Tourists in Kenya
(Report on the Journey Taken by Mama Drew and Baba Drew to Check on Their Son)
Ngai! Good God! What an incredible trip was our visit with Andrew in Kenya. We’ve been back for some time and the wonderful memories are still vivid. We saw so much that it would take volumes to try to capture all of it with words. Keep in mind; this will only scratch the surface of a magical experience too fabulous for words. Each paragraph could be expanded into chapters. The names of those remembered here is just a portion of the many friendly folks we met. While being too numerous for the casual reader, they serve as a reminder of so many others. By remembering the friendly personalities of the people, memories of the features and character of the country will stay sharp as well. The writer apologizes in advance for misspelled names, for those who were not included, for any topics that might offend, and for a talent for verbosity. Let this account serve to offer "thanks" for the experience as well as a way to share it with the reader.
We took a night flight from Arizona to England and spent most of the next day wandering the Heathrow terminal (security was too tight to make a tour of London worthwhile). Andrew, JB Wanjohi Kirubi (brother to Charles Ngatu Kirubi – Andrew’s classmate), and Githenji (Kirubi’s cousin and one of Baba Kinyua's employees – more about him later) met us at the Nairobi Airport after another night of flying. JB (also known as Mwalimu – “teacher" - his profession in Mombassa) and Githenji immediately made us feel welcome with warm handshakes and big smiles. Githenji graciously drove us out of the airport and through town to John Muraya’s apartment where we were able to freshen up and stash a good portion of our baggage.
The plan was to hop on a matatu (public transport in a mini-van) and head out to the country to the Kirubi homestead to spend Christmas with Mama Fita and family. Githenji’s competent driving and knowledge of the city made it easier to sit back and enjoy the ride thru Nairobi; an expanse of skyscrapers, traffic congestion, people everywhere, and sprawling residential areas – some wealthy but lots of them poor. Before dropping us at the matatu stage where we’d catch our ride to the countryside, Githenji took us to his house to meet his wife and to share the first of many home-cooked meals. This sort of generous hospitality seemed unusual, especially from a complete stranger. Soon we came to learn that such kind openness is not a rare characteristic of the good people of Kenya.
The matatu stage was in the very heart of downtown Nairobi and felt like a sea of chaos with mini-busses coming and going, operators calling out the names of their destinations and crowds of people milling about. Once we knew which bus was ours, I was a bit too eager to climb aboard and found myself in the very back seat perched over the spare tire like a giant albino buzzard. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, exchanging grins and a thumbs-up with the operator as he checked the luggage tied onto the roof. Getting out of the city was a relief. We knew some of what to expect from Andrew’s descriptions: fast driving when the road was fairly smooth and straight, wild swerves to avoid potholes and other vehicles, sudden stops at the police roadblocks, and so on. The beautiful countryside unfolded as the city faded behind us. Recent rains had cleared the dust, cooled things down and turned everything emerald green. After a couple hours of bouncing around on that back seat and struggling to find ways to stretch my legs, it was great to finally arrive at the outskirts of Nyeri and climb out of the van. John Kirubi Muraya met us and provided a ride for the remaining 15 or 20 kilometers to the Kirubi residence. It was good to meet John since it was his place in Nairobi where we’d left much of our luggage. We all chuckled when he explained that a rather serious-looking fellow who’d been talking to him thru the window shortly after we’d piled into his car was questioning if John had a commercial permit for carrying passengers. It would seem that countless entrepreneurs, hustlers and bureaucrats looking for angles match the endless generosity of Andrew's friends.
After a short ride, we arrived at Mama Fita’s house and were immediately greeted by her warm smile and twinkling eyes. She had clearly grown very fond of Andrew in the few days he’d spent there before our arrival and made us feel a part of the family too, within seconds, even though we couldn’t speak each other's language. There were plenty of folks willing to act as interpreters although the heart of our communication required no words. Along with Mwalimu and Mama Fita we soon met sister Mary Wanjoki and her son Joseph, brothers Peter and Wachira, and Baba Kamau – a close family friend who comes by regularly to help out. Andrew told me earlier that I’d love the place and he was right. Some things reminded me of the outskirts of San Diego: the moderate temperature and soft humid breeze, the hills and canyons covered with lush crops, orchards, eucalyptus and banana trees, and every kind of flowering green bush that you can imagine. Everyone had at least a few chickens and goats. The people too, seemed very familiar: a little rough and tumbled, clearly struggling with poverty, but filled with care for each other and always willing to extend a welcome to strangers. A big difference was the lack of city lights and water. Being the only mzungu (Europeans) in the area took some getting used to. Like country folk everywhere, that initial strangeness was gone after the first nod, smile or handshake. Mama Fita, her family and friends were very skilled at making us feel right at home in no time.
Each day was filled with taking short walks around the ‘hood, meeting new neighbors and friends, responding to the gleeful call from the kids everywhere: "HowarYOOOO!" ducking for cover from the occasional rain shower, and generally enjoying being treated as honored guests. Wachira and his family were only able to stay for a couple days before returning to work in the city but it was enough time to get to know him, his wife, four daughters and son Amos who sounded intent on coming to the USA someday. I assured him that he could count on us for a place to stay. When a goat was brought over to slaughter in celebration of the holiday, we decided to go see what the back pastures looked like. Wachira chuckled in his friendly way when we confessed to the reason for our sudden departure, saying, "I knew you'd run away!"
John Muraya introduced us to his brothers and sisters at their place nearby, and then he and Mwalimu walked with us to Wajee Camp in the afternoon. It was a very pleasant walk for about 4 kilometers to a popular animal and bird sanctuary. After a short tour of the sanctuary, we enjoyed a few Tuskers (the national beer) and sampled a local brew with an interesting after-bite at the Camp’s lounge. Having established a warm little buzz, we set off for the return to Mama Fita’s place in the dark. The moon was full and the temperature mild so the walk home was just as pleasant. John said he remembered seeing lightning bugs near a stream when he was younger, just as we came around the bend and started to see them for ourselves. So beautiful: the soft glow of the moon, the gurgling water, and magical blips of light darting about in the damp warm air.
One of the more challenging tasks was to refrain from jumping in to help with chores and such. Andrew had been allowed to lend a hand here and there prior to our arrival but it was clear that we were expected to kick back and enjoy our vacation. One evening, we had the pleasure of meeting Baba Kinyua, his wife Mama Jean, and some of his family. We learned that he’d played an important role in providing jobs at his coffee plantation, helping out those in need and mentoring young folks of the neighborhood. As we sat enjoying each other's company with chai tea and supper, a few others dropped by. At one point, I moved a small table closer to another's chair as a plate of food was brought in. This caused a bit of a stir and the remark (with a sly grin) from Baba Kinyua that I had a lot to learn about being a Kikuyu man. A little later, I made a similar mistake by moving to another chair in order to make room for new arrivals. Again he shook his finger at me for not keeping my spot. It was undignified behavior for a mzee (old one) much less a male mzungu. When Mary heard about all this later in the evening, she howled with laughter saying that she wouldn't have let Baba Kinyua off so easy, advocating instead for equality amongst us all. We all marveled at her good spirits and hard work, imagining what it must have been like growing up with four brothers who expected her to serve, as is the Kikuyu custom. Even though Mary and Mama Fita were kept busy cooking, providing for hand washing, and serving chai and dinner, appreciation was shown in subtle ways and it was good to see Mwalimu helping out with such things, even if he was hoping it wasn’t noticed.
Baba Kinyua gave us a tour of his coffee plantation one afternoon and we learned much about growing and processing the beans. He clearly takes great pride in the farm and has devoted a lot of time and energy to making it a success. We heard how it wasn't legal for Africans to grow coffee, only the mzungu settlers, until after Kenyan independence. Even today there are laws that restrict removal of the coffee trees, so important is the crop for export. Most Kenyans seldom drink coffee, preferring tea instead, and only the dried raw bean is exported. To buy roasted Kenyan coffee in Kenya you'll likely be getting it as an import from another country. Baba Kinyua's plantation is large enough to support its own processing plant and employees many workers. Most other shambas (farms) send their coffee beans to local co-operatives for processing and auction. This results in less profit for the farmer and a lesser quality product collectively, but is the only option for most farmers given the economics of coffee growing and land ownership. One thing for sure, I savor that first cup in the morning even more and have a deep appreciation for the time and work that goes into it. I'm more determined than ever to look for the "fair trade" brands in hopes that more money will get to the farmer instead of countless middlemen.
