Two Dozen Basic Management Principles (Pt. 5)

Part Two

2001 – 2004

Chapter 4

Nairobi

Lopez heard the airplane before he saw it. He was in his tent with his friends talking about America. He and his friends ran to the airstrip and stood in a crowd of boys lining the fence around the airstrip.

The same man who has first given him his envelope began yelling out names. Finally, he called out – “Joseph Lopepe Lomong.” Lopez jumped up and down with a huge grin on his face, waving the envelope over his head. “Here! Here!” He said.

Lopez got on the plane. A nice lady came over and showed him how to buckle his seat belt. Lopez had never ridden in anything other than the rebel and Kenyan trucks in his whole life!

Lopez was off to Nairobi for a set of interviews, tests, shots, and orientation classes. He never realized that once he stepped on that plane, he was never coming back to Kakuma.

The staff in Nairobi gave Lopez a crash course on life in America. His favorite lesson was handling a strange, cold, white substance – snow! He had never felt anything so cold in his life. Then it dawned on him: No wonder Americans are so white. The cold and snow make them that way! Little did he know that God planned on sending him to one of the snowiest places in America.

The lessons – stripes on streets, toilets, etc. – all began to run together. But there was one lesson that he could not forget. According to his orientation class, there is no such thing as hakuna matata in America. Hakuna matata means “no worries.” In Africa, it is more than a saying. It is a way of life. Time simply does not matter. The instructor was very firm. “Hakuna matata does not work in America and it will not work here.” The instructor meant what he said. Lopez had to arrive everywhere on time.

During his stay in Nairobi, Lopez went through a series of four interviews spread over several weeks. Finally, his interviews came to an end. Every Wednesday, a list of names was posted on a bulletin board in the middle of the facility. The moment the list went up, boys crowded around, looking for their names.

While Lopez looked over the list week after week, a man named Rob Rogers picked up a bulletin on his way into church near Syracuse, NY. There he saw an announcement that read, “We need host families to serve as foster families for the lost boys from Sudan.” He later showed the bulletin to his wife, Barbara, and said, “I think we should do this.”

Barbara wasn’t so sure. However, she agreed to attend the informational meeting the following Thursday while Rob travelled. By the time the meeting ended, she had signed the two of them up to become a host family. Over the next few months they attended more classes and had every part of their life investigated by the state of New York. Finally, a letter arrived telling them they had been certified to serve as foster parents.

Lopez did not know any of this. All he knew was that his weeks in Nairobi had turned into months and still his name did not appear on the list.

Wednesday rolled around again. Six months had passed since he had climbed on the airplane in Kakuma. Most of his friends had left for America. Lopez had begun to wonder if he would ever join them. But there it was – “Joseph Lopepe Lomong, Syracuse, NY.” He was finally going to America.