Jambo Kenya
Having ‘lost’ stuff in the sending to Ingrid for putting on this BLOG, I am trying once again to write a bit about my travels. The reason for this sudden enthusiasm is because the “internet is down” in the local cyber net café where I am at present. So I can use ‘Word’ until we are once again connected, I am told. How I long for a machine which works and does not cost so much that one is constantly trying to restrict one’s actions!
This is just a brief update. I had not been able to access the BLOG for months from Ethiopia and lost heart after two bits of writing were not delivered despite the screen saying they have been sent to Ingrid.
Today a year ago, Dick died. And yesterday a year ago, I left for Morocco to start this trip.
After exactly six months, I left Ethiopia on 17th February. It was a good experience to be settled in one country, but what I did not realize, was just how much the locals had penetrated my defenses. I was constantly in a bad temper because of the non-stop soliciting from beggars and anybody who caught one’s eye. Because the country is so very over-populated and intensely farmed, one was never alone, even in the remotest countryside. As a ‘faranji’, I expected to be noticed, but not to be badgered constantly for alms. It is a poor country and I understand the reasons; white-skins are always reeking of money and quite willing to give away vast amounts in the eyes of the locals. After all, those who stay in the country permanently are constantly doling out largess via their NGOs. And tourists, who have neither the time nor wish to be involved directly during their short visit, are easily persuaded to part with a few coins.
What a contrast the minute I entered Kenya! Enthusiastic English-speaking helpers were happy to ask for a tip, but with a knowing smile. Suddenly one entered an open space and the eyes could rest on uninhabited solitude. Miles of North-Kenyan desert changed the atmosphere and I felt the tightness of prejudice lifting. By the time I arrived in Nairobi a week later, I was a different person!
Nairobi has a wonderful buzz about it which suited me after my unconsciously stifling stay in Addis. People ignored me. One saw or was approached at most once or twice a day by beggars, but generally the broad, clean and smooth inner-city pavements were just a busy city scene with everyone occupied with his/her life and a white-skin (mzinga) just part of the scene. I felt free! This does not mean that I am unaware of the vast slums around Nairobi. But for the moment, my contact was with the local theatre, opera in the Arboretum, cinema, friends in Karen, the leafy suburb where the mzingas live and friendly people around my hotel.
I took the overnight train to Mombasa and from there had an organized tourist day to the south of town at an island Marine Park where we could watch and ride close to dolphins, snorkel amongst the coral and fabulously coloured fish and eat fresh seafood in a smart restaurant with tables decorated with fresh flowers. The latter image is not what I like; too much pandering to the tourists and totally out of character for the country. But then, maybe if I went to Hawaii I might find that those garlands and fancy flower decorations are also not part of the culture of the locals. But I did not take to the conducted tour of the village on the island after out meal. Most tourists presumably do not go into villages and might find it fascinating. To me it was just a place where the inhabitants try to fleece visitors and charge for every look. But it is apparently much worse at the Parks like the Masai Mara. So I have to get used to a sophisticated tourist country after all the other less ‘developed‘ ones in which I had been staying .
Mombasa was too busy for me and I went north along the coast of my beloved Indian Ocean (much of my youth is associated with swimming in its warm seas) and found an idyllic spot by a large tidal estuary. Kilifi. The hotel (I was the only guest) overlooked the water and bush and in the direction of the town hidden by trees across the water. For 5 nights I could sit on the terrace and eat a healthy breakfast or watch the sun set over the water and bush whilst drinking a cold beer and once again indulging in freshly caught fish or whatever I ordered that morning.. During the days I swam endlessly, walked all over the place and along the seashore and had boat rides in the local dugout catamarans.
But no one goes to the Kenyan coast without visiting Lamu. It is a fabled Muslim town on an island (35 minutes by ferry) of very narrow cemented streets between tall, cool buildings. One could simultaneously touch both sides of a street most of the time and the town is small enough with the sea always peeping through a vista, for one not to be lost. The ex-pats who return year after year for a few months to escape the European winter all say “it is not like it used to be” and of course they are right. But they keep returning nevertheless and may catch less fish than before, but still enjoy the atmosphere and clear waters. My hotel room on the top floor overlooked rooftops and the sounds of family life below drifted upwards. If this BLOG is working correctly, there should be two photos taken of me on the boat which a charming Dutch woman and I hired for the day. Five nights there and I suddenly realized that time was running out!
Davey, a very good friend of Francis (I attended his wedding in Tuscany) will be in Nairobi at the beginning of April and we are going to Uganda together, so the western parts needed to be explored before then.