Prior to Baba Kinyua's tour, we made ourselves comfortable outside his front door after the short walk from Mama Fita’s house. Visiting family members were busy preparing for the trip back to the city for school and work. As Baba Kinyua settled into his chair, he banged his fist on the table and shouted out "Who's serving me?" with a grin to us indicating that he really wasn't always like that. After a roll of the eyes and sigh of exasperation, one of his daughters came over for hand washing, a fresh pot of tea and snacks. A few minutes later, we were shocked to see a plate of roasted goat's feet brought to us. It was explained that this was a delicacy of great honor enjoyed by the old folks. Once I realized it wasn't just a practical joke, I grabbed one and began chewing on the tough hide, seeing Mwalimu and Baba Kinyua do the same. With encouraging words such as "It makes your teeth stronger" and "This is a very special treat," I gave it my best but didn't get very far. Poor Andrew and Mama Drew pretty well gave up without a fight, looking a bit green around the gills. After succeeding in tearing some tendons and gristle from the bone, I gave up too, asking forgiveness for being so wimpy. Mwalimu was kind enough to take my half-started portion and proceeded to chew away at it with zeal. Baba Kinyua wasn't offended by our failure to enjoy such an exotic bite, still maintaining the twinkle in his eyes and a hint of a grin.
After the tour of the plantation, another meal was served, more of the standard Kenyan dishes that are so easy to appreciate. After enjoying the company of Baba Kinyua and his wife, the good food, stories of their life together, the hard times leading up to independence and the years since, we headed home to Mama Fita's place with full stomachs and warm feelings for these kind folks.
One day as Andrew and I sat outside soaking up the morning sun, the neighbor children came over to see who the new mzungu were. It's customary for arriving visitors to shake hands with any who are present and these kids were no exception. First, one of the boys (let's call him Charlie Brown) overcame his shyness and shook our hands in turn, moving carefully with a soft voice and bashful grin. He was followed by a smaller but more confidant youngster let's name Billy the Kid who marched right up to us with a hearty "Jambo!" The girls then followed suit, having seen that we were not the dangerous type, each of them shaking our hands. After a few minutes, they drifted off to other parts of the yard, inspecting the chicken coop, greeting others as they came outside, and making themselves at home. I nudged Andrew when I noticed that Charlie Brown had spotted my missing toes and was whispering to the others about his discovery, using his fingers to count. Billy the Kid quickly returned to our spot and leaned on my knee as he fiercely studied Andrew's toes, trying to sort out what it was his friend was talking about. We could hardly contain our laughter as he looked over Andrew's feet, first one and then the other, unable to see anything out of the ordinary. Finally, as I wiggled my toes he saw my foot and jumped back when he at last spotted my old injury.
By this time, the others had gathered around and were clearly interested. It was apparent they didn't know English much at all but, using a few Kiswahili words and lots of sign language, we made up a story about simba the lion, a growl and a quick snap of the jaw. This was met with some puzzlement and skepticism so I added more gestures to indicate running, a loud snarl with fangs and claws, and a vicious chomp! The kids burst out laughing at that, which continued when Andrew found the words to describe one foot that was quick - 'upesi' and the one that was too slow - 'pole pole.' They probably still were skeptical of the story but it would've been nearly impossible to explain the real event and it certainly wouldn't have been as entertaining. With that, our friendship was sealed and they tagged along until Wachira finally chased them off when we went to his house for a visit.
All too soon our stay with Mama Fita, her family and friends came to an end. Our plans included many other sites to visit before returning to Arizona. "Asante sana" (Thank you very much) didn't come anywhere close to capturing the depth of our gratitude for so much hospitality and warmth. When we gathered together for final good-byes and a 'vote of thanks' I found myself completely choked up in a most un-manly way, Kikuyu or otherwise. It was very clear to me that Mama Fita and her family would be our friends forever.
Over the next few days, we traveled to Lake Nakuru, also known as Flamingo Lake and then to Masai Mara National Park with its reputation as one of the seven wonders of the world. To make the safari even more special, our travel thru the parks was during some of the wettest days that Kenya had seen for the past few years. Headlines in the local papers shouted "Tourists Are Fleeing Masai Mara" the day before we connected with our guide and headed for that fabulous place. The favorite topic of conversation was the rain, the mud, the disastrous condition of the roads, and the loss of visitor dollars due to the negative press. We had some second thoughts of our own, but we'd already paid a deposit for a guide and believed the assurances that "Everything would be just fine. Hakuna matata!" And indeed it was a wonderful experience, even though there were several moments when things looked pretty grim.
On the way in, Samuel our guide skillfully maneuvered the 2-wheel drive mini-bus thru several muddy stretches while others in 4-wheel drive rigs were heading back to hard surfaced roads, advising us to give up, as they were. We came to a river crossing where the water was too high to pass without drowning our motor and wondered if that might be the end of it as we got into a line of parked vans. Determined 4-wheelers were able to cross and getting a tow was a possibility. Soon a farm tractor appeared and a towing operation was begun. Before long our turn came and we were pulled across the swollen river with nothing worse than wet floorboards.
It wasn't long before our happy progress was again interrupted, this time by a long line of vehicles stopped at a bridge that had flood damage severe enough to make it impassable. It looked like we'd be stranded there for some time. Maybe we'd have to give up and turn around too. We waited to see what might happen as our guide consulted with other drivers about the situation. Lacking anything better to do, I walked over to the riverbank to watch the muddy flow roll by. A Masai mzee came along, softly whistling as they do when moving their herds across the plains. He seemed friendly enough, a twinkle in his eyes and a sympathetic smile, so we began to chat, more with gestures than words. While looking at the high water, he agreed it was "too much," a phrase that I suppose he'd learned when selling handcrafts. We shared a chuckle when comparing our gray hairs. As our sign-language conversation progressed, I sensed that he was genuinely interested in our plight and curious about us as much as perhaps also thinking today was a good day for selling trinkets to travelers.
Before long other members of his community came over to see about the growing crowd of crazy mzungu travelers and looking for a chance to sell their wares. I wasn't interested in buying souvenirs and we really didn't have much cash to spare but it occurred to me that they might be interested in a red polo shirt of mine since the Masai people are clearly partial to red cloth. I’d planned to leave plenty of clothes with Andrew before returning anyway and the idea of leaving something with these people appealed to me. So I asked one of the younger folks, a woman who was by now interpreting for the old man and ambitious about making her own sales, if a trade might be possible. She said, “Sure, let’s take a look.”
I went back to the van and retrieved the shirt, double-checking that it wasn’t too dirty and plucked a few of my gray hairs from the collar as I returned to the group. I showed it to them hoping the deep red color would be desirable and said I’d be willing to trade for two beaded bracelets. The woman wasn’t overly excited, saying, “Hmm… but it isn’t new.” When I agreed to trade for only one bracelet, she paused for a few seconds as I let her to take the shirt for closer inspection. “See? No holes and nice material,” said I as the mzee took it from the woman. He was careful not to seem too interested but I sensed he wanted it by the way he began folding it up again and slowly tucking it under his arm, all the while maintaining the twinkle in his eyes and a pleasant smile. The woman was insistent that she’d only trade the shirt for a bracelet if cash were part of the deal. I was equally firm that it was going to be a trade only, no money in the exchange. One of the others piped in “He thinks you’re giving it to him for free. Are you?” Things were starting to move faster than I’d planned by now, so I said “How about I give him the shirt in return for a blessing… for all of us!” The woman looked a little exasperated and said something to the mzee in their language that I’d hoped was a translation of my terms. He smiled even bigger and had the shirt well tucked away as he started to turn to go, saying “Okay! Goodbye,” in a most friendly way. It wasn't hard for me to call it a blessing.
An hour or so later, I saw the mzee moving thru the crowd just before we got underway again. We made eye contact exchanging grins and hand signals. He still had that magical twinkle in his eyes and seemed genuinely pleased to see me again. "Jambo!" We all felt good about the transaction although I could tell that Mama Drew wasn’t real impressed with my bartering skills. On the other hand, I felt a private satisfaction about leaving a favorite shirt with an interesting resident of a far away and mysterious land. Sort of like “I got stuck at Masai Mara and all I lost was the shirt off my back.”
