When I left you in this tale, we were in Rwanda with enough insulin to last us 2-3 days if all things went according to plan, which as the past 24 hours had shown, was unlikely to continue for the next 2 weeks in Africa.  So we had our guest rockstar of this saga, the Boy’s Dad, working furiously to mobilize the forces between our travel company’s American and UK offices, their local partners in Rwanda and Nairobi, Kenya, and the emergency medical team of our travel insurance [Ed. note: something we initially forgot, but our travel company told my Dad, he told me, and I told him to contact them for me].  It was basically a version of Intern Olympics: whoever solves the problem fastest gets the job.  Once we finished learning about the birds and the bees from the golden monkeys and got on wifi again (because there was literally nothing else we could do so when in Rwanda…) the flurry of emails around the globe offering different versions of medicine and locations and why that option would not work was daunting.  As suspected, the medicine simply did not exist in Rwanda, even in the capital city of Kigali, so we had to proceed on our flight to Kenya with little more than a hope and a prayer…

Thankfully, after the 4 hour drive down the mountain we found wifi once again in the airport lounge and got news: the main Nairobi hospital had a supply of the 5 daytime pens and 2 similar nighttime pens that they could have delivered to our hotel that night…if only we paid the small fee of $234 USD…Honestly, it was much cheaper than I expected, and only 25% of the cost in America (yes, the Boy is expensive…) so we did a little happy dance and give them all the details of our flight time and the hotel name. [Ed. note: I worked email hardcore, confirming this and that. Props to everyone on the chain keeping up and helping.] And then I started counting our cash…

We always travel with a supply of USD, it’s a fairly universal currency and Visa isn’t accepted when internet and power don’t exist.   However, we also have a magical ATM account that works around the world (except when we take a horse and buggy from the Nile River to the bank  in Southern Egypt…) so we do limit the amount for safety.  After a quick count, I had $247 left…plus around 50,000 Rwandan franc.   This would barely cover the cost of the medicine, the necessary tip that would have to occur, and then we had to consider 11 days in the most third world country we had ever been, with warnings to not expect to find any ATMs…  Okay, we had an hour before boarding, I can solve this problem.   I left the Boy in the lounge with his passport just in case, confirming the exact details (with someone whose email was emergencyflydoc.org or something daunting like that…) and set off in search of an ATM.  [Ed. note: how is there not an ATM inside the cleared-customs secure area of the international airport?]  First stop: currency exchange.   Unfortunately, the Rwandan currency exchange office was not owned by Travelex as many in the States and Europe so he did not have an ATM…but he provided some insight.  If I just talked to a security officer, they would escort me to the ATM outside of the secure area and back up, no problem.  Famous last words…

Twenty minutes later, I have officially spoken with EVERY person wearing a badge or uniform in the Kigali International Airport terminal…and many of them have started speaking to each other in Swahili on my behalf.   I threw around the words “medical emergency” and “life saving medicine destroyed” at will until my pathetic, panicked face finally convinced the powers that be to allow one customs officer and one armed security official to leave their posts and come with me.   Yes, I was escorted through the back channels of the Kigali airport by both a customs officer and an armed security officer…and then I fell down the stairs. [Ed. note: At one point I started to wonder where she was, but email was still flying amongst all interested parties, so I just hoped for the best…]

Complete wipe out, flat on my face, missed 2 marble steps and barely caught myself from a full on concussion.   And they just watched.   As did the two Rwandan men whose feet I almost kissed.   Granted, they paused their conversation and I sprung up pretty swiftly, but yes, that indeed happened.  

Thankfully, the rest of the endeavor went seamlessly.   The ATM changed to English, it didn’t reject my card, and the nice currency exchange man only silently judged me as I handed him 240,000 francs to turn into USD… And when we arrived in Nairobi, there was a man waiting in the hotel lobby with a paper bag.  He seemed mildly surprised by the large, white male hugging him, but once I handed him wads of cash he hugged back and went on his merry way.   And we celebrated as any good American should: room service pizza. [Ed. note: New medicine safely in hand, I could turn my focus to more pressing concerns – how many lemur species can I find?!?]