Staying in Downtown Nairobi…

One day Rachel remarked about how most Americans only get to see the hotel, resort or safari lodge side of Kenya, but that I was really seeing it all, actually staying most nights in the home of her sister’s family.  They live in an estate in a Nairobi suburb called Embakasi.  I often noticed Kenyans’ use of the term, “estate.”  In the U.S., an estate seems to refer to a good-sized piece of land with a large house on it, or to the sum-total holdings of a person who has died.  Here it just refers to a housing development.

The Hilton Nairobi

Embakasi is also where the airport was located, so we had convenient access to it while there.  This district, according to its Wikipedia entry, “houses mostly lower middle income citizens.”  Mumbi and Wachira live in what you might liken to an apartment complex, although I know they own the property.  So I suppose it’s like a condominium.  I’d say about 850 square feet.

Like I said, I had a rather large voiceover project to do for one of my clients, and while I’d imagined setting up my mobile studio in the home where we were staying, I found that the tile floors and mostly-bare walls made for a very reverberant setting, not conducive to recording.  Plus I would have been uncomfortable asking our nieces not to make any sounds while I was recording, which would have been required.  So I was glad I had over 45,000 Hilton Honors points; I just cashed in 30,000 of them to stay at the Hilton Nairobi.

Guys pulling carts are everywhere in Kenya

Throughout my trip, I felt like a millionaire.  Things are generally very inexpensive compared to what I’m accustomed to.  But hotels?  Sheesh!  They run anywhere from $215 to $450 (USD) per night!  Good thing I had those points.

There were a couple of places on my visit to Kenya that seemed like ideal backdrops for a James Bond film, and this was one of them.  It appears to be located in the very center of the bustling, downtown area.  Oh, and I’ve been wanting to write about this for awhile.  One of the simplest and most primary differences between Kenya and the U.S., is that here…everybody is out.  I

Precious rain falls outside the Nairobi Hilton

mean any road or street you see will have lots and lots of people along both sides of it.  People walking, people sitting, people lying down, people buying and selling stuff, people pulling carts with all manner of things on them.  And pulling into the Hilton felt like I was an internationally recognized ambassador, arriving for a high-profile meeting with national leaders.

It’s gated, and since there are people freaking EVERYWHERE, there are lots of dignified Hilton employees, elaborately dressed in long, red coats, gloves and official caps, making sure no one’s getting in who shouldn’t be.  One guy checked our trunk and my luggage before letting us in the parking area.  Ultimately when these people saw my white face in the car, they immediately nodded respectfully and directed us in.  My driver, Ronald, told me this is commonplace.

Judging from the inside, I figured this hotel had been built sometime in the 1940s or 50s, but was told it was built in 1969.  Very Euro-elegant.  The service is just amazing at these places.  My theory is that a job at this hotel is considered most plum, so (as I think I wrote previously) they are trying with every fiber of their

The Concierge Lounge

being to make sure you’re happy and that they’re not doing ANYTHING that could upset you in the least.

Since the Hilton Honors certificate I needed had been e-mailed to me, upon checking in, I was given a key card for the Executive Concierge Lounge, and told I could print it out there.  I’m used to these lounges in the U.S., available for those having status as a frequent guest with any particular hotel chain.  Usually they have a few, little things to nibble on, soft drinks that are free, and alcoholic beverages available for purchase.  But here?  It seemed like a scrumptious cornucopia of edible delights!  And drinks were complimentary.  “Yes,

Our room at the Hilton Nairobi

I’ll have a Tusker, thank you!”

The room is what I’d call quaint.  Clean?  Yes.  Comfortable?  Certainly.  It’s a bit smaller and older than what I’m used to in most nicer U.S. hotels, but just full of charm.  There are fresh flower arrangements and trays of fruits and nuts brought every day.

There was a medium-sized desk next to the bed, and that’s where I set up my mobile studio.  I’m using Digidesign’s Mbox 2 Mini, an ultra-compact USB-based interface for my laptop, on which I have

The Mbox is the heart of my mobile studio

the very latest version of Pro-Tools LE recording and editing software.  I brought my Equitek E-200 Mic and a tabletop boom for it.  I also used a little Porta-Booth to reduce ambient room sound.  This thing is great!  It folds down beautifully (pictured,) and when you open it up, you just put a piece of acoustic foam in there, put the mic in front of it, and voila!  A very reasonably, quiet studio sound.

To be honest, I felt sure something was going to foul up with this.  But, other than a

Porta-Booth folded

somewhat poor cell connection when calling my client back in the states for direction, it went unbelievably well!  We recorded, I edited the TV voiceovers, created AIFF files for the production house, and sent them over the internet.  I know some would chide me for doing this while on any vacation–much more so the fact that I’d traveled across the globe to Africa.  “Geez, Jon, you’re on vacation.  Let the client find a fill-in for you.  Relax, man!”

Porta-Booth in action

I know, I know.  But I ask you:  Isn’t giving up a total of two hours and fifteen minutes of your time for $1400 worth it–even when you’re on vacation?  I mean seriously, if it meant giving up hours every day, I’d probably just drop it, but a little over two hours?  One time???  I’m glad I did it, and grateful everything came off without a hitch.