Not long after that, our guide Samuel secured a ride for us with a driver stranded on the other side of the river, saying that he’d catch up to us once repairs had been made, hopefully later that afternoon. Our new ride was 4-wheel drive and it was an uneventful trip to the entrance gate. Unfortunately, none of us had documentation showing that the entry fees had been paid but after some negotiating and a signature in the ledger we were allowed to enter. Soon we were settled into the camp for the night and shortly Samuel appeared just as the sun went down, saying that he’d made it across although the repairs were not good enough to support big trucks yet. Later we heard that a tractor had attempted to cross but rolled off into the river, fortunately without the operator. We wondered what adventures the return trip would hold.
Samuel took us on a ‘game ride’ the next day that was well worth the challenging trip. We saw no end of African wildlife: gazelles, water buffalos, antelopes, wildebeests, ostriches, warthogs, giraffes, zebras, elephants, several lions, and a couple of cheetahs. Due to the bad roads coming in, other visitors were not that numerous and scattered fairly evenly across the park. It wasn’t hard to imagine busier times when mini-busses and 4-wheelers were buzzing all around, swarming to any place that had something interesting to see, of which there's plenty. Park management is attempting to reduce the amount of cross country travel and consequent damage from vehicles but it’s still pretty much a free-for-all with little enforcement or even signs to discourage such activity. Thankfully, Samuel used common sense in choosing our routes and we avoided getting stuck or leaving big ruts in the mud. It would have been fun to get out and walk around but that’s one rule that everyone agrees is best unbroken. At one point, a lioness strolled across an open meadow and it was impressive to see how all the other animals stopped what they were doing to watch intently as she ambled by with little interest in them due to a full stomach from an earlier kill. Later in the day we saw elephants feeding on grasses and splashing around in a stream. It was a wonderful day and, even though we'd seen so much, we were somewhat reluctant to head for civilization.
The trip from Masai Mara back to Nairobi was an adventure of its own. We hadn't gone far before encountering fellow travelers stuck in the mud. Samuel, being a good nature soul stopped to lend a hand. I was eager to jump out, too, but he persuaded me to wait in the van. Soon it was obvious that the other mini-bus was seriously bogged down and that it would require more time and effort than we could spare to get them rolling again. It was very likely that a larger vehicle, hopefully 4-wheel drive would be along soon and would get them out, so we got under way again with Samuel apologizing for not being able to do more. Given the sloppy conditions, it was no surprise when we shortly found ourselves high centered in muddy ruts. This time there was no argument from Samuel when I jumped out to see what we could do. I let him know that I was familiar with being stuck in the mud since it's almost an annual spring ritual at work. He seemed relieved that we weren't much bothered by the setback. With a little effort, we got the mini-bus freed and took a slightly drier route. Already the folks who we'd left behind caught up with us and we all agreed that it would be good to stay somewhat together.
This turned out to be a good decision given the wet conditions. My prior experience with vehicles and mud also came in handy. As we slogged along, we found ourselves mired in mud four more times. At one stream crossing, a large portion of the roadbed had washed away. The drivers got together to assess their options and it was decided that one of the other vans with a "snorkel" on the air intake would try crossing just upstream where it appeared the water was not too deep. Unfortunately, the far bank was a little too steep and the van stalled out in about two feet of water. It seemed a good time to hope for a tractor. The drivers got together to discuss their options and in a few minutes they had organized the gathering group of Masai neighbors into a team who eventually pulled the van up and out of the stream. It was certainly an impressive sight to witness. Samuel avoided getting our van stuck by keeping one side on the concrete roadway. We all held our breaths at the roadside as we watched him gun it across, hoping it wouldn't tip over.
When all the vehicles in our convoy were safely across, I asked Samuel about compensating the crew that had rescued the first van. He said that we didn't need to worry about it since the driver of the stuck van had paid for the work. Later, it was pointed out that the local Masai people were benefiting from the unfortunate condition of the roads, since they were prepared and waiting at most of the trouble spots for the opportunity to assist when vehicles got stuck. In fact, the local people are unwilling to turn over maintenance (and "ownership") of the roads to the Kenya Wildlife Service since there's no benefit to them besides an increase in tourism, not to mention the intrusion of foreigners into their homelands, something they’ve endured for centuries. It's a dilemma that can be found in other parts of the world too. There's money to be made from travelers but with too many visitors, impacts such as environmental degradation, site desecration and disrespect in general can become more than a serious nuisance.
The last time we got stuck was the worst and we saw first hand these conflicting factors in action. We were getting closer to pavement and Samuel was hopeful that we'd make it across the next and final valley before reaching drier plains and the main highway. Unfortunately, after successfully crossing the stream we encountered a 4-wheel drive vehicle stuck in the middle of the road, now a giant mud bog. The rig had been jacked up so that both rear wheels were in the air but the front ones were still hopelessly buried in mud and it looked like the driver had given up waiting for the road to dry out. There didn't appear to be an easy way around, but we made an attempt that resulted in our own van becoming stuck in mud and large rocks to the extent that both rear wheels spun freely without any hope of gaining traction. It seemed we were stranded for the duration as other vehicles in our convoy began to park behind us and the local Masai began to gather, hoping to sell their handicrafts and marveling at the crazy mzungu and the manner in which they got into such predicaments.
We were there for some time and it seemed that the only possibility for rescue was a pull from another tractor when a mzungu resident came along and was able to extract with a hand winch. Once we were freed from the mud and ready to start out again, there was a brief exchange between the rescuer, Samuel and a local Masai leader. The Masai still expected their fees for allowing us (with their assistance) to cross their lands, while the mzungu argued that if anyone should be paid for services rendered it should be him, and he didn't want any compensation. As we started on our way, the Masai leader hopped in next to Samuel as his cohorts lead us thru their fields, and then insisted on payment once we were successful in reaching dry ground. On one hand, it seemed like just another shakedown. On the other hand, the Masai people have few resources beyond their meager herds and a few skimpy crops. For us to be required to pay them for passage across their lands doesn't seem all that unreasonable. At any rate, fees were paid and soon we were back to pavement, dodging potholes on our way back to Nairobi.
As if this part of our adventure was not sufficiently wild enough, there was an additional crisis that we shared with Samuel just minutes from the destination in Nairobi where we'd go our separate ways. We'd left the highway and were rolling into downtown after sundown when we noticed a rumbling and klunking sound from a rear wheel. I told Samuel that it sounded like we might have another flat tire (he'd already dealt with two previously). Andrew poked his head out the window and saw to his horror that the whole wheel was coming loose from the studs. Samuel immediately pulled over as far as possible to assess the damage. Since we were still on the edge of a busy street in the heart of a dangerous city, we all stayed on edge watching for new hazards while Samuel got the wheel secured again. It wasn't long before we were under way once more and soon reached our drop-off location near our lodging for the night. We'd spent the past few days surviving wild adventures together and it wasn't easy to part ways with Samuel. With a warm handshake and blessings for the road ahead, we separated after leaving him with a little larger than usual tip in appreciation and hoping it might cover some of the wear and tear on the van. It was definitely not your typical safari!
We were amazed at how close we'd come to serious disaster in this and other earlier instances. Andrew wondered if things would have been much worse without the blessings from the Masai mzee and we laughed at the thought that perhaps we should go shopping for more red clothing to offer in trade for blessings of safety and good times.
After a good night of rest, we set out the next morning on a rather comfortable bus for the coastal town of Mombassa, the second largest city in Kenya after Nairobi. The ride was long but scenic and by mid-afternoon, we were settled into a hotel near the old part of the city.
The next morning, before heading up the coast to Mpeketoni, we set out to see the sights of the old town district. It wasn't long before we encountered a young man who persuaded us to hire him as a guide. While this seemed a little excessive at first, he did a fine job of pointing out sights and places that we would have missed. He also kept us from blundering into the wrong places and eased the pressure of other folks looking for employment or handouts. After a few hours of wandering around the markets, visiting old shops, mosques and other buildings, we paid our guide his fee and headed for the bus station. Mombassa is a pleasant city and it would have been nice to spend more time there, especially if it were possible to connect with our friend Mwalimu who taught school and lived there. But he had not yet returned from Mama Fita's house so we were left with catching the next bus headed up the coast.
