So, on Monday I leave for Mombasa, a large coastal city of Kenya, on the overnight train to meet up with Dan once more where from we’ll be catching a bus to Dar es Salaam, the largest city of Tanzania. After that, timetables, destinations and modes of transport are still in planning. Dan has an air ticket back to London on around the 25th of September so as long as we’re in Cape Town by then getting there will be an adventure. Once we reach Cape Town I’ll fly back to Kenya and return to my home in the small village of Mang’u, back to teaching at the polytechnic and back to hanging out with the awesome kids of Familia Moja.

In the mean time I’m looking forward to experiencing more of Africa than I first anticipated and looking forward to meeting other fellow travelers along the way. Updates are bound to be even more irregular than they are already but stay tuned, an adventure like this is bound to provide a story or two!

Dan

I spent my birthday weekend on Safari to the Masai Mara, a large wildlife reserve in the south west corner of Kenya sharing a border with Tanzania and joining the Serengeti.

Standing on the monument that marks the border of Kenya’s Masai Mara and Tanzania’s Serengeti.

Home to all manifest of African animals including, as they’re know in the tourist literature, the Big 5: Lion, Leopard, Buffalo, Black Rhino and African Elephant. All I knew about this trip was it was a camping safari with three days in the Mara and one day at Lake Nakuru, home to millions of Flamingoes.

I met Lynna in Thika, who was on the same safari, and after our early morning start to make it to Nairobi by 8:30 we met our guide, Edward (his friends call him Cobra), outside the Hilton hotel. We climb into the safari vehicle, a mini van with a pop up roof so you can stand and look out from inside, and head off to our first stop, a tire repair shop. After being told in the typical Kenya manner “this will only take a few minutes” around an hour later we’re on the road again only to stop five minutes later to pick up some other who will be joining us. A young Italian man and his Moroccan girlfriend climb on board and we beginning chatting. They’re a nice bohemian type couple who are traveling around east Africa before heading to Rwanda to undertake a project. We continue to our final stop in Nairobi where we gain two others, an older Kenyan couple who don’t say anything to anyone, and also take on some supplies of food.

The trip is relatively pleasant with conversation flowing easily between the four foreigners. The road takes us up the side of the Rift Valley, a huge continental rift that runs for 6000 km from Jordan to Mozambique, where we stop to take in the view and, I suspect in a pre organized manner, get hassled by the men selling curios and souvenirs. I get suckered and pay to much for a few item I intend to send to Sara for her birthday. The road continues down the side of the valley until we actually enter it and follow it along to a hotel/pub were we are to meet another van and swap passengers. A miss calculation on behalf of the safari company and we are one to many for the next part of the journey. It’s decided that me and Lynna, who had booked the additional option of visiting Lake Nakuru, will go there first while the others will continue onto the Masai Mara.

It’s another two hours to Nakuru and as we near the town you can see the vast lake from the road. Along the shore is an easily identifiable pink haze of flamingoes. We unexpectedly arrive at a hotel (I was expecting tents) and the miss calculations of the company continue. After Lynna and I refuse to share a room they finally organize one each and we lug our things upstairs. My room is yet to be cleaned and made but they assure me someone will be there shortly. Three hours and two request later no one has show up and frustration is setting in. We leave for our safari drive around the lake and I’m assured it will be fixed by the time we get back.

Now my impression of safari was a little more rugged than what the reality is. Effectively, safari means driving around the wilderness peering from the open roof of your van with very few opportunities to feel the earth under your feet. Seeing the animals was amazing and all I just hoped for something a little more off the beaten track

Lake Nakuru from a lookout within the park. The lake is saltwater and due to low water level the alkalinity is rising in turn reducing the number of flamingos here. Currently, in the media, there is a massive argument about the Mau forest, being the water catchments for the lake and feeding many other areas of Kenya. They are trying to evict the illegal settlers who have have moved in and cleared the forest for farming and plantations.