As was the case frequently in Kenya, there was a buffet.  I’ve noticed that, despite the glorious buffets they put on here, no one in Kenya really pulls off a passable, American-style salad bar.  Once in awhile you’ll

The Hilton Nairobi Restaurant

find a plate of large, stacked iceberg lettuce leaves, but that’s it.  I don’t think other countries are as fond of the salad bar concept we like.  In Kenya the food has a decided Indian influence.  There are all sorts of dishes, including spicy melanges:  meats, corn, beans, as well as various other types of salads and breads.  With only a couple of exceptions I found the breads to be dry and relatively flavorless.  (The exception were the two Serena properties we would later stay at; I’ll get to that later.)

It was so good to have a nice big bed, hot and cold running water and a nice shower and toilet, I decided to spring for a second night here on Wednesday (October 14th.)  During the day on Wednesday, Rachel and I went for a walk around the downtown area.  We found a gift shop run by an Indian man, who gave us a nice deal on a few souvenirs, we sat down and watched a very zealous Christian man, spontaneously preaching at great volume in a town square area, and even ate at Wimpy’s.

When Rachel and I first met, I questioned her about Kenya.  I was surprised that there was not a single McDonald’s there.  She told me she remembered a place called Wimpy’s, and I told her that must have been taken from the hamburger-eating character of the same name in the Popeye cartoons.  This place was quite the dump.

Wherever you go in Kenya, (and perhaps particularly when you’re an mzungu,) there seem to be guys approaching you, trying to move you to buy this or that.  I mean we’d just walked into the place.  Obviously we were going to buy something there; why the intensity?  Let us walk up and order.  But, no, a young man approached, motioned for us to sit down at a greasy, little table, and stuck some similarly greasy, laminated menus in front of us.  He pointed strongly at the item on the menu he figured I’d want.  Hamburger, fries and drink combo.  We ordered a couple.  The hamburger was not bad.  It was also not good.  It didn’t really taste like any hamburger I’d had before.  I was puzzled by the considerable portion of grated carrot on this burger.  Grated carrot?  Look, I don’t have any place telling Kenyans how to make their chapati, say, or even how they roast their goat, certainly.  But, as an American, I can say with all due confidence that you Kenyans should completely eliminate the flipping grated carrot from your burgers!  Bleh!!!

Speaking of food, Wednesday evening, Rachel’s sister Mary picked us up at

The Carnivore, billed as "Africa's Greatest Eating Experience!"

the hotel and drove us to Carnivore, the most famous restaurant in Kenya, specializing in (you guessed it) meat!  Before Kenyan law banned it, you could get lots of wild game meat here, but now its all kinds of beef, pork, chicken, turkey, sausage, lamb, spare ribs, etc.  My favorite were the ostrich meatballs; delicious!  The place functions in much the same way as one of those Brazilian-style churrascarias I’ve been to in the U.S.  There’s a flag on your table, and as long as you leave it up, guys are always coming around with meat on long Masai swords and cutting some off onto your plate.  When you are ready to “surrender,” you put the flag down so they stop coming.

From left, Wachira, Mary, Me and Rachel

We met Wachira there, and the four of us enjoyed ourselves immensely.  Mary is an attorney who works for Kenya’s National Coffee Board.  In fact she gave us a nice gift package of Kenyan coffee to take back to the states.  Kenyan coffee is some of the best in the world!

We returned to the Hilton for our second night there.  In the earlier picture I’ve posted, you’ll notice it’s raining.  The drought they’ve been experiencing has taken a terrible toll on the people here.  So while we were there, everyone at the hotel was rejoicing a bit.  “You’ve brought the rain to us!” they said, smiling.

On Thursday we would return to Mumbi and Wachira’s to get ready for our trip to the white sand beaches of Mombasa!

Meeting Rachel’s Shosho…

While Rachel and I had been talking about going to Kenya for some time, we didn’t make any definite progress in planning it until we received news that her shosho (grandma) had fallen sick.  Not only did we start making plans immediately, we decided to leave three months earlier than originally considered.  She therefore was a major reason for our visit.

Rachel and her Grandma

Shosho (Rachel’s mother’s mother) lives in what Kenyans call “ushago.”  This is not an actual geographic location, but instead a term that refers to a rural area, equivalent to Americans’ use of the term “boondocks.”  Her home is actually a dung hut.  But because she got so sick, after her stay in the hospital, she began staying with Rachel’s Aunt Waithera, closer to the city of Nairobi.  We made plans to go see her the day after our safari.

Previously we introduced you to Charles, Wachira’s cousin and employee.  He’d been acting as our driver, but we had a bad experience with him the day before.  It was good to have Charles, since he knew the area and was able to negotiate nutty Nairobi traffic.  But Rachel had begun to wonder why, every time we’d stop for gas, Charles would get out of the car, considering gas stations here are full-service.  She began to eye the gas pump and prompted me to do so too.  Although we’d given Charles two-thousand shillings for gas, we noticed the pump stopped at fifteen hundred.  Great… He was pocketing the other five hundred.