After staying overnight in Malindi, we arrived in Mpeketoni the following day. From the first few minutes after getting off the bus, friendly and happy folks greeted us. As I pushed thru the crowd around the parked bus to retrieve our luggage, a passenger assistant and baggage handler named Mbarak Badi, gave a shout of recognition when he saw my mzungu face and knew just which bags were ours. It took me a few seconds to realize that he knew Andrew and probably noticed the resemblance, in addition to the fact that mzungu were easy to spot at a distance since they're quite rare in Mpeketoni.
We soon met several more of Andrew's acquaintances as Andrew guided us thru town to the guesthouse where we'd be spending the next several days: Danson the Chairman of the Mpeketoni Electric Company (MEC), Benson Mbuthia - involved in MEC and many other local projects, Ibrahim - Treasurer for MEC, Fanuel - general manager for MEC, Robert - primary technician at MEC, also Robert the ever cheerful and enthusiastic MEC intern, Stanley the painter and voluntary teacher of Kiswahili, and Isaac, Andrew's dear friend and co-worker at MEC. Isaac's job involves oversight of administration and operations (a big responsibility for one who appears so young). When Andrew first arrived, the two were paired up with the intent that they would learn from each other. Before the day had ended, we also met Isaac's cousin Kamunia who made us laugh when talking about life in Mpeketoni and referring to his bicycle as his "Ferrari."
Each day that we spent in Mpeketoni was filled with visiting different places and meeting more good people. We got a quick tour of the electrical generating plant that first day, as well as the posho mill next door where maize is refined and processed for shipment. Andrew's friends were able to secure a couple extra bikes making it possible for us to spend a day with James Kimani exploring mangrove swamps on the outskirts of town near his home. We saw how the plants help to hold together the shoreline, their manner of reproduction, and how they provide habitat for baboons who we could hear in the brush as they barked back at local kids who were teasing them. Before returning to town, we stopped at the Kimani homestead and enjoyed a restful hour of visiting family and drinking chai tea.
On Sunday we attended mass at the local Catholic Church, enjoying the singing and fellowship, most of it in Kiswahili. Before the end of the service, the three of us were asked to come forward and speak a few words to the congregation, a somewhat intimidating request since most of the people were strangers. Fortunately Andrew was prepared for this having experienced it earlier when he was new to the community and had written a few sentences in Kiswahili to introduce his parents and give thanks for the hospitality of the townsfolk. Mama Andrew and I also spoke a few words (in English) expressing our gratitude for the warm welcome we'd been given and for the good care that had been provided our son. It was clear that most of the congregation was very pleased to include us in their lives and held Andrew in high esteem for his work at MEC.
We spent the afternoon visiting with Joel Mugacia and his family. He was a mentor to Isaac and got to know Andrew at the recent celebration of Isaac and Beth's wedding. We met him at the church and were invited to have some chai tea at his house afterwards. It was very pleasant to meet his wife and young adult children. We learned more about the school systems, the advantages and drawbacks to higher education in Nairobi compared to local schools, his hopes for his children's futures and the challenges in making ends meet, especially after the last drought which resulted in fewer crops for the market and less income for the family. The visit was most enjoyable but it was disheartening to know that his daughter had to wait to fulfill her dreams of becoming a nurse due to the cost of college tuition and the family's current lack of funds to pay it.
On another occasion, the three of us walked a few kilometers to Lake Kenyatta on the opposite edge of town from the Kimani place. The lake provides the city's drinking water and, as we passed the water treatment plant, Andrew explained how it was pumped to a high point nearby and delivered by gravity from there to the rest of the town. The lake is very scenic and somewhat removed from the bustle of town life, so provides a nice place to get away. Hippos can be a concern, especially if one were to get between a mama and pup or in the morning as they move back toward water to avoid the hot sun. Since it was midday when we made our trip to the shore, we didn't see them anywhere although a couple times we could hear far-off snorting and grunts from their location further around the lakeshore. It didn't make us feel any bolder to hear that a hippo killed a resident when he got to the wrong place at the wrong time some time ago.
Much of our visit was devoted to socializing, eating and laughing with Andrew's friends and associates. We spent a fun-filled afternoon at Isaac's house with his lovely wife and daughter Susan, as well as his brother Paul and family. Isaac and Paul both enjoyed showing us around the shamba explaining how crops were planted, tended and harvested. The children (Paul's three daughters and Susan) never tired of seeking our attention, playing, and performing song and dance routines as kids do everywhere. Susan was especially adamant about having wild fun, insisting "Juu tena! Tena! Tena! (Up again! Again! Again!)" after she had trained me to swing her up into the air. At one toss, she succeeded in a complete flip, breathlessly exclaiming “Ngai!” once it was certain that she was no worse for wear. She figured out what I was up to when she rode on my shoulders and I aimed for low hanging branches to "rub" her off, giggling delightedly. Andrew later commented that he enjoyed the refresher on kid tormenting, some of which he had forgotten from his own childhood. As the day turned into night, we moved inside and enjoyed a tasty meal lovingly prepared by Mama Susan. When the time came for us to return home, Susan was disappointed that she had to stay and I was disappointed that there wasn't a way to slip her into a pocket or something and take her home to Arizona. Isaac's whole family will always have a special place in my heart.
Danson, the Chairman of MEC insisted that we’d be honored guests at a formal dinner following the monthly MEC Board meeting. As it turned out, this was the same day that we planned to visit Grace, Benson’s daughter. We'd only had a few minutes to get to know her the first day we arrived at Mpeketoni when we also met her mother and father, Benson Mbuthia with Chairman Danson at his bike shop. Grace was very friendly, sweet, mid-twenties, and clearly well educated. She was very interested in comparing notes with Mama Drew since both teach primary school. We managed to spend a little time with her in the afternoon before the evening dinner with the Board, although she was disappointed that we couldn’t stay longer.
While sharing stories about the challenges and triumphs of teaching, she insisted we have some fresh mango and we agreed, thinking we'd only eat enough to be polite and wanting to avoid a spoiled appetite. Meanwhile, a neighborhood toddler made himself comfortable while we visited, inspecting each of us closely and generally enjoying a little extra attention. When Grace peeled and sliced the mangos, he started to whimper and soon began to howl. Since he’d been hanging around me for the previous several minutes, someone asked what I might have done to cause his unhappiness. Shortly, the reason for his anguish was clear when Grace, without looking at him, handed him a juicy piece of mango. His crying and tears abruptly stopped, as he enjoyed the sweet tangy fruit. Like young children everywhere, he knew how to say, “Gimme dis!” in a language that anyone could understand.
Saving our appetites was a wise decision since the dinner prepared by the Board (mostly Benson’s wife) was more than could be finish. We enjoyed bowls filled with traditional Kenyan recipes including dishes made with beans, maize and greens. Of course there was also goat meat from a fresh slaughter as is the tradition for honored guests. One special plate was presented that we hadn’t seen before and looked suspiciously like the goat’s innards; a roasted stomach or something. Andrew and Mama were somewhat intimidated even though it certainly appeared tastier than the roasted goat’s feet that we’d sampled with Baba Kinyua.
Someone mentioned that it was customary to offer the privilege of carving to an elder or guest, especially a mzee like me. We all chuckled about that as I politely declined. A board member, probably the oldest of the crew gleefully volunteered saying he was clearly qualified by age. In order to avoid seeming rude, I accepted a portion and discovered that it actually tasted very good. Cuts of meat had been placed in a goat stomach, which was then stitched shut and slowly cooked. Shortly, everyone was enjoying some although Andrew, Mama and I still refrained from sampling the actual stomach itself. All of us had a good laugh at our mzungu response when the head of the goat was brought to the table. I braved a taste of tongue but the board members cleaned up the main platter.
The event was a huge success with all the members of the board attending and everyone enjoying the opportunity to celebrate and visit together. Clearly Andrew, Mama Drew and I were highly honored by the occasion. As the meal began to wind down, each member was given an opportunity to speak. Many repeated how grateful and happy they were with Andrew's contributions and personality. When it was my turn to give the 'Vote of Thanks' it was a chance to emphasize again how much we appreciated the warm welcome and hospitality we'd all received, and that we were especially grateful for the kindness and care they'd all given Andrew.
Right before the final prayer of thanksgiving and benediction, Danson finished up with his own observations that Andrew had already been very helpful to the company in addition to being a fun and easy person to get to know. He said it was an indicator of our love for him as parents that we would go to such lengths, the money and time, the danger and risks, just to see how our son is doing. We chuckled at the thought of coming all that way to 'check up' on him.