A family of White Rhinos from the lookout. These guys are easier to find, although we didn’t see any at the Masai Mara, because they feed on the open plains. The Black Rhino, which technically makes up the Big 5 (but I was happy with any Rhino), is much harder to find. Firstly because they feed in bushes so are usually obscured anyway and secondly because they are near extinction. The others in the corner are buffalo.

Standing on the shore of Lake Nakuru. One of the few opportunities the entire trip to actually get out of the vehicle. There are around 2.5 million flamingos here. There use to be up to 10 million but drought and deforestation has had a severe effect.

A White Rhino

Flamingos from a distance. It's like this along almost the entire shore line.

These baboons are everywhere tourists are. This one jumped in our van while our backs were turned had a sniff around and jumped out again. At another stop I watch a big one jump into a van in which a woman was sitting. She screamed as she sat watching this baboon steal the bread from the seat next to her.

On returning to the hotel and finding my room clean, we eat dinner and retire to sleep.

The next day after another 8 am start we drive back to the hotel/pub meeting place to rendezvous with another van and take on board some other fellow travelers. We sit around reading the paper and drinking soft drink for an hour or so when finally the other van arrives and disembarking are the five other who are to make up our tour group for the rest of the weekend. There are two older women, Maryann and Stella, half sisters from Canada and Britain respectively, a mid twenty’s couple from Italy and Dan a 22 year old British guy. We climb back on board our van and start the final three and a half hour drive to the Masai Mara.

The Masai Mara is home of the Masai tribe. They still dress in their bright red traditional blankets accessorized with colorful beads. They are well known for their cattle herding and the wealth of each individual tribe is judged on the size of their herd. The houses that make up their villages are constructed out of cross hatched logs packed with cow dung and have to be rebuilt every five years due to termites. They have adapted well to the tourist marker charging for photos and tours of their villages.

A Masai house.

People of the Masai tribe. The bright red of their blankets is to scare the wild animals that inhabit the Mara.

After leaving the paved road and traveling for an hour over rough corrugations we reach our camp site. With large tents housing two double beds each, lights and electrical outlets, a concrete floor and erected under a thatched roof, it was a long way from the dome tents in the wilderness I had been anticipating, but still, I wasn’t complaining.

We dumped our stuff, I was to share a tent with the British guy Dan, and headed out for our first taste of the Masai Mara: A four hour safari drive.

That evening I retired at lights out (ten pm, when they shut off the generator).

The Camp

One of the major disappointments, next to being trapped in a van all day, was the sheer number of tourists. Up in this tree is a Leopard, the hardest of the Big 5 to spot, hence the many vans surrounding it. There was only one or two occasions where I looked around and truly felt in the wild.

And this is what they were all there to see. He didn't seem bothered by all the fuss as he just slept the whole time getting up once to turn round and fall asleep again.

This guy is called a Topi. They were fairly common.

Wildebeest: Late July is the start of their annual migration form the Serengeti to the Masai Mara. Millions of these guys pass from south to north and back again later in the year. Massive herds of them were everywhere.

A male Impala: Usually found in a group of one or two male and their harem of 14 to 40 females. If you’re lucky you can find the bachelor herd of males without a harem. We were lucky.

Buffalo: I was told they treat humans as their natural enemy. Was inconclusively proven later when one decided he didn’t like our van. We drove off, unfortunately avoiding exciting disaster.

The next day, the 26th, I awoke to leave again on a safari drive and received many birthday wishes. The weather was beautiful clear blue skies and a pleasant temperature.

During the days drive Dan mentioned he had spoken to some of the local Masai tribesmen about the possibility of a night safari and was garnering support for the cause. Sounded like an awesome idea to me so I was in for sure depending on cost, that was yet to be negotiated.

A lion couple: The highlight of the day. The way they strode through the tall glass confirmed their reputation of majesty.

This guy stopped right next to out van, put his face towards the wind and the sun and just stood there for a full minute totally relaxed and at peace with the world.

Moments later the lioness did the same.

A leopard: He seemed mildly annoyed at the 20 or so vans following him.

The Masai Mara

He tried but was too short. Who would've thunk it?