Rachel and I asked him about it when he got in the car, and his reply in Swahili (Rachel tells me) was completely lame.  We continued to press him without directly accusing him, and he pulled back in, instructing them to put in another five hundred.  We allowed the idea that this was somehow the gas station attendant’s fault, although this is ridiculous, knowing as we did that Charles hawked over the pump the entire time.  We wrestled over whether or not to tell Mumbi and Wachira about this.  While this was clearly deceptive and fraudulent, I tried to factor in the reality of a person who lives in relative poverty in a third-world country, when faced with a couple who (in his likely way of thinking) is spending money so liberally.  But Rachel decided that this deception was something that her sister and brother-in-law would want to know about, since they often rely upon Charles in other capacities.  Long story short?  We had a new driver:  Ronald.

Aunt Waithera’s home is in an area with very rocky alleyways.  As we pulled up to a metallic gate, Rachel called her on

ShoSho meets Mzungu

our cell phone, and a cousin came out, sliding the gate a bit, peering out at us, and sliding it open the rest of the way.  I was concerned because my mobile recording studio equipment was in the car, and it just didn’t seem smart to leave it in there unattended.  I paid this younger cousin one hundred shillings to keep watch over it, while we went inside.  Walking in, Rachel, Ronald and I sat down on a little sofa in the front room.  Across from us, over the doorway, was a hanging sheet.  Rachel was called into the room on the other side, while I waited.  I caught a glimpse of her shosho, and heard as she exclaimed loudly at the reunion.  After a time, they both came into the front room, and I got to meet her grandma.

After having chapati and tea, I left with Ronald as planned.  I had some voiceovers to do, and cashed in some reward points to stay at the Hilton Nairobi downtown, where I could set up my studio, connect with my client in Detroit, lay down the tracks, edit them and send them via the internet.  The agency is Lerner Advertising, and the advertiser is Gardner-White Furniture, a major, southeast Michigan company.  They’re a lucrative client for me, and I didn’t want to walk away from the regular work I do for them, especially since it’s relatively easy to have a mobile studio today, and it would only take a couple of hours or so for me to complete the project.  But I’d never done this before, so I was incredibly relieved when everything worked out perfectly:  the recording, the editing, the forwarding.  It’s as if I was still in my studio in Phoenix!

Inside a Kenyan, shared-ride Matatu

Rachel wanted to spend more time with her shosho, so she would join me later.  Shosho speaks no English – and really doesn’t speak much Swahili – using instead her native Kikuyu tongue.  It was a challenge for Rachel, since she hasn’t really spoken Kikuyu in a long time.  She understands, but struggles with speaking it.  That said, I found her doing better than she thought she would.

Rachel had planned to take a matatu to the hotel.  This is a shared-ride minibus, and you’ll see them all over Kenya.  “Matatu” comes from the Swahili word for “three,” since it used to cost three coins to ride.  They are notorious for their reckless driving.  I got a kick out of all the ways the various matatus marketed themselves with signage.  Many of them have very Christian expressions on them, but I’d say most present a sort of rebellious image.  “GANGSTA’!”  “In Da StreetZ!”  Some of them provided a chuckle, as (from an American perspective) they might miss the mark a bit in capturing that counterculture angst.  I remember one had a very crude, anarchistic-looking font, reading, “ILLINOIS!!!”

Typical Matatu signage

Not only are these matatus considered reckless, they are also at the center of a lot of organized crime in Kenya these days.  This made me a bit uneasy, and I asked Rachel if she could get someone to ride with her if she was going to take one.  This was no problem, since upon finding out she was at her aunt’s house, some cousins immediately came to see her.  One of them was Mwangi.  (This is actually Mumbi and Wachira’s last name, but his first name.)  He rode with Rachel to the Hilton and I came down to meet them when they arrived.  I noticed he was dressed in a full suit, which surprised me a bit.  I suggested we go to the bar to sit awhile.

From my exposure to Kenyans in Kenya, it would be clear that most are very, very strongly devoted Christians–much more so than the average American.  And the idea that alcohol is ungodly is rather prevalent–although no one ever openly denounced me for drinking while there.  Wachira told me that more people drink than let on, but it is considered (shall we say) disrespectful to be open about it.  That said, even though I

Rachel, Aunt Waithera, Shosho and cousin

had a beer and Rachel a glass of white wine, Mwangi chose a Fanta instead.

Rachel told me what happened after I left Aunt Waithera’s.  Although her shosho was very subdued when I was around, she beamed when I left.  Mwangi kept saying to me, “You are so good for us.  So good for us.” I was puzzled.  Rachel explained that her grandmother had never been around a white person before.  In Kenya, white people are known as “mzungu.”  Apparently her shosho kept remarking to everyone around, “I touched the hand of an mzungu, and he touched mine!  Pictures were taken of us together!” Her aunt noted that shosho was standing straighter and looking better than she had since her illness.  She told Rachel of the difficult things that had occurred in the family’s past.  She kept inquiring as to whether I was good to her or not.  She seemed to think having an mzungu in the family was inspiring, and an indicator of good things to come.

Imagine this.  It was uncomfortable for me, since the last thing I’d want is to accept some sort of special treatment for my skin color.  In my own country, I hate the concept of intentional racial classism, originating from any camp.  Yet, these expressions are no doubt based upon circumstances that I can’t understand.  Do I want to revel in such status?  No.  But do I want to quash the genuine, positive feelings surrounding it, especially if it seems to breathe life into an old woman?  Well…no!

So the family mzungu I will be.