As a lover of train rides, it was a delight to take the overnight train to Kisumu on the eastern coast of Lake Victoria. Some of the staff remembered me from the Mombasa trips and the fact that I did not have their evening meal on my return. This was because the meal out was so bad (breakfasts were a delight) and I told them so when asked. This time I was unaware of the fact that I was the only paying diner, but the meal was great and I had a very attentive service; all alone in the dining car. This does not ignore the fact that there are only torches for light! Despite the need for updating parts of the service which was recently re-instated by a South African firm, that feeling of getting into crisp sheets on a bunk is so very evocative of my childhood in South Africa when we would have two nights of unbridled joy on the train to grandparents for the Christmas holidays.
Kisumu is a ‘coastal town’ and surely was a very busy little port at one time. There used to be a regular boat service to Kampala in Uganda, but today goods are taken from the train and then transported by road. To combat the dreaded malarial mosquito, Nile Perch were introduced into the lake. Instead of eating the insects, they soon eliminated over 30 species of unique Lake Victoria fish and then began to grow like Topsy. When I was there, a perch weighing 132kilos was caught. The record is over 200kilos. But it is the introduced flowering Hyacinth which has changed the lake forever. It was even more aggressive than the perch and in no time, vast areas of the lake were and still are covered by this noxious weed. OK, the flower is pretty. One can virtually walk on the thick foliage which floats on the surface of the lake. The most amazing sight though, and one I could not get enough of, was to see the whole area of the bay where Kisumu is just one of many towns, float past. It is like being in a vehicle and the countryside is passing by. Except that this time you are standing still and the landscape itself is moving past. Tomorrow, if the wind changes, the mass will move in the other direction… I remember seeing this on Lake Kariba in Zimbabwe many years ago, so it is nothing out of the ordinary, but at present it has stopped any form of boating activity. We did manage to get through a little passage one day on a dugout boat and the locals can fish to a limited extent, but once again ‘it is not like it used to be’.
In Kisumu I was taken over by members of an organization to which I belong called Women Welcome Women WorldWide (5W). What utter joy not to have to think! I was given bedspace and food and endlessly entertained so that the days merged and the many people to whom I was introduced, confused but not forgotten. Bless them all!
It was bliss though to be on my own once again after 5 days of such activity and I left for a pocket of Tropical Rain Forest which is the furthest east of the once vast forest that covered all of central Africa. Apart from some German scientists who were away on Safari and have a permanent camp nearby, I was the only person staying in the campsite of Bangas (huts) built for visitors. On my first day I had two Guided Walks: One very early to get to the look-out point to see the sun rise but also great for the sounds of awakening birds and primates. Later in the day, a 2 ½ hour nature trail which gave me the confidence the following days to explore on my own. The park is strictly guarded because it is such a precious piece of vanished forest and no woodgathering or poaching is tolerated. This is hard for the local people who live across the pathway from such lush wood and grazing gifts. One afternoon I was going down a path to a waterfall when I came across 5 armed Rangers standing around two frightened sitting women who had obviously been gathering wood. Later, on my return I had hoped to follow the track which went past their village, but the sound of screams and wailing and shouts coming from that direction made me think otherwise. I had not kept an eye on the path because I had intended to return via the track, so, with the sudden darkness that the equator brings on, it did not take me long to get totally lost. Without any whistle or medical aid in case my flimsy sandals gave way in the unexplored bush/tall grass, I was quite worried. Fortunately, after about ½ hour, I managed to find the edge on the forest and eventually the path which lead to the campsite. This was no big deal, but just proved to me how easy it is to get lost when you think you can manage. And as the rainy season has begun, I was completely soaked when the heavens opened with one of those tropical storms of lightning and thunder and very large drops of incessant rain for about 20 minutes. Afterwards, all is sweetness and light and the sky pretends that nothing untoward happened. Wrapped in a cloth and with a fire and hot drink, I soon felt very happy in my loneliness. By the way, the women will be so heavily fined that no member of the village can pay it, so they will go to jail for about three months and be told to do community work. Harsh, but necessary to protect the 9 primates, 280 bird species and up to 400 fantastic butterfly species inter alia.
Now in Eldoret (a name reminiscent of what? I keep asking myself. The Wild West? The Gold Rush?) and the internet is working and I am off to a local Video Cinema to see the only film which appealed out of a choice of 4 which I was offered.
posted by Hilda Matthews @ 12:04 PM
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