They come in three flavors: The Rothschild's, the Reticulated and this one, the Masai.

A herd of Wildebeest. One of the many we saw. It’s quite common for the grazing animals to hang out together utilizing the different senses of each species to detect predators. Our guide said the Wildebeest will wait for the Zebra to join them before moving due to the Zebras intelligence. Compared to the Wildebeest anyway.

Around this waterhole were many Zebra attempting to regroup after splitting up for a drink. They make the weirdest barking noise that sounded like a sick dog coughing crossed with a donkey.

It seems Hippos are much more aggressive than they appear and when viewing them an armed guard is necessary. There must’ve been 40 or so in this stretch of river. Hippos that is, not armed guards.

Vultures

Meerkats

A Secretary Bird. Spends a lot of the time on the ground eating snakes.

Back at camp we stared drinking thanks to Maryann who had brought along a stash of gin and tonic and red wine. There was a small bar at the camp and I’d asked them to get me some brandy and vodka which we included with our stash. After dinner the lights went out and a line of African men carrying a cake danced and sung their way to my table. I honestly had no idea it had been organized and was embarrassed but totally flattered as everyone started singing happy birthday. I must thank Maryann for making this happen. I’ve never felt so special.

After cake Dan, Bepe (the Italian guy in my group) and I spoke to the tribesmen about the night safari. They wanted $US 50 per person. We left to decide and find more members who were keen. During the next hour Bepe managed to bargin them down to $US 22 per person as Dan found the rest of the crew to make nine on board. This included Dan, Bepe and his girlfriend, an Irish guy who was in Kenya for work, a young Dutch girl and a young Canadian girl (both volunteers in Kenya), me and two Masai tribesmen (one to drive and one to spotlight). We all piled in to an open top land cruiser with two rows of seats in the back on which we stared by standing on only to ignore later on as we made our way to sitting on the roof. For three hours we cruised around the Masai in the middle of the night spotting many of the animals we’d seen during the day and, the highlight, a small pride of lions lazing about. All this accompanied by the bottle of brandy that was being past around made for an awesome conclusion to an unforgettable birthday.

Just a quick post before I head off on Safari. Just wanted to wish happy birthday to a few people.

In no particular order:

Jut – What are you like 26 or something now? The local beer here is called Tuskers. You should hunt it out and try it. Let me know if it’s any good.

Vern – Despite your birthday passing already I bet you’ll still be hitting it this weekend. Live it up sunshine!!

Grandpa- Thanks for the kind email. I’m sure I’ll have a great time ‘up country’ (technically its geographicaly south and at a lower altitude to where I am now but we wont let that get in the way). Hope you have a good day.

Ferns – Scratching around out west in the desert isn’t my idea of fun for my birthday but you seem to enjoy it. Still I bet you’ll manage to live it up.

Thats all for now. I had some photos I wanted to post but no time. Maybe next round I’ll manage it.

We arrived in Nairobi around 6:30 Friday evening after the slow matatu ride through traffic in which they were playing Ace of Base classics at full blast. Unfortunately full blast meant hissing highs and a booming sub but left the mid section totally out of the equation. Combined with being stuck in a back seat positioned just that little bit to close to the roof, meaning if I wasn’t paying attention every bump was an addition to the headache forming from the music. Once hell on four wheels was finally over, I straighten myself out and we headed to a bar/restaurant called the Tea Room for a couple of liquid introductions to the weekend. Nicholas has been “saved” in the religious sense and as such doesn’t drink so while he chose a soda, Sammy had a Guinness (popular here, served in a 500ml bottle and pored into a small glass bit by bit) and I had a Smirnoff Black (At around $2 each, 3 times cheaper than home). A band of a drummer and guitarist were playing some Kikuyu music that sounded slightly like country and western without the twang. I liked what I was hearing and was a welcomed changed from the reggae and bongo styled music that has been a consistent soundtrack to Kenya so far. It was also pleasing to Sammy who felt the need to join the others populating the dance floor.

