Would juba-lieve it
It's easy to imagine boarding the wrong flight in Juba, purposefully or accidentally. The airport is utter chaos. The main entrance is a series of breeze blocks across a fetid pool. Paperwork is handwritten and easy to doctor. There is often not an inch of spare floor space underneath the temporary tent. Random young men join the scrum, giving unnecessary information in exchange for tips. Passports are checked by mates of the official worker, in the same way as a market trader may ask Kev on the hardware stall to keep an eye during a toilet break. Although with no actual toilets I do not know what would happen if last night's goat meat was to cause a nasty reaction. Metal seats are sinking into the ground, providing broken seating for about one tenth of people waiting to board. It would be comically easy to smuggle illicit items through the tent flaps that separate the check-in and departure areas. Nothing in the way of technology to inform departure times means hawk-like vigilance is critical.
In the departure 'lounge' today I saw someone put his foot through a rotten wooden plank into the stinking water beneath.
I like how much I learn from South Sudan and I must stay longer in Juba next time to avoid being so frantic, but in heading towards Nairobi it feels like Milan or Barcelona.
In Nairobi I admired the hawkers selling water and bananas to vehicles on the highway. They weave deftly between moving traffic, at considerable risk. There is a complex etiquette around lane- changing, which doesn't always end well.
A few animals spotted across the fence in Nairobi National Park, impressively hardened to the rumble of nearby traffic.
I like how Kenyan shillings are referred to as 'bob'.
My phone still thinks Kenya is the United Arab Emirates.
The longest day of the year in the UK. Even though it's warm and bright, Juba is hardly a sunbathing destination, so I'm trying not to be envious of the current weather on the windy rock.