It was one of the finest parties we'd attended in a long time; such a great honor to be in the company of these pioneering town founders, these Kikuyu folks far from their homelands. Some are as old as or older than me, which means they knew Jomo Kenyatta well, possibly in a personal way. They had certainly lived thru those hard times when Kenya struggled for independence from European domination. Their perseverance, hard work and good nature about life continues to reflect in the positive social atmosphere of their community, a town that seems better able to withstand the desperation, poverty and hopelessness that's so much a part of our modern world.
The next day, Danson persuaded a friend of his, Pastor to give us a ride in his jeep out to the coast. It was a bright beautiful day and pleasant to ride through the outskirts of town toward the sand dunes. A few kilometers past the last shamba, we were at the end of the road and only a short walk over the dunes separated us from the Indian Ocean. It was superbly enjoyable to feel the salty breeze, listen to the squawks and twittering of the shorebirds, and jump into the warm shallow surf. Afterwards, Danson and Pastor drove us through a game reserve and more outlying shambas before returning to town.
That evening, we visited Paul Mutinda, the MEC Secretary and his family. Paul, of the Kamba people, met Andrew in Nairobi when he first arrived in Kenya. By coincidence, Paul had other business in Nairobi so it was convenient to travel together back to Mpeketoni. Shortly before our trip to visit Andrew, he asked that we carry a laptop with our luggage for Paul that they had ordered together on the internet. As it turned out, we carried it with us to the hotel in Mombassa where Paul would pick it up on his way through the city going the other direction. Andrew confirmed that Paul had the laptop a while after we were headed to Mpeketoni. We didn't actually meet until days later when he'd returned. It was a pleasure to get to know him when we met at last in church, MEC, and a time or two just in passing on the streets of town. I was pleased to see that my mental picture of him was correct in terms of warmth and openness even though he was much younger than I'd imagined, only a few years older than Andrew. It was mandatory that we stop by this good friend's place before leaving town.
Once again, we were treated to a sumptuous spread of Kenyan home cooking and the warm hospitality of his young wife, siblings and mother. Before the end of the evening, we each spoke of our gratitude for the time together and shared our observations and impressions. By now, praise for Andrew was no surprise and it was clear that having Mama and Baba Drew for guests was a big treat as well. I mentioned that Kenya had always been a place that held my interest since studying the country in high school when I was younger than Andrew. I said that I'd only dreamed of visiting until the possibility of actually being in Kenya became a reality with Andrew's commitment to working with MEC. Then I described how thankful we were that he was met by Paul in Nairobi and accompanied to Mpeketoni. Finally, I expressed how we had carried this computer from the US for this kind person, just missing him in Mombassa, and how much I looked forward to at last meeting this person, Paul Mutinda. On our way back to the hotel, it was easy to be overwhelmed with gratitude for all the good times and wonderful friends we'd met, and it was difficult to realize that our stay in Kenya would be over in just a few more days.
The following morning, Isaac joined us to go to Lamu, the next town up the coast where we would visit Issac's mother, see the sights of this historic outpost, then fly to Nairobi and onto Arizona. We intended to catch the bus, hoping there'd be room on the early one. When we got to the stage, Badi was there to greet us again and to manage our bags. When we explained our plans, he was able to arrange seats on the next matatu, same price but a much shorter wait and less crowded, although we shared floor space with more than a dozen chickens bound for market. I agreed to send him a pair of sport shoes for his troubles as we pulled onto the road headed north.
After an uneventful matatu ride and the short ferry ride, we found rooms at a hotel before setting out to explore the town. Eventually we found our way to the market where Isaac's mother sold produce from the shambas. Several folks from Mpeketoni find work in Lamu where trade and tourist provide a bigger economy. Mama Isaac was very pleased when we found her at the marketplace and we enjoyed getting to know her and exchanging stories about her days and ours. The love between mother and son was evident as she gave Isaac instructions for making us more comfortable, sending him to fetch boxes to sit on and sodas. Later in the evening, we met up again at her apartment for chai tea, a bite of food and pleasant conversation.
The island of Lamu is a very picturesque and ancient town, with lots of history related to Arab and Portuguese trade and settlement. There are no real streets to speak of, only narrow alleyways with barely room for a donkey and a human to pass. Two and three story buildings provide living space above the multitude of tiny shops that line the walkways. Goods are moved either by donkey, handcart or on the backs of the people. The harbor is filled with a variety of boats; some powered by motors, most with sails, called dhows; some clearly expensive and very private while most were well worn and looked ready for the sea, waiting for sailors and wannabees like myself.
In between visits with Mama Isaac, we wandered among the shops, managed a quick tour of the Lamu electric generating station, and enjoyed watching all the other interesting people. When Andrew encountered a boatman he recognized from an earlier visit, it was decided that we'd go sailing the next day before having to catch our plane. It almost seemed like too much to squeeze in but it was great idea and no one was happier to go for it than me since I had some limited experience learning to sail when I was young.
The next morning, we woke to the melodic sound of the Muslim 'call to prayer,' broadcast from the nearby minaret as the dawn sky began to brighten the horizon. It wasn't long before the four of us were out in the channel sailing in a dhow with a friendly crew and a very capable captain, all of them about Andrew's age. The breeze was just right, the water perfect for swimming, and the scenery wonderful. Our schedule didn't allow time to properly catch any fish but the crew had brought all the fixings for a fine seafood meal, which they prepared over a campfire on a far beach while the captain showed us Lamu Island's exclusive side.
On the way back, the captain let me take the tiller for a while which was great fun and a chance to re-live the fun I'd had sailing as youth so many years ago. My lack of practice showed on occasion in my blank expression when the captain gave directions as the boat heeled and waves began splashing over the side boards. But we didn't tip over; making it back to port safely and all agreed that it had been a wonderful time. Isaac was naturally the best sport of all. When we tacked causing the sail to switch from one side to the other, I slithered to the opposite side to help balance the boat. It was a rather clumsy move, me feeling a little 'old and in the way.' Isaac astutely mentioned in his perfect English and with utmost courtesy, "I believe the move should be made quickly."
We had been laughing earlier about Andrew's intention to teach Isaac some new English phrases such as "Ain't it the truth (bila shaka)" and "I'm gonna open a can o' whup-ass" (spoken with a Texas accent). To this, I added the appropriate use of "No duh!"
For instance, I say, "Oiee! Sign sez 'City Center.' Wazzat, the center of the city?"
And you say, "No duh!"
Isaac's observation and polite statement that perhaps I should have moved a little quicker from one side of the boat to the other was another great example: "No duh!"
All too soon, we'd gathered up our bags at the guesthouse, said good-by to Mama Isaac and caught the ferry over to the airport. It was all but impossible to maintain composure as we gave our last hugs, thanks and blessings for the days to come. Andrew and Isaac soon headed back to Mpeketoni while Mama Drew and I worked our way through the security gate and waited for the plane to take us to Nairobi, then London and finally back to Arizona.
Ask me if it was hard to leave Kenya and I'll tell you, "No duh!"
To be continued...
(Report on the Journey Taken by Mama Drew and Baba Drew to Check on Their Son)
Ngai! Good God! What an incredible trip was our visit with Andrew in Kenya. We’ve been back for some time and the wonderful memories are still vivid. We saw so much that it would take volumes to try to capture all of it with words. Keep in mind; this will only scratch the surface of a magical experience too fabulous for words. Each paragraph could be expanded into chapters. The names of those remembered here is just a portion of the many friendly folks we met. While being too numerous for the casual reader, they serve as a reminder of so many others. By remembering the friendly personalities of the people, memories of the features and character of the country will stay sharp as well. The writer apologizes in advance for misspelled names, for those who were not included, for any topics that might offend, and for a talent for verbosity. Let this account serve to offer "thanks" for the experience as well as a way to share it with the reader.
We took a night flight from Arizona to England and spent most of the next day wandering the Heathrow terminal (security was too tight to make a tour of London worthwhile). Andrew, JB Wanjohi Kirubi (brother to Charles Ngatu Kirubi – Andrew’s classmate), and Githenji (Kirubi’s cousin and one of Baba Kinyua's employees – more about him later) met us at the Nairobi Airport after another night of flying. JB (also known as Mwalimu – “teacher" - his profession in Mombassa) and Githenji immediately made us feel welcome with warm handshakes and big smiles. Githenji graciously drove us out of the airport and through town to John Muraya’s apartment where we were able to freshen up and stash a good portion of our baggage.