After a couple of drinks we left to find the matatu stage for the ride out to Kibete, the suburb we were to stay. Sammy was staying in the city so we said goodbye and headed our separate ways. The first matatu was a bit of a false start with only just getting underway, rounding a corner and being stopped by the police. No one could tell me what the problem was but the matatu was forced to park, the passengers get off and then walk back to the stage to try again.

The second try was more successful. We had traveled about half of the 20 minutes to Kibete when after a phone call Nicholas informed me of some trouble. The place in Kibete we were heading is a technical college. Nick’s cousin studies there and has a place on campus in which we were to stay. The school is quite large and had a similar feel to an Australian university campus albeit with a 3rd world touch. I was visiting at a time just before the end of term assessments and these are usually preceded by something called ‘exam fever’. As far as I understand this is pretty much an excuse for the students to find something to riot about and they had chosen this Friday night as the night.

We hopped off the matatu around 200 m before the front of the school as Nick worked on deciding what to do. Standing around in a dark market place type area he casually mentions to me the smell of tear gas in the air. Surprised at just how casually he mentions it, and that he actually knows the smell of tear gas, equally as casually, as my eyes and nose start to mildly burn, I mention I’ve never smelt tear gas before.

A few days later as he jokes about this exchange with others I’m told it’s a common occurrence and it’s popular for the students to try and catch the canister, before it hits the ground and discharges, and throw back at the police.

Nick decides to head to another cousin’s house around 200m in the opposite direction until things calm down a bit. His cousin lives in a single room, with his wife, which forms a single story building in a dirt compound just off a main road. We squeeze in and sit down on the couch that is against one wall with the rest of the space dominated by the double bed against the other. John, Nick’s cousin, is listing to music while his wife reheats food on a gas burner in the corner. After a short while a delicious meal of spinach and cow intestines, served with ugali and chapati, is delivered. I sat a talked answering the common questions of the differences between Australia and Kenya as Nick spoke on the phone to various people. In the end it was announced we’d go the back way into the school.

Thanking and leaving John we head back past the area were we first arrived and headed down a dark alley way along and around a few quite streets. We pass through a small door in a corrugated iron fence not uncommonly used as the entrance to the compounded rows of houses seen everywhere. We follow the narrow path down past the quite houses on either side for about 50 m till we reach a dead end of high bushes. Nick tells me his cousin’s place is just on the other side of this hindrance but it’s obvious we’ll have to find another way.

We backtrack along the path as I notice a woman peering out from a window. She doesn’t notice me at first but when she does she halts and the look of surprise at seeing a white man there and then is obvious. We exit through the same gate and head down a winding dirt track that follows the bushes that bar our path. We try a few more spots only to get caught up in the thorns the form the wall.

We’re now standing on the hill looking down into the urban valley of grass and small shrubs. We notice a group of people making their way up the hill. Nicks speaks a quite greeting which is replied with an almost Benny Hill looking split and dash of the six or so who make up the group. I couldn’t help but smile. At this point I tighten the pack I’m carrying on my back as it becoming evident that running will be the order if things get worse than they already are. We head down the hill towards them when finally one appears and is willing to talk. The conversation is held in Swahili but it looks and sounds positive.

Three of us now, we continue along the tall bush wall until I notice an opening in the greenery. We squeeze through avoiding as best we can the many thorns and appear in a field of tall grass with even taller maize skirting the edges. It appears the rest of the men who scattered earlier have regrouped and are making their way towards us from the bottom of the field in which we now stand.

Through a mixture of English and short shots of translated Swahili they tell me many of the students had to run out the back of the school to avoid the carnage at the front. Any attempt at the main entrance was met with a violent reaction from police, broken bones and lost teeth were expected.

We walk through the fields of grass and maize till we reach the top of the field only to be greeted once more by a dead end of tall thorny bushes. After a short backtrack it’s decided to head across the field to try our luck leading us to climb through a few barbed wire fences. Meeting other students making their way back along the way, we finally enter the school grounds and quickly head to Nick’s cousin, Patrick, place.