Safari – Day 3

Rachel, taking it easy on Day 3

Staying at the Keekorok was a really great idea.  The food was fantastic, the service wonderful, the room very comfortable.  Day 3 would include an early morning game drive, breakfast, then getting right on the road back to Nairobi so that we could (we hope) miss most of the afternoon traffic in the city.

We saw more of the same this morning, but none of it disappointed.  Elephants were very close, and one of them got a little too close, so Joseph backed away.  At one point I stood up to look at him through the roof and he started shaking his head dramatically, left and right.  Joseph said, “He is trying to tell you he is not impressed with you!”

We came upon a couple of lions along the banks of the river.  Then noticed there

Lions taking a sip from the Masai River

were two more not far away who had stirred the attention of other vehicles.  Once again we’d just missed a successful hunt!  This time a buffalo.  But what was different about this one is that a large pack of hyenas (the first we saw on our safari) had been trying to steal some of the meat away.  Joseph explained that, although hyenas are more successful hunters than lions, they also prefer to get their

A hyena, making off with some of a lion's kill

meat the easy way if they can.  We noticed at least one hyena had nabbed a good chunk, and this seemed to embolden the rest of the pack.  We watched for a long time as certain hyenas would head toward the lion, glancing about in hopes that others would join in.  Other than the first guy we came across (pictured,) we saw no other effective effort to take on the great beast.

Joseph has noticed that people tend to classify hyenas as scavengers, and while this is certainly true, it’s also true (as previously mentioned) they are some of the best hunters in the animal kingdom, securing their prey more than 80% of the time, which is more than twice that of lions.

The lion reclaims "the lion's share" of his kill

We’d planned to cover more Mara ground this morning, but this event carried so much excitement that we stayed for quite awhile, then headed back for breakfast at the Keekorok.

Safari – Day Two

So here’s the schedule… We meet Joseph out in front of the lodge at 6:30 am for the

Me, coffee in one hand, camcorder in the other, heading out bright and early

day’s first drive.  It’s a very important time since the early morning hours are often when animals are feeding, and sometimes hunting.  We come back around 8:30am for breakfast, then head out again from 10 am to 12:30 pm, at which time we have lunch and time for a bit of rest.  Back out from 4pm until 6:30 pm, when supper is served.  The safari tour companies strictly adhere to the 6:30 am to 6:30 pm game drive window.  The animals are left undisturbed for the other twelve hours of the day.

Not long outside of the lodge grounds, we came upon a group of eight or ten

An elephant keeps an eye on our approaching vehicle

elephants.  Joseph told us, “These creatures demand total silence.” Apparently, unlike the lion, elephants are easily irritated by observers and are known to charge safari vehicles.

Previously the subject of who the real “King of the Jungle” is came up.  This, according to Joseph, would be candidate number one.  Elephants have been known to fend off up to seven lionesses.  In fact the only time lions will attempt an elephant attack is when a group of them comes upon a single, isolated elephant.

There are other candidates Joesph advances based upon the success of their hunting as a species.  Lions have only about a 35% hunting success rate, while hyenas are at more than 80% and the African Hunting Dog approximately 98%.  We’ll see some hyenas on Day 3, but apparently wild African Hunting Dogs, known killers of the Masai cattle and goats were scared by the Masai out of the Mara vicinity.

Joseph also suggests the Honey Badger.  While they rarely weigh more than twenty five pounds, they are widely regarded as the most fearless creatures.  They will take on absolutely ANY other animal.  A few of them together have been known to scare away leopards and lions from their own kills!  We would not see any honey badgers on our safari.

Also on our morning drive, we would be able to scratch off another of the Big Five

A Black Rhino makes a rare appearance on our drive

from our list:  the Black Rhino, one of the rarest of all to catch sight of.  Joseph said that two years ago there were only fifty-six black rhinos believed to exist in the Mara reserve, and he doesn’t imagine that population has grown.  The rhinos are not only incredibly scarce, but they’re also very good at hiding in ditches, being particularly capable of holding completely still.  I wish we could have gotten closer, but we were still able to get a pretty good photo of him.

Zebras Zebras everywhere!

When we were first driving toward the lodge and spotted zebras, we asked Joseph to stop so we could take some shots.  He did, but assured us that throughout our drives they would often be right next to our vehicle.  He was right.  There seem to be no shortage of zebras here.  My impression of them was little different than when I was a child and saw them on television:  those stripes are simply magnificent, just perfect.

Oh, and speaking of zebras, lions like them quite a lot too.  We came across a trio of them who’d just taken one down.  I really hoped we could be there for an actual hunt, and we did find two lions at one point, scoping out some Impala.  They sometimes benefit from the various safari vehicles that come in close to them, since often this camouflages them from their potential prey.  But for some reason they pulled back from the impala and we moved on.

On our late morning drive, Joseph got a tip on his radio from a friendly fellow tour

A leopard hides from us in a tree

guide.  He held up his finger, “You are the luckiest clients I have had all year!  There is a leopard!” Leopards are also fairly difficult to spot (pardon the pun.)  Even though we did find him, we ended up waiting a looooong time for him to come out of his tree–and finally left before getting a good photo of him.  My video is a bit better; at some point, I’ll make that available to you.

