2700 Hours in Africa by Ellis J Stutzman

ISBN 978-0-615-87653-5

50995>

US $9.95

9 780615 876535

2700 Hours In

Africa managing the mennonite guest house in nairobi

by Ellis J. Stutzman

OUTSPAN PRODUCTIONS

2700 Hours in Africa—Managing the Mennonite Guest House in Nairobi Copyright Š 2013 by Ellis J. Stutzman

OUTSPAN PRODUCTIONS

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or by any information storage without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Cover design, book design and layout by Jim L. Friesen International Standard Book Number: 978-0-615-87653-5 Printed in the United States of America by Mennonite Press, Inc., Newton, KS, www.mennonitepress.com

Dedication To my big brother Jerry.

Acknowledgment Edited by Lori McNulty and Sharon Stutzman, both to whom I am very grateful.

Chapter 1

T

he 747 dropped smoothly and gracefully into Nairobi on that early June morning in 1995. The flight attendants were preparing the cabin for arrival, handing out customs forms and spraying some sort of pesticide from aerosol cans throughout the aircraft. It was a little worrisome; here we were in the Third World, getting our first dose of DDT. But...this, after all, was British Airways and the nice ladies seemed reasonable, offering candy to us by saying, “Care for a sweet, love?” Maybe they were just spraying Raid.

The pit of my stomach was in a frantic nervous condition; what would it be like to see Jerry and Sharon in just a few minutes? What would our jobs be like? How is it possible that we have just landed on “the other side of the earth”? We had all gotten shots in Salem against the hordes of tropical African diseases. Dr. Girod, who administered our vaccines, a man about my age with a medical degree, educated and savvy, said tersely, “I would never take my children to Africa under any circumstances.” What inexperienced, uneducated-father wouldn’t have that sink like a cold ice cube in the soul? Now here we were on final descent into the Dark Continent.

In 1994, Jerry and Sharon, my brother and sister-in-law, were staying at our home in Albany, Oregon, on furlough from a mission assignment in Nairobi, Kenya. The two of them had the title of Co-Missionary Representatives for East1

2700 Hours in Africa ern Mennonite Missions (EMM). They resided in Nairobi, in a tranquil tropical setting in the district of Westlands.

Part of their job was to oversee the operations at the Mennonite Guest House, run primarily as a short-term stop for missionary and aid workers and occasionally to traveling safarists just out to see the world.

During one of our many discussions under the shade tree in our backyard, as we caught up on each others’ lives, I asked Jerry an impulsive but suddenly serious question. “Is there some task in Kenya that I could accomplish? Are you needing a trench dug?Do you need a fence built? I would love for us to come for a visit and have a job to do while there.”

In an instant his eyes lit up! “We need someone to come and manage the Guest House while our resident managers are away on home leave!” Later that night he spoke to Sharon and the ball started to roll.

Our family consisted of Sue and me, in our early forties, our daughters Emily (10), Annie (8), and son Dan (6). Planning to travel with us was Jerry’s and my nephew, BJ King (14), son of my sister Erna and her husband Don King.

For the next few months, we experienced a blur of filling out reference forms, arranging vaccines, finalizing travel plans, packing and preparing for a change of life that none of us had the foggiest idea about.

Friends and relatives never gave us assurances; they didn’t know whether we should do this anymore than we did. Our church encouraged us, gave us a prayerful sendoff and a bit of a financial boost from the mission fund as we were not being paid for our work. I told our congregation of a dream I had in which all the Kenyan children were Amish.

The day finally dawned for us to leave. Several family members joined us for the trip to Seattle to catch the British Airways flight to London. The flight was long and uneventful, and our layover in London was also long but was full of 2

2700 Hours in Africa promise as we considered our adventure to come. We saw Ed Asner, the American actor well known for his TV character Lou Grant, strolling through Heathrow holding hands with his squeeze.

After a long 12-hour layover, finally, it was time to board for Nairobi!

As we traveled over the many miles, I found a window at the rear of the plane, looked down on the dusty plain miles below and saw Africa. Who was there? How did they live?

What were the vast lands made of?

When we landed, the aircraft parked some distance from the terminal. We descended the outdoor stairway from the plane. Our senses were greeted by the unfamiliar heat and humidity, even the smells were new. Upon entering the airport building we encountered a number of heavily armed soldiers ushering us into their country. We waited in line to clear customs and saw the expectant crowd of people waiting for the new arrivals. There in the back was Sharon standing on her tiptoes waving excitedly, a broad grin on her face!

Beside her stood Jerry with his crinkly-eyed grin and his missionary beard. It was reassuring that they were there. How would we have found our way in this strange, foreign city if they had forgotten to come?

The terminal building was our first contact with Africa.

It looked different than airports I knew. It was more sparse and had a Third World feel to it somehow, although it was large and accommodating. Most such terminals that I knew from other travel were carefully carpeted and decorated. At Kenyatta International the floors were concrete, the benches were wooden. Not only that, for the first time we were part of a tiny minority: no one looked like us!

We cleared customs easily and greeted Jerry and Sharon.

Soon we had all our bags collected and we were ready to go. As we stepped into the shining equatorial day, we were 3

2700 Hours in Africa accosted by fellows who assured us they could get taxis for “very cheap price,” but Jerry had engaged a taxi and a loyal driver, Simon, whom he knew well. He had Simon come to the airport to collect us and our luggage. Jerry had also brought their station wagon, and together the two cars carried us and our three-months’ worth of luggage off to the Mennonite Guest House.

We had not driven more that three kilometers from the airport when we saw two Maasai warriors coming from the vast grasslands in full dress and on foot just as you might see them on the Travel Network. They were walking into Nairobi from their home district. It was a stunning and memorable beginning as our culture began to collide with a great and crashing impact on that busy African highway!

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