The plan was to hop on a matatu (public transport in a mini-van) and head out to the country to the Kirubi homestead to spend Christmas with Mama Fita and family. Githenji’s competent driving and knowledge of the city made it easier to sit back and enjoy the ride thru Nairobi; an expanse of skyscrapers, traffic congestion, people everywhere, and sprawling residential areas – some wealthy but lots of them poor. Before dropping us at the matatu stage where we’d catch our ride to the countryside, Githenji took us to his house to meet his wife and to share the first of many home-cooked meals. This sort of generous hospitality seemed unusual, especially from a complete stranger. Soon we came to learn that such kind openness is not a rare characteristic of the good people of Kenya.
The matatu stage was in the very heart of downtown Nairobi and felt like a sea of chaos with mini-busses coming and going, operators calling out the names of their destinations and crowds of people milling about. Once we knew which bus was ours, I was a bit too eager to climb aboard and found myself in the very back seat perched over the spare tire like a giant albino buzzard. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, exchanging grins and a thumbs-up with the operator as he checked the luggage tied onto the roof. Getting out of the city was a relief. We knew some of what to expect from Andrew’s descriptions: fast driving when the road was fairly smooth and straight, wild swerves to avoid potholes and other vehicles, sudden stops at the police roadblocks, and so on. The beautiful countryside unfolded as the city faded behind us. Recent rains had cleared the dust, cooled things down and turned everything emerald green. After a couple hours of bouncing around on that back seat and struggling to find ways to stretch my legs, it was great to finally arrive at the outskirts of Nyeri and climb out of the van. John Kirubi Muraya met us and provided a ride for the remaining 15 or 20 kilometers to the Kirubi residence. It was good to meet John since it was his place in Nairobi where we’d left much of our luggage. We all chuckled when he explained that a rather serious-looking fellow who’d been talking to him thru the window shortly after we’d piled into his car was questioning if John had a commercial permit for carrying passengers. It would seem that countless entrepreneurs, hustlers and bureaucrats looking for angles match the endless generosity of Andrew's friends.
After a short ride, we arrived at Mama Fita’s house and were immediately greeted by her warm smile and twinkling eyes. She had clearly grown very fond of Andrew in the few days he’d spent there before our arrival and made us feel a part of the family too, within seconds, even though we couldn’t speak each other's language. There were plenty of folks willing to act as interpreters although the heart of our communication required no words. Along with Mwalimu and Mama Fita we soon met sister Mary Wanjoki and her son Joseph, brothers Peter and Wachira, and Baba Kamau – a close family friend who comes by regularly to help out. Andrew told me earlier that I’d love the place and he was right. Some things reminded me of the outskirts of San Diego: the moderate temperature and soft humid breeze, the hills and canyons covered with lush crops, orchards, eucalyptus and banana trees, and every kind of flowering green bush that you can imagine. Everyone had at least a few chickens and goats. The people too, seemed very familiar: a little rough and tumbled, clearly struggling with poverty, but filled with care for each other and always willing to extend a welcome to strangers. A big difference was the lack of city lights and water. Being the only mzungu (Europeans) in the area took some getting used to. Like country folk everywhere, that initial strangeness was gone after the first nod, smile or handshake. Mama Fita, her family and friends were very skilled at making us feel right at home in no time.
Each day was filled with taking short walks around the ‘hood, meeting new neighbors and friends, responding to the gleeful call from the kids everywhere: "HowarYOOOO!" ducking for cover from the occasional rain shower, and generally enjoying being treated as honored guests. Wachira and his family were only able to stay for a couple days before returning to work in the city but it was enough time to get to know him, his wife, four daughters and son Amos who sounded intent on coming to the USA someday. I assured him that he could count on us for a place to stay. When a goat was brought over to slaughter in celebration of the holiday, we decided to go see what the back pastures looked like. Wachira chuckled in his friendly way when we confessed to the reason for our sudden departure, saying, "I knew you'd run away!"
John Muraya introduced us to his brothers and sisters at their place nearby, and then he and Mwalimu walked with us to Wajee Camp in the afternoon. It was a very pleasant walk for about 4 kilometers to a popular animal and bird sanctuary. After a short tour of the sanctuary, we enjoyed a few Tuskers (the national beer) and sampled a local brew with an interesting after-bite at the Camp’s lounge. Having established a warm little buzz, we set off for the return to Mama Fita’s place in the dark. The moon was full and the temperature mild so the walk home was just as pleasant. John said he remembered seeing lightning bugs near a stream when he was younger, just as we came around the bend and started to see them for ourselves. So beautiful: the soft glow of the moon, the gurgling water, and magical blips of light darting about in the damp warm air.
One of the more challenging tasks was to refrain from jumping in to help with chores and such. Andrew had been allowed to lend a hand here and there prior to our arrival but it was clear that we were expected to kick back and enjoy our vacation. One evening, we had the pleasure of meeting Baba Kinyua, his wife Mama Jean, and some of his family. We learned that he’d played an important role in providing jobs at his coffee plantation, helping out those in need and mentoring young folks of the neighborhood. As we sat enjoying each other's company with chai tea and supper, a few others dropped by. At one point, I moved a small table closer to another's chair as a plate of food was brought in. This caused a bit of a stir and the remark (with a sly grin) from Baba Kinyua that I had a lot to learn about being a Kikuyu man. A little later, I made a similar mistake by moving to another chair in order to make room for new arrivals. Again he shook his finger at me for not keeping my spot. It was undignified behavior for a mzee (old one) much less a male mzungu. When Mary heard about all this later in the evening, she howled with laughter saying that she wouldn't have let Baba Kinyua off so easy, advocating instead for equality amongst us all. We all marveled at her good spirits and hard work, imagining what it must have been like growing up with four brothers who expected her to serve, as is the Kikuyu custom. Even though Mary and Mama Fita were kept busy cooking, providing for hand washing, and serving chai and dinner, appreciation was shown in subtle ways and it was good to see Mwalimu helping out with such things, even if he was hoping it wasn’t noticed.
Baba Kinyua gave us a tour of his coffee plantation one afternoon and we learned much about growing and processing the beans. He clearly takes great pride in the farm and has devoted a lot of time and energy to making it a success. We heard how it wasn't legal for Africans to grow coffee, only the mzungu settlers, until after Kenyan independence. Even today there are laws that restrict removal of the coffee trees, so important is the crop for export. Most Kenyans seldom drink coffee, preferring tea instead, and only the dried raw bean is exported. To buy roasted Kenyan coffee in Kenya you'll likely be getting it as an import from another country. Baba Kinyua's plantation is large enough to support its own processing plant and employees many workers. Most other shambas (farms) send their coffee beans to local co-operatives for processing and auction. This results in less profit for the farmer and a lesser quality product collectively, but is the only option for most farmers given the economics of coffee growing and land ownership. One thing for sure, I savor that first cup in the morning even more and have a deep appreciation for the time and work that goes into it. I'm more determined than ever to look for the "fair trade" brands in hopes that more money will get to the farmer instead of countless middlemen.
Prior to Baba Kinyua's tour, we made ourselves comfortable outside his front door after the short walk from Mama Fita’s house. Visiting family members were busy preparing for the trip back to the city for school and work. As Baba Kinyua settled into his chair, he banged his fist on the table and shouted out "Who's serving me?" with a grin to us indicating that he really wasn't always like that. After a roll of the eyes and sigh of exasperation, one of his daughters came over for hand washing, a fresh pot of tea and snacks. A few minutes later, we were shocked to see a plate of roasted goat's feet brought to us. It was explained that this was a delicacy of great honor enjoyed by the old folks. Once I realized it wasn't just a practical joke, I grabbed one and began chewing on the tough hide, seeing Mwalimu and Baba Kinyua do the same. With encouraging words such as "It makes your teeth stronger" and "This is a very special treat," I gave it my best but didn't get very far. Poor Andrew and Mama Drew pretty well gave up without a fight, looking a bit green around the gills. After succeeding in tearing some tendons and gristle from the bone, I gave up too, asking forgiveness for being so wimpy. Mwalimu was kind enough to take my half-started portion and proceeded to chew away at it with zeal. Baba Kinyua wasn't offended by our failure to enjoy such an exotic bite, still maintaining the twinkle in his eyes and a hint of a grin.