One of the coolest things about the Keekarok Lodge is the Hippo Pool they have out back.  If you walk behind the property, you’ll find a trail that leads to a kind of dock,

The Hippo Pool

which further leads to a great deal of other planked walkways well above the ground.  In one direction you’ll find an actual bar overlooking the pool, with nice, big, sliding windows through which to observe the hippos.  The frustrating thing is that they mainly only come out of the water at night, and by that time I didn’t have good success taking a photo of them.  But we have plenty of them seen while mostly submerged.

Day 2 of our Safari comes to a close

We saw more lions, more buffalo, more antelope, giraffe, elephant, and that brings us to the end of Day 2.  Day 3 would be abbreviated, but we’d still see plenty.  That’s coming in my next post.

Heading out on Safari!

Safari is a Swahili word for “long journey.”  It used to refer to a big game hunt, but now generally has to do with a trip taken for the purpose of observing and photographing big game or other wildlife.  We booked our trip through Asili Adventures, working with Joyce Mbote, and were glad we did.

On Sunday at 7:30 am our driver, Joseph, arrived at Mumbi and Wachira’s home to pick us up.  This guy is exactly who you’d cast in a movie about a safari.  A 6′2″,

Joseph, our Safari Guide

deep-voiced, shaven-headed, straight-standing and incredibly well-informed man, Joseph had a quick, detailed and articulate answer for any question we’d pose throughout the next three days.  Although having a thick Kenyan accent, he spoke English with precision.

We drove through Nairobi and through the Great Rift Valley in the large, rugged Nissan safari van we’d be in throughout the adventure.  It would be about a five and a half hour drive.  Just as we entered the valley, we saw a family of baboons–but we couldn’t quite get our camera or camcorder on them.

This journey takes you through the land of the Masai, which for an American is like

Me, beaming in anticipation as we approach The Mara!

leaping into another century.  For approximately the last hour and twenty minutes you are no longer on any kind of actual road–but more a trail, well-worn by all the safari vehicles headed into Masai Mara, Africa’s most famous wild game reserve.  It is an incredibly bumpy trip; I wondered if there were a staff chiropractor at the lodge ahead!

The Mara is about 590 square miles in size, and lies near Kenya’s southwest border, adjacent to Tanzania.  On the way in we saw lots of antelopes, which is the broad category to which a number of animals belong.  There were Thomson’s Gazelle,

An Impala, grazing by the side of our trail to the lodge

Impala, Hartebeest, Elant, Waterbuck and Redbuck.  The great Wildebeest Migration had just occurred the week before we arrived, and is regarded as the eighth wonder of the world to locals, but there were still a few Wildebeest as we drove through.  There were also huge numbers of Zebra and Buffalo.  Then we arrived at our lodge, The Keekorok.

So far, the Keekorok has probably been the thing we’ve enjoyed the most since starting our Kenyan adventure.  We loved our room, the lodge and the grounds surrounding it.  I’d say the majority staying there were Europeans, with a few Japanese, Indians and Americans.  Rachel was one of only two Kenyans who were staying at the lodge.  The unfortunate reality is that most Kenyans are far too poor to pay for something like this.  I felt a bit uncomfortable when discovering this in the presence of Rachel’s family.

Some safari companies offer to let you stay in “tented camps” on the Mara, and there are those who would only do it that way.  But Rachel’s brother once spoke of tenting in another reserve and seeing a hippo move right by him, so she felt better about a lodge.  I suppose there may have been another thirty or so vehicles moving about the vicinity while we were there.  The vehicles have all been customized so that the rooves pop up about two feet, and you can stand up and see or film the animals without a window obscuring your sight.

We arrived at the lodge around 2pm or so, checked in and had lunch.  The food is always a gargantuan buffet, featuring foods that are influenced by both Kenyan, British and Indian cuisine.  I think I’ll talk more about differences I’ve noted in the food (and otherwise) in a later post.  We met Joseph out front for our late afternoon game drive.

“The Big Five” is something you hear around here a lot.  The idea is that, when you’re on safari, you hope to see all of the Big Five:  Lion, Elephant, Leopard, Rhino & Buffalo.  This was curious to Rachel and me, since we were more excited about seeing cheetahs, giraffes and hippos than Buffalo.  But the Big Five is a throwback to

A buffalo glances at us in mid-graze as we stop for a look

hunting safaris, when it was about bagging something that was large enough or wily enough to require good hunting skill.

To me, Buffaloes are just like big, meaty cows with funky horns.  There seem to be enormous herds of them constantly grazing.  As slow and calm as they are, apparently you’ll never see a single lion attempt an attack on one; it takes at least a few to bring one down.  There was nothing particularly exceptional about them–other than that they looked like they’d taste good!

Giraffes are freaky.  We saw quite a few of the Masai Giraffe, the largest of the species

The Masai Giraffe, largest of the species

and the tallest land mammal, some of them reaching over 21 feet in height.  They are slow with enormous strides (obviously,) but they really seem to study you.  Joseph told us that lions stay clear of giraffes as well since their kicks are from hell, coming from any angle and being delivered with sharp hooves.  The only time a predator will attack is when a giraffe folds its legs and sits down for a drink.  Rising is a time-consuming process and the perfect opportunity for a lion.