His room, for that’s all it was, it located in an old garage partitioned into four. It’s probably only five meters square and is set up much the same as John’s small place with a bed and couch taking up the majority or room. Feeling slightly awkward after finding out the three of us are to share the one double bed I settle in for what’s to be a rough nights sleep.

The next day I discover the cause of the riot. It turns out they students were to have a disco that night and were unhappy with the size of the sound system provided. Having requests for a better setup refused were apparently enough to set things in motion for the night of violence, tear gas and injury. It all seemed too much for me to understand. The next night a disco was provided and this time the students were happy.

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The main street of Ithanga. The vans in the front are matatu's.

I stand around for some time meeting the occasional stare from the locals to whom a white man is a rare sight. Stellah, her mother and various other characters discuss, as far as I can make out, the cost of transport to their home. We will go by motorcycle which here they call Boda Boda and once the discussion is over a bike pulls up begins strapping some of our luggage to the back. The rider then sits Eric on the gas tank in front, Stellah climbs on behind and I squeeze in between her and the luggage. Stellah’s mum will follow behind with the rest of the gear. The ride is along sandy dirt tracks, some with large ruts and potholes, that wind up into the mountains. I’d be impressive with the rider’s ability to navigate these roads alone let alone with three passengers and cargo. 20 minutes later we stop at the beginning of a goat track that heads down into a valley for the further 10 minute walk to the family home.

The track to Stellah's home (the roof of which you can see on the other side of the valley).

The house is set just up out of the dry creek bed we cross to reach it. It’s largish for the area set on a tiered 1/4 acre block cut into the slope and surrounded by chain link fence. The house is brick with a sitting room and three bedrooms accessed through a single door.

The kitchen. Pretty much a fire place in the corner of a room with a dirt floor. The chickens that were roaming around sleep in here at night.

The kitchen is attached to the side with another room attached to that. Only the sitting room has a floor of concrete with the rest providing bare earth. A radio is tune loudly to a local station thanks to the small solar panel on roof. Here I meet Stellah’s other brother of around 15, William, and another boy of maybe 17 or 18 who helps at the house, Paul. Stellah, the oldest of four lost the eldest of her brothers to illness in December last year.

Left is William, then Eric - Stellah's brothers. Paul is on the right.

We have a lunch of cabbage and rice and then I go for a short walk around to explore the area. In the evening, after dinner by the light of a single paraffin lamp, we go down into the creek bed to fetch water. There is a puddle in a low point between some rocks that forms as the ground water slowly seeps. We carry three drums down to the creek to fill.

Collecting water at night.

It’s around 10:30pm and I’m told if we don’t get the water now by 4am it will be gone as others come in the early morning for their own supplies. This water, filled with leaves and debris is used for washing clothes, utensils and ourselves, for drinking there is a dwindling supply of rain water stored at the house. With only enough to fill two of the containers we return and retire to sleep. The next day after breakfast (3 slices of bread and some tea) we head to Stellah’s grandmothers house, a 30 minute walk down off the mountain into the valley below.

Stellah's Grandmothers house. Some of Stellah's Aunts and Uncles live here as well.

It’s Sunday, the day of rest, and there are many men sitting around drinking moratina (sp?) to “pass the time while we are idle”. Moratina is a self brewed type of beer with the recipe changes from region to region. Here it was made from sugar cane, honey and the flesh of a large seed pod off a local tree. It was slightly sour but not unpleasant to drink. I spent time talking to the men as lunch of ugali, cabbage and the chicken caught and killed in front of me a few minutes earlier was being prepared.

Drinking with the men to pass time while idle. The one in the blue pants is Stellah's uncle.

We eat and after taking some photos, of which I promised to send copies, we leave to start the walk back home. Stellah and another girl who accompanies us are carrying maize given by her grandmother in a basket wrapped in a large scarf and tied over their shoulders. As we are climbing up the hill we pass a girl who has a large drum of water suspender over her back via a rope around her forehead. She is also carrying two smaller containers of water in her hands and is struggling up the hill. I feel guilty about not carrying anything, at Stellah’s insistence, so I take the two from her hands and continue the climb.

