My flight from Europe to Africa, was supposed to include me, the white caucasian, bathing happily in a sea of black Africans. Swahili was to dominate the conversational soundscape with other African languages floating among the seats of those returning passengers with connecting flights to Addis Ababa, Kampala, or Dar es Salaam. But on this flight, pale-skinned Europeans dominated the landscape with English, German, Dutch and French languages competing for dominance. There were no more that 5% African representation on the second segment of the flight! I hope it’s because East Africans choose to fly on an African airlines like Kenya Airways, Ethiopian Airlines or Air Tanzania but I couldn’t prevent myself from wondering if there are more people living in Africa who travel on foot as refugees or internally displaced people than the number who fly overseas to other continents! So even before arriving, I felt colonial; that unwanted inheritance.

Midway across the North Atlantic The DC 111 is flying at 913 km/hour (ground speed) at an altitude of 10670 metres. The exterior temperature is -46 degrees Celcius. In 3 hours and 5 minutes it will be 7h36 in Amsterdam. The sun rises on Nairobi but before arriving there, there is still the Sahara Desert to cross.

I used to think the Sahara was untamable with its dunes flowing across the landscape at the mercy of the wind, burying anything it its way. The pyramids at Giza and their guardian Sphinx are prime examples of the desert’s tenacity. I don’t believe that anymore, at least in the short term. During the second leg of the flight over southern Egypt just a few hundred kilometres from the border with Sudan, dark circles blemished the otherwise uniform desert brown. Crop circles in the middle of nowhere at the end of a ribbon road that slices the landscape. But for how long. Long ago, it must have been a resting place for nomadic tribesmen. A converging oasis in the desert to forge alliances and replenish thirsty camels. Some of the circles have already lost the battle with the sand. When will the next wind storm overtake them all and remind us yet again that nature will prevail.

Later, while in Sudanese airspace, the flight crossed paths with the mighty Nile. A glimmering strip of moisture in an otherwise parched sea of sand. I will set foot on the banks of this mythical river once I arrive in Juba on February 26. But first, eight days in Nairobi

I am now comfortably staying at the Miti Mingi Guest House.