Joseph told us that not long ago a woman was deceived by a giraffe’s calm demeanor when one wandered near her Mara lodge.  She was taking pictures, getting closer and closer to it, and it didn’t seem to mind.  She then decided to walk underneath the animal and snap a few shots, but the giraffe kicked her in the chest, killing her immediately.

Two cheetahs, one of them full, the other still enjoying an antelope

At this time we also saw the first and only cheetahs we would see on our safari.  I so wanted to see one running, but we had to settle for seeing a pair feeding on an antelope.  Joseph explained that a cheetah is neither classified as a cat nor a dog, but has strong characteristics of both. They’ve been recorded running at speeds up to 75 miles per hour.  Boy, would I have loved to see that!

Rachel was most interested in seeing lions, and we would not be let down.  Yes, on our very first drive, we found

A male and female lion, basking together

two lions mating.  We would see lots of them throughout our safari, and one thing I’d say about them:  they seem least interested and least bothered by humans than any other animal out there.

Throughout our trip we discussed whether it was accurate to consider the lion the King of the Jungle.  Joseph feels strongly that it is not, and we’ll talk about his reasons in the next post, but I think the lion–and particularly the large, maned lion, with it’s cat-like face,

The same pair, so much in love...

fearsome roar and ability as a hunter is something that people are truly fascinated by.  But on this particular sighting?  They were just getting it on…

Much more to come!

To the Country Club for a Bit of…Goat?

The term “country club” in the U.S. tends to refer to a building on the grounds of a golf course.  Inside there is usually a Pro Shop selling all things related to the sport as well as a bar and restaurant–often a very nice restaurant.  In Kenya I also found a country club, but believe me there was no golf…

This way to Olepolos Country Club

Olepolos Country Club is a little place just south of Nairobi in the Ngong Hills.  You won’t find it in any tourist guide, but we were with Rachel’s sister and brother-in-law, and as locals, they knew it would be a great and different experience for an American.  So we headed out this past Saturday on the hour and a half drive.

Just try to imagine a place situated on a ridge where there are several “bandas,” which are small, open, stone buildings with wooden tables and benches.  Upon walking up a hill, you order the meat and accompaniments.

Rachel with Wanjiru & Wanjiku, our nieces, overlooking Oleporos' breathtaking view

Wachira ordered the meat, which (by the way) is goat meat.  A shoulder and “a bit of rib.”  He also ordered some Kachumbari and Mukimo.  Rachel and I make Kachumbari all the time back in Phoenix.  It is precisely the same thing as Mexican Pico de Gallo, with tomatoes, onion, peppers, cilantro and lime.  Mukimo is mixture of mashed potatoes, corn, peas and sometimes greens.

We found an open area in a certain banda and a woman came around to ask if we wanted anything to drink.  I’ve been drinking Tusker, the classic Kenyan beer that’s been brewed here since 1923, so I got one of those.  The subject of alcohol among Kenyans is something that might make sense delving into in another post, so I’ll save it for then, but usually people here order a soft drink, and that almost always means (it seems to me) Coke or Fanta.  And by “Fanta,” they mean Orange Fanta.  You can also get a Diet Coke, but here it’s called “Coca Cola Light,” and it’s (interestingly) a bit more expensive.

This place is run by the Masai.  These people are truly something to behold.  They are the only one of the Kenyan tribes that have utterly preserved their culture, primarily because the outside world has not made substantive inroads into the heart of their environment.  They are considered a semi-nomadic people, living in huts made of tree branches, and plastered with mud, grass, cow dung, ash, and (I’m not joking) human urine.  They are found all over the countryside and throughout the Rift Valley, but can also be found herding their goats and cattle through Nairobi.

Historically the Masai diet consisted of meat, milk and blood from cattle.  Many claim that they don’t hold to this today, having added maize (corn), beans and a few other items here and there, but the young Masai man Rachel and I spoke with the other day insisted that the men still only eat meat and drink milk and blood.

Local Masai dancing for us in our Oleporos banda

Anyway, it would appear that a small percentage of this group is a bit less hardcore than the majority.  At least to the extent that they’ve started this “country club” as an actual business, roasting and selling the meat they raise.  I admit I was tentative, but the goat was delicious.  It came, roasted and chopped on a large, wooden board with a couple of piles of salt on it.  The kachumbari and mukimo were brought in little bags and placed next to the goat.  Everyone washes their hands with hot water from these little, outside containers, and it’s a good thing because everyone just digs in with their hand.  You sit down, pick up a piece of goat, dip it in the salt, and start gnawing, afterward grabbing and gobbling fingerfulls of kachumbari and mukimo.

The local Masai people come around too.  The first who approached me was an old man who smiled big and reached out his hand.  As we shook, it seemed he was trying to teach me a new way of doing it, so I returned the favor by showing him how to do the multiple shake and finger snap handshake popular among many in the U.S.  He

My beautiful wife stepping down after a dance with the Masai

couldn’t quite get the snap, but he smiled anyway and started asking me for something to drink.  Soon someone came and shagged him out of there, but others came and danced for us.  I have since spent a lot of time around these people.  There are those, like the young man we later met, who submitted to a brief, five-month period of education and have begun to associate more with others–and there are the very weathered, primitive Masai.  These who came to see us were definitely the latter, but they were very comfortable interacting with us; Rachel and I even took turns dancing with them.  (You’ll have to wait for the video on that one…)

Friday with Rachel’s Dad

I’ve let so much get past me in the last several days, but internet access on the safari proved to be very limited.  I thought I’d cover ground missed from last Friday when Rachel and I met again with her father, William.

