There's nothing I love more than traveling and nothing I hate more than planning a trip.

When I went to Kenya four years ago, I worked with a missions organization that did all the travel arranging for me. They booked the flights, told me what shots to get, arranged for a place for me to stay, and gave me malaria pills. All I had to do was hand over a large sum of money. It was beautiful.

My dad, Bruce, has been to Kenya several times since serving there in the Peace Corps 40- some years a while ago.  Being a generous and benevolent father, he told me he would take me back to Kenya once I finished graduate school. There's an 80% chance that we are leaving next Tuesday. Here's why:

1. Bruce put me in charge of booking the flight. Bold move. As I am my father's daughter, I booked the flight out of Wichita (although I live in Kansas City) upon discovering we could save $400 on our tickets.

2. I drive a 2004 Chevy Cavalier named LeBron, whose days have been numbered since about 2007. (The car's name is irrelevant to this story, but you should probably know it anyway.) Two days ago I was turning in a busy intersection amidst road construction that eliminated one lane of traffic. (Read: there were a lot of cars congested in a small area.) Halfway through the turn, LeBron began to shudder violently and head off in another direction (read: toward oncoming traffic). Miraculously, I regained control of the car and held my breath the rest of the way home. We were fine, obviously, but I am now afraid to drive until he has been inspected by a mechanic and cured of his wayward tendencies. The mechanic is unavailable until next Wednesday, i.e. the day after I leave the country.

3. We now had to come up with a plan to get me from Kansas City to Wichita. Once I ruled out hitchhiking, Bruce tried very hard to convince me to take a BUS. This seemed like a ridiculous proposition to me- I wasn't even sure that there were buses in Kansas, but I was proven wrong. Since I have to work on Monday, the only thing available was an Amtrak ticket to Topeka, followed by a Greyhound to Newton. The trip would take 8 hours and put me in Newton at 4:15 AM. The middle of the night arrival time was my only saving grace, because with that information Bruce finally conceded that it would be easier for him to pick me up in Kansas City.

4. I finally arranged for my doctor to call in a prescription for malaria pills to my pharmacy. This took several days and multiple phone calls, but I was relieved to finally have the pills in my possession. Upon further inspection of the prescription, however, I realized that she had prescribed a type of Tetracycline. My mother, Paula, once had a violent allergic reaction to Tetracycline and was advised to never let her children take it, on the chance that we had inherited her vicious allergy. Growing up, the rule was "Never touch a loaded gun, street drugs, boys or Tetracyclines." I called to get her advice, which was basically "Well the PEDIATRICIAN, who had a medical degree told me to NEVER let you have them, but go ahead and try them if you're not afraid of DEATH."

5. I called the doctor's office. The doctor had just left town and will not be returning until Monday. I'm still debating if I should take a chance...

6. True to form, I haven't packed a single thing. There is a good chance that I will end up in Nairobi with 12 pairs of sweat pants and one shirt. This would not be the first time.

Goals for the trip:
Pack enough underwear, drink a lot of Chai, see a baby elephant, avoid malaria, come back alive.

*Once upon a time four years ago, I ate this goat. It was by far the most delicious goat I had on my trip.