In the late afternoon William and I go out to retrieve the goats and cows he had led to feed that morning. The four cows are tied up on an open piece of land boarded by two deep gullies that meet up a little further on. It’s a good 20 meter drop to the bottom and I stare in amazement as girls climb up and down the other side carrying the now familiar drums to fetch water from the bottom. We release the cattle and walk them to a river bed to drink from the dirty puddles that remain passing many others doing the same. The cattle know the way home and at their own pace make their way only to stop every so often to sneak a bite from the maize fields that dot out path. A swift accurate rock throw from William quickly moves them on. After retrieving the goats in much the same fashion we eat dinner and I’m asleep before they leave to fetch the water. The next morning Paul takes me for a hike to the top of the ridge on whose side I have spent the last days. It’s a climb of a constant steep grade on sandy rocky tracks. We pass a few home scatted about and as we reach the top the view is amazing as I look back over the wide valley these people call home. On the other side of the ridge is another wide valley with two large ridges jutting in forming a gateway to the larges dams that can be seen in the distance. There is a smaller dam closer by with people working the maize fields planted there. We can’t stay long as we’re due back for a quick lunch before we depart once more.

The view from the top of the ridge.

The journey home is relatively pain free with the matatu provide working windows this time.

Rolling in a matatu. Laws were past to limit the number of passengers and improve the quality of the vehicals. Police checks on the roads are constat but a little something slipped out the window by the driver ensure no trouble.

I thank Stellah for inviting me along to see her home. To be made welcome by her family and community was truly an honor.

After attending the polytechnic for most of the day, where I’ve been spending my time formatting computers, reinstalling software and just generally trying to keep things running smoothly, I start the walk towards home along the way which lies Familia Moja. It’s not uncommon to be trailed by ten to twenty school children for most of the way, some running to catch up to the white man striding along. The walk is mostly spent trying to interact on some level: The children asking me where I’m from, where I’m heading and what’s my name? I, in return, practice my Swahili by asking pretty much the same questions. It’s safe to say their English is better than my attempts at their national tongue.

I get to Familia Moja and meet Julian and his father as we wait for the children to get ready. The Aussies have bought with them some soccer balls, grip balls, skipping ropes and Frisbees. It’s a rare treat for the kids to be able to play during the week so their excitement is at breaking point as we head off to a near by dusty patch in front of a school to play. I spend the rest of the afternoon running round like crazy kicking soccer balls and ducking Frisbees, I even give the skipping rope a try only to be shown up majorly by Julian. His mother and sister soon arrive and we continue to play until we’re called to return for supper. At this point I say goodbye and head home to the farm. They are to leave the next day for a safari and then onto Morocco before returning home.

It’s Monday and the car I’m sitting in is getting hot from the impact of the afternoon Kenyan sun. The car is parked on dirt littered with trash and motor oil in what looks like a wrecking yard but is in fact a body shop. Parked all around me in discernable order are mostly van type matatus in various states of repair. Men are wondering about; some working with makeshift tools, hand drills and homemade compressors; some playing checkers with bottle caps on a board painted on the roof of a gutted ute, one standing in the back the other in the front with his torso protruding though the gap left for the windshield; some are standing around tearing of strips of sugar cane with their teeth, chewing it for a bit then spitting it out in order to take another bite. How I find myself here is the story of a weekend in Nairobi, my first.

The streets of Nairobi. Burning rubbish on the road side is common.

Let’s go back to Thursday evening when I meet Lynna in Thika. She was to take me to meet a British woman who runs a street shelter for children and we were to catch up before she left on Saturday. She arrived with a (male) nurse friend from Thika hospital where she has been volunteering for the past month. We aren’t able to go to the street shelter for various reasons so the three of us decide to have dinner and a few drinks and the Coconut Grill, a popular restaurant with Europeans and the like. After dinner we go out to a pub, have a few more drinks and return to Lynna’s host family where I am to stay for the night.