He is a particularly informed and intelligent man who wanted to impart as much as possible to me about his country.  So we decided to go to the Nairobi National Museum and the adjoining Snake Park.

I wish I could remember more about what was in there; problem was William and I are both talkers, so every time we get together we pretty much don’t shut up. We

Me and William Kinyanjui Gitumbi yapping our way through the museum

found ourselves walking toward the exit when I asked Rachel, “Don’t we want to go upstairs?” She informed me that we had been upstairs, walking the entire level, but apparently my conversation was more intriguing.  Anyway, I seem to remember lots of pictures and stuff…

Afterward we went to the adjoining Snake Park.  There were entry fees for both attractions.  100 shillings for citizens (Rachel, her father and our driver, Charles) and 800 shillings for non-citizens (me.)  All told it was only about $29 for both the museum and snake park, so not a bad value.

It was getting to be mid-afternoon so I suggested we go somewhere for lunch, my treat.  William leaned over to Charles and said, “The Hotel Jacaranda.”  So that’s where we went.  Classic, old hotel.  So far I’ve found the service at Kenyan hotels and lodges to be way above and beyond.  When one of the service people gets a tip that is, to an American’s way of thinking, proper, it is a fantastic treasure to him or her.  The fact that poverty here is so great and tips are likely so good means there is no WAY they are going to lose this job.  The result is service so attentive you almost want to ask them to ease back a bit.

Charles, our driver through Nairobi

We enjoyed a very nice lunch, headed out to drop off William, then back to Mumbi and Wachira’s place for the night.  Charles is a cousin of Wachira’s who works with him in his construction business, and Wachira has been giving him time off to be our driver.  It’s been great having him; you should see the wacko driving that goes on here.  Law enforcement is just not of any substance here, therefore people really don’t fear driving up and across curbs, and making bizarre decisions you are likely never going to see in the U.S.  Therefore Charles’ ability to negotiate it-and his knowledge of the vicinity has been invaluable to us.  More about him later.

Here’s the Poop…

Can we just talk about…pooping? As you read in the previous post, we’ve been staying in Nairobi with Rachel’s sister and brother-in-law, (Mumbi and Wachira,) where water is severely rationed because of the multi-year drought they’ve experienced.  What I didn’t tell you is the obvious effect this has on using the toilet.

So what I’ll ask you to do is just think about it.  What would you do if your toilet only worked one day per week?  Ready?

You go ahead and do your business in the toilet and simply pour about a gallon and a half of water very suddenly into the bottom of the bowl.  As Rachel said when she was originally trying to explain it to me, my eyes wide with horror, “It just goes down.  It does.”

The effect this had on me psychologically cannot be trivialized.  I did pee a couple of times, but I just refused to poop.  Not on Wednesday night, Thursday, nor on Friday.  I made sure we had some public place to go on each of those days, and most of the public places seemed to have the water on.  But the management of this bodily function can be strategized only so far, and on Saturday night I finally gave in.

Despite Rachel’s steady, nodding assurances that all would go just fine, it didn’t.  Of course.  That is to say, stuff was still…present.  Like a kid tromping back to his mother, I gave my whining report to Rachel.  That’s when she explained the need for more water and the need not to be shy about pouring it in quickly and with gusto.  So I did it, and it worked.  Don’t misunderstand:  it’s nothing like actually flushing the toilet.  There’s still a disgusting residue in the bottom of the bowl, but at least—somehow, some way—“it just goes down.”

Now wouldn't this have been a better option all around? I mean, if you didn't have to get your face down there?

I am a spoiled-rotten American.  I love my wife deeply, I am completely enjoying my time with her family members, and I am having the adventure of a lifetime in Kenya!  But this part was disturbingly difficult to deal with.  The good news is that Sunday we left for our Safari in the world-famous Masi Mara!

A Drought in Kenya???

Yes, Rachel had told me this, and she also told me there would be water rationing.  She thought it might mean water would be turned on every other day.

We should be so fortunate.

The water is only on ONE DAY PER WEEK!  So every Sunday her sister and brother-in-law (Mumbi and Wachira) fill up three enormous, barrel-like containers of water to make it last the week.  This water is not potable; it’s what invariably gives travelers here diarrhea when they forget and take a sip, or fail to realize that ice in their drink will have the same effect.  So they boil a certain amount of water every day for drinking, brushing teeth, etc.

So we start our day by heating up some water on the stove.  It is placed in a plastic basin and sits on a wooden stool in the tiled shower area of the bathroom.  You soap up, scoop some water into a plastic bucket, and spill it over your body.  One thing I hadn’t thought of:  the absence of shampoo in a black household.  And we keep forgetting every day to get some at the Nakumatt!  Man, can I not WAIT until we check into our safari lodge.

