(May 8th, 2001)
“Mr. Lindstrom, please wait a moment.”
I looked round to see who was calling. We had a taxi waiting outside the hotel to take us down-town for some shopping and it had already been waiting for us for quite a while. Over at the reception desk, I saw the receptionist signalling to us. We went over to him to see what he wanted.
"Mr. Lindstrom," he said. "There was a phone call for you earlier today. He’s left a message." He handed Bertil a paper.
I staggered. What was this? I’d spoken to my family in Sweden a moment earlier so I knew the message wasn’t from them and nobody else knew where we were. I felt a sense of imminent danger – that I was falling into a black abyss. Oh God, my pulse was going up; I started shaking and hyperventilating.
With a comforting arm around my shoulders, Bertil held the paper so that both of us could read it at the same time. Having read it, we stared at each other. It was from Kakamega; from Noah, who had helped us to sell our computers. The message in itself wasn’t important but how on earth did he know we were here? We’d certainly never told him we’d stay at the Boulevard. We’d actually lied to him and told him we were going up north, to the Turkana area on vacation and then we’d secretly sneaked off to Nairobi instead. And in order to fool people, we hadn’t booked a direct flight to Sweden but instead one via Italy and Spain. I felt kind of creepy inside. This didn’t feel good. We’d decided nobody in Kenya was to know we were heading for Nairobi. I mean, after all our lives had been threatened and now people had found out where we were; if Noah had figured it out, it was quite possible others had also.
In fact, this made us so nervous that we immediately took a taxi to the Swedish Embassy, where we explained what had happened and that we were very worried. The female Embassy official offered us a security guard from the Embassy for our remaining day in Kenya. We declined the offer, not wanting to seem hysterical. She advised us that if we felt in the least worried at the airport, we should contact the Embassy security officer on duty there. To make sure we’d recognise him, should we need his help, she called him into her room.
We had by now lost all interest in sightseeing and shopping and went straight back to the hotel where we kept close to other European hotel guests. Maybe they’d help us if something happened. We both had this strange feeling that people wanting to harm us were watching and following us.
At early dawn, we caught a taxi to the airport, where we waited anxiously for the hours to pass. We were still feeling very uneasy as if, at the last minute, someone would catch up with us and prevent us from leaving the country. It was an irrational fear but nonetheless very much present.
We waited for boarding time, hovering in the vicinity of Immigration. For a couple of years we’d been longing for this moment to come – the moment when we’d leave Kenya. I felt somewhat relieved when I saw the security officer from the Swedish Embassy making sure we got safely on our way. But when I looked at the Immigration officer in front of my queue, my relief disappeared. He looked so stern; it was quite possible he’d stop us. Who knows, it might be forbidden to leave the country while a court trial was going on.
“Bertil,” I said, “couldn’t we switch to another queue? That officer up front seems awfully stern.”
“No, we can’t, that would look extremely suspicious. We have to remain in the queues we’ve chosen. See you on the other side. Don’t be afraid.”
It took such a long time at Immigration. I sweated and had difficulty in remaining calm. I wanted to shout, "Hurry up."
Suddenly it was my turn. The immigration officer looked at me, while he slowly leafed through my passport. He stared at me again until I felt I couldn’t stand it much longer.
Then he said in a serious voice, "Madam, you’re not allowed to stay any longer in Kenya. Your entry permit expires tomorrow."
"Yes, I know. That’s why I'm leaving today," I answered in a pathetic voice.
"Have a nice trip," he concluded and handed back my passport.
I turned around and noted that Bertil had now also passed Immigration. Through the window I saw how the Swedish Embassy security man waved farewell to us.
"Gate number 12 is now open for boarding." What wonderful words.
Tears ran down my cheeks. "Thank God, we're alive!" I said. "We made it..."
I hiccupped, laughed and cried; all at the same time. In spite of laughing, I felt totally ragged. I felt as if I’d just barely avoided an accident, with waves of adrenaline flushing through my body. An enormous fatigue. Limbs weighing tons. Almost incapable of moving.
By my side on the plane just taking off from Nairobi’s international airport, sat Bertil, bearded and sweaty; also he had tears in his eyes. He put his arm around me and gave me a reassuring hug. It was thanks to him I’d made it through all the tumultuous events we’d experienced.
"And now, some champagne," he said. "Let’s toast the future and celebrate we’re on the plane.”
“But Bertil, I’m so…”
“Sh, sh, don’t think about the bad times now. Let’s plan the future. And – who knows – maybe one day we’ll also remember the good things.”
I saw below us the dry plains in the slum areas on the outskirts of Nairobi and the national park. We were leaving Kenya, a country which had been our home for five years and the place we’d intended to spend the rest of our lives. We’d only packed one suitcase each on this trip. The rest of our belongings remained at Riverdale Gardens, our Kenyan home.
We toasted and then Bertil drifted off. I thought about our dogs, left behind in Kenya. I missed them so much: Rufus, my liver-brown flat-coated retriever we’d brought from Sweden when we emigrated in 1996, his beloved bitch Merry, and their puppy Musse, a sweet black rascal.
My thoughts also dwelt on the paradise we’d left. Riverdale Gardens with all its beautiful flowers, bushes and trees, lots of tropical birds in different colours and thousands of butterflies, and all the fruit trees. The wonderful weather. How on earth would I be able to live without all that?
But, on the other hand, we were through living with thieves and violence around us. I wanted a normal life again. No more checking over my shoulder to see if someone was too close; if someone followed me; if someone looked dangerous. I wanted to disappear into the crowd; not stand out as different and consequently a target for others.
And… Oh God, what would we do once we were back in Sweden? We’d handed in our notice when we left for Kenya five years ago, and we’d certainly not get our jobs back after such a long time. We’d also sold our house and I’d, once again, have to live with constant pain because of Sweden’s cold climate; one of the reasons for leaving Sweden. No work, nowhere to live, no money, no belongings …
When the steward had brought me a glass of whisky, I leaned back in the chair. I felt better now; my blood pressure was once more almost normal. With my eyes closed, I tried to concentrate on positive feelings, but it was so hard.
Bertil woke up, stretched and, scratching his beard, said, "Why on earth did we believe the village chief, when he said the villagers would celebrate us upon our arrival?”
“We’re probably the most blue-eyed people on the universe. Bertil, why can’t we ever learn?" Thinking of the chief’s words, I felt my blood pressure going up again.
“Yes, and imagine; if it hadn’t been for the gold, we’d never have been in this situation."