Once we arrive, Lynna and her male friend disappear to her room only to return a short time later and announce they are ‘going for a walk’. Its was blaring obvious there was something between them from early on in the night and her failure to return from her ‘walk’ was further proof leaving me to spend time with Catherine and Charles in their home (the same Catherine and Charles from the Nairobi National Park).

Friday morning, still no sign of Lynna, I get up and catch a matatu back Mung’u where there is a day of painting at Familia Moja which I’m keen to be involved in. First stop the farm to have a quick wash and then the short walk to Familia reveals busses, trucks and people spilling out the entrance. It turns out around 30 to 40 staff from KPMG Nairobi have come to pitch in with painting, new guttering, a new water tank, new linen, mosquito nets, toys and various other bits and pieces. Honestly, I was overwhelmed, impressed and down right inspired by the keenness and willingness of these people. I take my hat off.

After a full day of work by these guys I grabbed a lift on one of the busses into Nairobi where I’m to meet Njoroge (Wambui’s brother) at a place called Kencom, a bus/matatu transit close to the CBD. On dropping me off the advice of ‘be vary careful’ and ‘take off your watch’ didn’t inspire confidence and with a backpack on I was bound to stick out like a tourist waiting to be mugged. A nervous few minute’s later Njoroge and his friend, Jerome, appear out of the crowd and we leave to head to a nearby bar.

Beer here is sold in half liter bottles and it seems most Kenyan’s like it warm. And despite my assurances I don’t like beer the common reply of ‘you’ll like this one’ was suggested. Result: I still don’t like beer, I’ll stick to the spirits.

We stayed at this pub for a few hours before it was suggested we head to Komarock, a suburb of Nairobi in which Wambui’s family have a second home, to the local watering hole of the guys I’m with. A matatu or two and were three. Komarock appeared to be made up a couple of main streets with gated courts and roads leading off, each manned by a casual looking security guard. The pub was an outdoor type where we sat and had a few more drinks along with the best pub meal yet, a tray of chips tossed around with chunks of beef and crushed tomatoes, heavily salted.

Saturday I went with Jerome as he showed me around parts of Nairobi. First we went to his brother’s house, which included a walk past the Tuskers brewery leaving the smell of barley heavy in the air. It was a quick visit in which I had some lunch, mashed potatoes mixed with black colored beans and some of the now all to familiar milky Kenyan tea. We then went to his place, a single room in an apartment complex on the side of the Nairobi-Thika road (the busiest stretch of road in East Africa – or so I’m told).

Jerome in the small room he calls home.

Not staying long in the small room we left for the Nairobi CBD to have a look around. Chaos is the only word for it. Cars and people everywhere with little or no regard for road rules who’s existence is doubtful anyway (and if they are ever enforced ‘a little something’ for the officer will do the trick).

For lunch we visit a Choma restaurant. Effectively Choma is diced roasted meat which you order by weight straight from the kitchen. Served with chips and Ugali (a mixture of maize flour and water cooked till it forms a loosely packed bread), everybody picks off a central plate after washing their hands under warm water poured from a jug by the waitress into a bowl. Is a pretty good meal if you don’t mind tearing meet of chunks of bone or the occasional bit of gristle. Toothpicks are the order of business once you’ve finished.

You can buy almost anything on the streets. I was told by Jerome the only thing not available is life but I bet you could fine someone trying to sell it.

Saturday night I’m apparently invited to a party although no one actually says anything until I ask where we’re going while squashed into the back seat of a car with 3 others. It was almost identical to an Aussie backyarder bar the goat meat cooked over charcoal. We all sat around in chairs on the lawn drinking brandy, beer or vodka as various bit of goat anatomy were served. In general goat meat tasted a lot like pork and the goat sausage wasn’t so bad either. It was when I reached the small intestine thinks turned for the worse. It started of very sweet by quickly became a chewy bitter disgrace on my tongue. I made a casual exit for the toiled and spat out what remained then hurried back to my drink to wash the taste out.