It all happens tomorrow (Sunday) morning.  The safari company, Asili Adventures, will be picking us up at the apartment at 7:30 am, driving us through the scenic Rift Valley and into Masai Mara, the absolute gold standard in safari environments,

The Keekorok Lodge in Masai Mara

where all the classic African animals thrive.  We’re staying at the Keekorok Lodge, which was very highly recommended.  And I’m guessing they’ll have shampoo…

I’m getting a bit ahead of myself though.  Wachira’s cousin, Charles, was available to be our driver for the last couple of days.  And it’s a good thing because the banzai drivers here are out of their mind!  And it appears you have to be too in order to drive with them.  That and the fact that the steering wheels are on the right and you drive on the left–and that the roads are mostly horrific–means it would be totally unrealistic for us to try driving while here.

On Thursday we went and saw Rachel’s Dad, William.  This was a long awaited event, as he is the primary motivation for our coming here.  Rachel hadn’t seen her Daddy in the almost eight years since she’s been away.  Charles drove us to him in an area called Kariobangi South.  He lives in a tiny flat in what he explained was a new development, but to me looked like utter ruins.  He had company:  Pastor Peter from his church and an old friend of his and Rachel’s mother, Esther.

We had a lovely lunch on the roof where an old, wooden desk had been placed with a sheet over it.  There was a stew of chicken wings and vegetables, rice and cabbage.  The soft drinks of choice in Nairobi seem to be two:  Coke or Fanta, and the Fanta always means Orange Fanta.

William is an incredibly interesting character, very talkative, so we got along well quite immediately.  They all helped me to better understand the unbelievably complicated political troubles Kenya faces with forty-two different tribes and their accompanying quirks, interests and frustrations.  Oh, and by “quirks” I mean the occasional mass slaughter of one another…

There’s plenty more to tell.  Wish I had more time to type these things up!

Arriving in Nairobi…

The long flights Rachel and I were both dreading did not seem quite as bad as we thought.  We were in the air for a bit over seven hours from Detroit to Amsterdam, and seven and a half from Amsterdam to Nairobi.  It would’ve been nice to see Amsterdam, but we only had a brief layover and the line was long.

It took me awhile to realize what the Amsterdam Airport Schiphol reminded me of:  IKEA.  Unexpectedly bright oranges and greens and occasional furnishings that were functional, artistic and a bit flimsy-looking.

Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, Nairobi

After landing at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport we saw a great variety of people in the terminal, but what I saw in the mensroom was very interesting.  Yes, it was a bit small and old, but otherwise appeared to be reasonably clean.  There was a row of three toilet stalls, the third one appearing to be a fairly large stall for the handicapped.  But one thing caught my eye:  I noticed three steps in there, and steps wouldn’t make sense for a wheelchair.  I had to take a gander.

Squat Toilet

Imagine that these tile steps simply lead to another level of similarly tiled floor, and smack dab in the middle of the floor is a toilet seat–flush with the surface of the floor.  Did a little googling and it turns out it’s a Squat Toilet that many Muslims use in harmony with their faith.  I still don’t get why it’s used, and I’ll admit I’m impressed that, with only a ten percent Muslim population, someone at this Kenyan airport chose to respect Muslims in this way, but it seemed so weired I think I went back to look at that thing three times.

Wow!  Bizarre toilets!  “My adventure has begun!” I thought.  )

Rachel stood in the line for citizens, since although she’s a Permanent Resident of the U.S., she retains her Kenyan citizenship.  That line was short; mine was not, but at least a visa was only $25.  On to baggage claim!

I admit I was warned about this, but I was still unprepared for all the young men swarming to help us with our bags.  In addition to our four carry-ons, we had two larger suitcases and three enormous military duffel bags (see below post.)  I decided to be cool with the two guys helping us with our bags.  I mean, usually I don’t need help, but here it was clearly called for.  But passing through the customs area proved troubling.  Those gigantic duffels drew attention.  Turns out the Kenyan government doesn’t much cotton to people bringing in lots of merchandise.  You can tell them they’re gifts all you want; they figure you might be bringing stuff in to sell tax-free.

Rachel and I did our level best to squash this thing, and in the end we got them to recognize two of the duffels as personal, and only had to pay a bit over sixty dollars for the other.  Fine.

Passing through customs Rachel spotted her sister Mumbi, an aunt and cousin, waiting for us.  She spent awhile hugging, laughing and introducing them to me, then it was out into the parking lot.  Ohhhhh, the parking lot.

If the situation in baggage claim was a “swarm,” this was a convention of swarms.  It was dark and dimly lit, as these guys came at us, grabbing the luggage.  I explained that we had all the help we needed, but they wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.  It was a complete comedy as we tried wheeling 170 pounds of duffel and countless other bags through that craggy parking lot, me warding off the boys, me failing at it, Rachel’s family members dragging my equipment cases and laptop bag, stuff frequently spilling over.

You’ve gotta understand I didn’t know if they were all trying to help–or if some of them were trying to steal our stuff!  Compounding this was the worry that one or two of them might’ve been some distant relative of my wife waiting out there to help us, y’know?  Had to be firm, didn’t want to be mean, but had nine bags to transport through parking lot tundra, and scads of third world dudes were buzzing at me from every angle.  A video of that experience would be most hilarious.

Anyway, we got to Mumbi’s house, where Rachel’s other sister, Mary, was waiting for us.  We talked for quite awhile, then hit the hay.  (Not really hay; they have beds here in Kenya!)

Still more to come…