After the tour of the plantation, another meal was served, more of the standard Kenyan dishes that are so easy to appreciate. After enjoying the company of Baba Kinyua and his wife, the good food, stories of their life together, the hard times leading up to independence and the years since, we headed home to Mama Fita's place with full stomachs and warm feelings for these kind folks.
One day as Andrew and I sat outside soaking up the morning sun, the neighbor children came over to see who the new mzungu were. It's customary for arriving visitors to shake hands with any who are present and these kids were no exception. First, one of the boys (let's call him Charlie Brown) overcame his shyness and shook our hands in turn, moving carefully with a soft voice and bashful grin. He was followed by a smaller but more confidant youngster let's name Billy the Kid who marched right up to us with a hearty "Jambo!" The girls then followed suit, having seen that we were not the dangerous type, each of them shaking our hands. After a few minutes, they drifted off to other parts of the yard, inspecting the chicken coop, greeting others as they came outside, and making themselves at home. I nudged Andrew when I noticed that Charlie Brown had spotted my missing toes and was whispering to the others about his discovery, using his fingers to count. Billy the Kid quickly returned to our spot and leaned on my knee as he fiercely studied Andrew's toes, trying to sort out what it was his friend was talking about. We could hardly contain our laughter as he looked over Andrew's feet, first one and then the other, unable to see anything out of the ordinary. Finally, as I wiggled my toes he saw my foot and jumped back when he at last spotted my old injury.
By this time, the others had gathered around and were clearly interested. It was apparent they didn't know English much at all but, using a few Kiswahili words and lots of sign language, we made up a story about simba the lion, a growl and a quick snap of the jaw. This was met with some puzzlement and skepticism so I added more gestures to indicate running, a loud snarl with fangs and claws, and a vicious chomp! The kids burst out laughing at that, which continued when Andrew found the words to describe one foot that was quick - 'upesi' and the one that was too slow - 'pole pole.' They probably still were skeptical of the story but it would've been nearly impossible to explain the real event and it certainly wouldn't have been as entertaining. With that, our friendship was sealed and they tagged along until Wachira finally chased them off when we went to his house for a visit.
All too soon our stay with Mama Fita, her family and friends came to an end. Our plans included many other sites to visit before returning to Arizona. "Asante sana" (Thank you very much) didn't come anywhere close to capturing the depth of our gratitude for so much hospitality and warmth. When we gathered together for final good-byes and a 'vote of thanks' I found myself completely choked up in a most un-manly way, Kikuyu or otherwise. It was very clear to me that Mama Fita and her family would be our friends forever.
Over the next few days, we traveled to Lake Nakuru, also known as Flamingo Lake and then to Masai Mara National Park with its reputation as one of the seven wonders of the world. To make the safari even more special, our travel thru the parks was during some of the wettest days that Kenya had seen for the past few years. Headlines in the local papers shouted "Tourists Are Fleeing Masai Mara" the day before we connected with our guide and headed for that fabulous place. The favorite topic of conversation was the rain, the mud, the disastrous condition of the roads, and the loss of visitor dollars due to the negative press. We had some second thoughts of our own, but we'd already paid a deposit for a guide and believed the assurances that "Everything would be just fine. Hakuna matata!" And indeed it was a wonderful experience, even though there were several moments when things looked pretty grim.
On the way in, Samuel our guide skillfully maneuvered the 2-wheel drive mini-bus thru several muddy stretches while others in 4-wheel drive rigs were heading back to hard surfaced roads, advising us to give up, as they were. We came to a river crossing where the water was too high to pass without drowning our motor and wondered if that might be the end of it as we got into a line of parked vans. Determined 4-wheelers were able to cross and getting a tow was a possibility. Soon a farm tractor appeared and a towing operation was begun. Before long our turn came and we were pulled across the swollen river with nothing worse than wet floorboards.
It wasn't long before our happy progress was again interrupted, this time by a long line of vehicles stopped at a bridge that had flood damage severe enough to make it impassable. It looked like we'd be stranded there for some time. Maybe we'd have to give up and turn around too. We waited to see what might happen as our guide consulted with other drivers about the situation. Lacking anything better to do, I walked over to the riverbank to watch the muddy flow roll by. A Masai mzee came along, softly whistling as they do when moving their herds across the plains. He seemed friendly enough, a twinkle in his eyes and a sympathetic smile, so we began to chat, more with gestures than words. While looking at the high water, he agreed it was "too much," a phrase that I suppose he'd learned when selling handcrafts. We shared a chuckle when comparing our gray hairs. As our sign-language conversation progressed, I sensed that he was genuinely interested in our plight and curious about us as much as perhaps also thinking today was a good day for selling trinkets to travelers.
Before long other members of his community came over to see about the growing crowd of crazy mzungu travelers and looking for a chance to sell their wares. I wasn't interested in buying souvenirs and we really didn't have much cash to spare but it occurred to me that they might be interested in a red polo shirt of mine since the Masai people are clearly partial to red cloth. I’d planned to leave plenty of clothes with Andrew before returning anyway and the idea of leaving something with these people appealed to me. So I asked one of the younger folks, a woman who was by now interpreting for the old man and ambitious about making her own sales, if a trade might be possible. She said, “Sure, let’s take a look.”
I went back to the van and retrieved the shirt, double-checking that it wasn’t too dirty and plucked a few of my gray hairs from the collar as I returned to the group. I showed it to them hoping the deep red color would be desirable and said I’d be willing to trade for two beaded bracelets. The woman wasn’t overly excited, saying, “Hmm… but it isn’t new.” When I agreed to trade for only one bracelet, she paused for a few seconds as I let her to take the shirt for closer inspection. “See? No holes and nice material,” said I as the mzee took it from the woman. He was careful not to seem too interested but I sensed he wanted it by the way he began folding it up again and slowly tucking it under his arm, all the while maintaining the twinkle in his eyes and a pleasant smile. The woman was insistent that she’d only trade the shirt for a bracelet if cash were part of the deal. I was equally firm that it was going to be a trade only, no money in the exchange. One of the others piped in “He thinks you’re giving it to him for free. Are you?” Things were starting to move faster than I’d planned by now, so I said “How about I give him the shirt in return for a blessing… for all of us!” The woman looked a little exasperated and said something to the mzee in their language that I’d hoped was a translation of my terms. He smiled even bigger and had the shirt well tucked away as he started to turn to go, saying “Okay! Goodbye,” in a most friendly way. It wasn't hard for me to call it a blessing.
An hour or so later, I saw the mzee moving thru the crowd just before we got underway again. We made eye contact exchanging grins and hand signals. He still had that magical twinkle in his eyes and seemed genuinely pleased to see me again. "Jambo!" We all felt good about the transaction although I could tell that Mama Drew wasn’t real impressed with my bartering skills. On the other hand, I felt a private satisfaction about leaving a favorite shirt with an interesting resident of a far away and mysterious land. Sort of like “I got stuck at Masai Mara and all I lost was the shirt off my back.”
Not long after that, our guide Samuel secured a ride for us with a driver stranded on the other side of the river, saying that he’d catch up to us once repairs had been made, hopefully later that afternoon. Our new ride was 4-wheel drive and it was an uneventful trip to the entrance gate. Unfortunately, none of us had documentation showing that the entry fees had been paid but after some negotiating and a signature in the ledger we were allowed to enter. Soon we were settled into the camp for the night and shortly Samuel appeared just as the sun went down, saying that he’d made it across although the repairs were not good enough to support big trucks yet. Later we heard that a tractor had attempted to cross but rolled off into the river, fortunately without the operator. We wondered what adventures the return trip would hold.
Samuel took us on a ‘game ride’ the next day that was well worth the challenging trip. We saw no end of African wildlife: gazelles, water buffalos, antelopes, wildebeests, ostriches, warthogs, giraffes, zebras, elephants, several lions, and a couple of cheetahs. Due to the bad roads coming in, other visitors were not that numerous and scattered fairly evenly across the park. It wasn’t hard to imagine busier times when mini-busses and 4-wheelers were buzzing all around, swarming to any place that had something interesting to see, of which there's plenty. Park management is attempting to reduce the amount of cross country travel and consequent damage from vehicles but it’s still pretty much a free-for-all with little enforcement or even signs to discourage such activity. Thankfully, Samuel used common sense in choosing our routes and we avoided getting stuck or leaving big ruts in the mud. It would have been fun to get out and walk around but that’s one rule that everyone agrees is best unbroken. At one point, a lioness strolled across an open meadow and it was impressive to see how all the other animals stopped what they were doing to watch intently as she ambled by with little interest in them due to a full stomach from an earlier kill. Later in the day we saw elephants feeding on grasses and splashing around in a stream. It was a wonderful day and, even though we'd seen so much, we were somewhat reluctant to head for civilization.