Many hours later as we were leaving the car I was traveling in managed to collide with something and rupture the radiator. A slow tow back to Komarock and the night was over.

Sunday I woke to find a group of men standing around the car discussing what to do, little did I know this would be the theme of the day. It had to be repaired before we headed back to Mang’u so another tow to a repair yard and a day standing, sitting and snoozing in the back seat the car was drivable again. Watching the guys work with makeshift tools had its interesting moments but they were few and far between the standing around discussing parts.

Any grassy area is always littered with people. The biggest slum in Africa was not far from here.

However, the dents had been knocked out and the radiator repaired but it still required painting and this is how I come to find myself spending all day Monday and where this entry began.

After the final repairs were completed Njoroge and I head back to Mang’u as the night rolls in and I’m my weekend is complete.

On Tuesday I took them into Thika as they wanted to buy some items for the orphanage. A squashy matatu ride in which Charles had to sit on Alex’s lap and my seat was the gap in the middle of two others was good for a laugh, especially for the locals who got out the phones and started taking pictures of the myzogus (white person) (Almost everybody here has a mobile phone. Land lines are very rare and apparently very expensive). I took them to the internet café, the bank and finally the supermarket. The supermarkets here are big multistory affairs with mostly food and the like on the bottom floor and furniture, electrical goods and household items taking up the rest. The boys bought a mattress, some outdoor chairs, a whole heap of exercise books, chalk and some flour for the orphanage. Getting it back to Mang’u was an exercise with Wambui’s father, James, original telling us he’d come a pick us up. Two hours later we were still standing outside the supermarket and it was becoming obvious he wasn’t coming. A few phone calls later and some inquiries back inside led to the manager hiring us a ute and driver to cart the stuff back. I jumped in with the goods and Charles and Alex decided to take the matatu.

The boys left for Nairobi on Wednesday and we getting a bus to Tanzania today. Charles had caught a stomach bug while here so I hope it cleared up in time for his 5-6 hours trip.

Charles

Alex (with Cathy from Familia Moja)

The rest of my week has been spent at the polytechnic. I’ve been working on the few computers they have to bring them up to scratch and make them usable. They were all secondhand and full of bugs and glitches. They’ve also had a network of sorts installed and I’ve been trying to get it working and happy. It was all going swimmingly till the power went out yesterday follow by a torrent of rain leaving us with very little to do. I offered to fix the electrics for them but the refused saying their own electrician was on his way and if I start working on the circuits he’d get upset and blame me for any or all the problems. He never showed up.

Today I’m in Thika to meet up with Lynna (the Melbourne nurse) who is going to introduce me to a British woman that runs a street shelter. Apparently she lives here permanently and is doing great things for the vulnerable children of Thika. Lynna leaves for Tanzania on Saturday to spend a month in an orphanage there and then it’s back to Oz to continue her job at the Alfred.

Friday a friend of James Woodward from Nairobi is coming to paint Familia Moja so no doubt I’ll be getting involved with that. In the evening some of Wambui’s brothers and sisters are going to take me out for Nairobi nightlife. Not to sure how that’s going to work out but I’m sure it’ll provide me with a story or two.

Lynna’s hosts were Catherine and Charles, Wambui’s sister and husband who live in Thika, along with their two children, Charles and Mona Lisa, and their nanny, Jeri.

One flat tire later and we eventually made it to the national park. It’s probably best to let the photos do the talking but I had an awesome day driving around the park and spotting animals. It’s even better knowing this is just a prequel to a four day camping safari in the Masai Mara which I’ve booked for the 24th July.

The entrance. There was a protracted discussion about the cost but I left it to the others to sort out. In the end the it was $65USD... a little much I thought.

I swear there is a Rhino in this picture.

There were many of these guys scattered about.

The armed guard of the Hippos pointing them out.

About as much as I saw of a hippo. However, the noise they makes is truly huge.

The national part also contained an animal orphanage.

A warthog at feeding time.

Thanks again Lynna!!