would be paid, and he assured me I would, adding that he’d handle the payments. “Kwanza yako will be very nice,” he promised.
Things remained quiet until last Tuesday when Pius asked for my email address. I had forgotten my password—and even my email address! It took me two days to set up a new email. On Thursday, through my email, I received an Ethiopian Airlines ticket to Addis Ababa.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was finally going to leave the country! Pius later asked me to check my M-Pesa account, and sure enough, I found a tidy sum deposited—more than Nancy Macharia pays me in three months.
I did something I hadn’t done in years: I ordered two new Kaunda suits from my local tailor, paying him a deposit and promising the balance after the trip. I also bought three new pairs of socks, three vests, and four new pairs of underwear.
I left Mwisho wa Lami on Friday and arrived in Nairobi yesterday morning. Pius picked me up in his new car, having sold the Mercedes Platz he previously owned. His life had changed, he looked monied.
We spent the day at Maasai Market, buying gifts for the wazungus. Pius assured me that Smiffy and Hempstone were great guys, and if we played our cards right, we could benefit greatly. “Wako na pesa na hakuna kitu wanajua. We will travel to all African countries,” he added.
I can’t believe that by this evening, I will leave the country for the first time and board a plane for the first time ever. I can’t wait to share stories from Habesha land with you!
