Life. Seasoned with perspective.
A mix of chaos, charm and comedy unfolds when arriving in a foreign city for the first time – from language mishaps to airport drama. A fun, energetic glimpse into the small moments that turn an ordinary trip into the start of a great story.
Today we continue the journey.
Three flights, almost twenty-four hours of travel, and a body that no longer understood what day it was. But at exactly 21:30 hours on the fifth of November, my China Eastern flight finally touched down at Xi’an Xianyang International Airport. That moment felt like crossing a finish line. I was tired beyond sense, excited beyond logic, and hungry enough to eat the safety manual on the plane.
After landing, we taxied for what felt like Nairobi to Mombasa. When the aircraft finally stopped, we boarded a bus and rode into an arrival lobby so calm, clean and vast that it instantly reminded me I was far from home. Everything about the space was intentional, quiet and efficient.
Now, before we go any further, let us get one thing straight. Xi’an is historic. Powerful. Influential. But it is not a tier-one Chinese city. That category belongs to Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou and Shenzhen. Yet Xi’an carries itself with an ancient confidence.
Once known as Chang’an, it is the capital of Shaanxi Province; one of China’s Four Great Ancient Capitals; the seat of thirteen dynasties; a city with over 3,000 years of history; a UNESCO World Historical City grouped together with the likes of Rome and Cairo. And of course, it is home to the world-famous Terracotta Army, a story I will tell you about in the next parts of this series.
But first, let us deal with what happened immediately after landing.
I picked up my suitcase and walked to the exit, praying that someone, anyone, was still waiting for me. Remember, after my visa drama, I arrived a full twenty-four hours late.
But there it was: a banner with the conference branding and a smiling young lady holding it. She spotted me instantly. I was the only African on the plane, so my identification was fast and free of confusion.
I smiled. She smiled. I unleashed a full English paragraph mixed with gratitude, relief and a compliment on her beauty. She listened patiently. And then, after a long pause, she gave me the warmest smile and said two soul-piercing words.
“No English.”
And smiled again.
At that moment, I knew all my compliments had gone to waste.
This language barrier situation was not new. On my domestic flight earlier, I had tried to ask the lady next to me about the meal. She did not understand a single word. She called the flight attendant who simply said, “Pork.” The flavour was another adventure that I will not dissect today.
Back to Xi’an. My chaperone motioned for me to follow her. She made a quick call, and within minutes, a car pulled up. We left the airport, and immediately, I felt a strange nostalgia.
The road network reminded me of the Nairobi Expressway, only bigger, cleaner, wider and more complex. The high-rise residential buildings stretched endlessly. The roads were disciplined. The lights were bright. The signage was clear. The whole city felt organised, intentional and surprisingly modern for a second-tier city.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the Xi’an International Convention Centre. This was both the hotel and the venue for our big meeting. Let me tell you something: Chinese hospitality is a standard on its own.
At the hotel reception, a designated host was waiting for me. The staff whisked away my luggage while the host engaged me in warm conversation. By this time, I was starving. It was past dinner and the restaurant was closed, but they helped me sort out takeout immediately.
I entered my room and the exhaustion hit me like a character in a Nollywood movie. I showered, sat down to eat, answered a few emails and began preparing for the next day.
My body, however, had other plans. Jet lag mixed with long flights and a five-hour time difference knocked me out mid-task: on the chair, laptop open, lights on. I only survived the morning because of the alarm I had set earlier.
Next week, we walk into the main reason I came to China.
The Global South Media Partners Mechanism Inauguration.
The thirteenth Global Video Media Forum.
A room full of media practitioners from the Global South, all asking the same burning question:
Why is our story told by everyone except us?
For decades, the African story has been filtered through foreign lenses – often misrepresented, often framed negatively, often told without understanding or context. And the same is true for many nations across the Global South. That is why this meeting mattered. It was not about ceremony or formality. It was about reclaiming the mic, turning down the external noise and beginning a new journey of ownership.
The real heart of the story lies there.
This was not just a conference. It was a reset.
And trust me, you will want to hear what happened inside that room.
Stay locked in.
About the author:
Kibisu Mulanda is a media executive and strategic communicator with over 20 years of experience in television, NGO storytelling and youth-focused content. He is the Acting Head of Switch Media Ltd and teaches media at the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC). A Certified SIYB Trainer, he blends storytelling with strategy to drive social impact.
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