The trip from Masai Mara back to Nairobi was an adventure of its own. We hadn't gone far before encountering fellow travelers stuck in the mud. Samuel, being a good nature soul stopped to lend a hand. I was eager to jump out, too, but he persuaded me to wait in the van. Soon it was obvious that the other mini-bus was seriously bogged down and that it would require more time and effort than we could spare to get them rolling again. It was very likely that a larger vehicle, hopefully 4-wheel drive would be along soon and would get them out, so we got under way again with Samuel apologizing for not being able to do more. Given the sloppy conditions, it was no surprise when we shortly found ourselves high centered in muddy ruts. This time there was no argument from Samuel when I jumped out to see what we could do. I let him know that I was familiar with being stuck in the mud since it's almost an annual spring ritual at work. He seemed relieved that we weren't much bothered by the setback. With a little effort, we got the mini-bus freed and took a slightly drier route. Already the folks who we'd left behind caught up with us and we all agreed that it would be good to stay somewhat together.
This turned out to be a good decision given the wet conditions. My prior experience with vehicles and mud also came in handy. As we slogged along, we found ourselves mired in mud four more times. At one stream crossing, a large portion of the roadbed had washed away. The drivers got together to assess their options and it was decided that one of the other vans with a "snorkel" on the air intake would try crossing just upstream where it appeared the water was not too deep. Unfortunately, the far bank was a little too steep and the van stalled out in about two feet of water. It seemed a good time to hope for a tractor. The drivers got together to discuss their options and in a few minutes they had organized the gathering group of Masai neighbors into a team who eventually pulled the van up and out of the stream. It was certainly an impressive sight to witness. Samuel avoided getting our van stuck by keeping one side on the concrete roadway. We all held our breaths at the roadside as we watched him gun it across, hoping it wouldn't tip over.
When all the vehicles in our convoy were safely across, I asked Samuel about compensating the crew that had rescued the first van. He said that we didn't need to worry about it since the driver of the stuck van had paid for the work. Later, it was pointed out that the local Masai people were benefiting from the unfortunate condition of the roads, since they were prepared and waiting at most of the trouble spots for the opportunity to assist when vehicles got stuck. In fact, the local people are unwilling to turn over maintenance (and "ownership") of the roads to the Kenya Wildlife Service since there's no benefit to them besides an increase in tourism, not to mention the intrusion of foreigners into their homelands, something they’ve endured for centuries. It's a dilemma that can be found in other parts of the world too. There's money to be made from travelers but with too many visitors, impacts such as environmental degradation, site desecration and disrespect in general can become more than a serious nuisance.
The last time we got stuck was the worst and we saw first hand these conflicting factors in action. We were getting closer to pavement and Samuel was hopeful that we'd make it across the next and final valley before reaching drier plains and the main highway. Unfortunately, after successfully crossing the stream we encountered a 4-wheel drive vehicle stuck in the middle of the road, now a giant mud bog. The rig had been jacked up so that both rear wheels were in the air but the front ones were still hopelessly buried in mud and it looked like the driver had given up waiting for the road to dry out. There didn't appear to be an easy way around, but we made an attempt that resulted in our own van becoming stuck in mud and large rocks to the extent that both rear wheels spun freely without any hope of gaining traction. It seemed we were stranded for the duration as other vehicles in our convoy began to park behind us and the local Masai began to gather, hoping to sell their handicrafts and marveling at the crazy mzungu and the manner in which they got into such predicaments.
We were there for some time and it seemed that the only possibility for rescue was a pull from another tractor when a mzungu resident came along and was able to extract with a hand winch. Once we were freed from the mud and ready to start out again, there was a brief exchange between the rescuer, Samuel and a local Masai leader. The Masai still expected their fees for allowing us (with their assistance) to cross their lands, while the mzungu argued that if anyone should be paid for services rendered it should be him, and he didn't want any compensation. As we started on our way, the Masai leader hopped in next to Samuel as his cohorts lead us thru their fields, and then insisted on payment once we were successful in reaching dry ground. On one hand, it seemed like just another shakedown. On the other hand, the Masai people have few resources beyond their meager herds and a few skimpy crops. For us to be required to pay them for passage across their lands doesn't seem all that unreasonable. At any rate, fees were paid and soon we were back to pavement, dodging potholes on our way back to Nairobi.
As if this part of our adventure was not sufficiently wild enough, there was an additional crisis that we shared with Samuel just minutes from the destination in Nairobi where we'd go our separate ways. We'd left the highway and were rolling into downtown after sundown when we noticed a rumbling and klunking sound from a rear wheel. I told Samuel that it sounded like we might have another flat tire (he'd already dealt with two previously). Andrew poked his head out the window and saw to his horror that the whole wheel was coming loose from the studs. Samuel immediately pulled over as far as possible to assess the damage. Since we were still on the edge of a busy street in the heart of a dangerous city, we all stayed on edge watching for new hazards while Samuel got the wheel secured again. It wasn't long before we were under way once more and soon reached our drop-off location near our lodging for the night. We'd spent the past few days surviving wild adventures together and it wasn't easy to part ways with Samuel. With a warm handshake and blessings for the road ahead, we separated after leaving him with a little larger than usual tip in appreciation and hoping it might cover some of the wear and tear on the van. It was definitely not your typical safari!
We were amazed at how close we'd come to serious disaster in this and other earlier instances. Andrew wondered if things would have been much worse without the blessings from the Masai mzee and we laughed at the thought that perhaps we should go shopping for more red clothing to offer in trade for blessings of safety and good times.
After a good night of rest, we set out the next morning on a rather comfortable bus for the coastal town of Mombassa, the second largest city in Kenya after Nairobi. The ride was long but scenic and by mid-afternoon, we were settled into a hotel near the old part of the city.
The next morning, before heading up the coast to Mpeketoni, we set out to see the sights of the old town district. It wasn't long before we encountered a young man who persuaded us to hire him as a guide. While this seemed a little excessive at first, he did a fine job of pointing out sights and places that we would have missed. He also kept us from blundering into the wrong places and eased the pressure of other folks looking for employment or handouts. After a few hours of wandering around the markets, visiting old shops, mosques and other buildings, we paid our guide his fee and headed for the bus station. Mombassa is a pleasant city and it would have been nice to spend more time there, especially if it were possible to connect with our friend Mwalimu who taught school and lived there. But he had not yet returned from Mama Fita's house so we were left with catching the next bus headed up the coast.
After staying overnight in Malindi, we arrived in Mpeketoni the following day. From the first few minutes after getting off the bus, friendly and happy folks greeted us. As I pushed thru the crowd around the parked bus to retrieve our luggage, a passenger assistant and baggage handler named Mbarak Badi, gave a shout of recognition when he saw my mzungu face and knew just which bags were ours. It took me a few seconds to realize that he knew Andrew and probably noticed the resemblance, in addition to the fact that mzungu were easy to spot at a distance since they're quite rare in Mpeketoni.
We soon met several more of Andrew's acquaintances as Andrew guided us thru town to the guesthouse where we'd be spending the next several days: Danson the Chairman of the Mpeketoni Electric Company (MEC), Benson Mbuthia - involved in MEC and many other local projects, Ibrahim - Treasurer for MEC, Fanuel - general manager for MEC, Robert - primary technician at MEC, also Robert the ever cheerful and enthusiastic MEC intern, Stanley the painter and voluntary teacher of Kiswahili, and Isaac, Andrew's dear friend and co-worker at MEC. Isaac's job involves oversight of administration and operations (a big responsibility for one who appears so young). When Andrew first arrived, the two were paired up with the intent that they would learn from each other. Before the day had ended, we also met Isaac's cousin Kamunia who made us laugh when talking about life in Mpeketoni and referring to his bicycle as his "Ferrari."
Each day that we spent in Mpeketoni was filled with visiting different places and meeting more good people. We got a quick tour of the electrical generating plant that first day, as well as the posho mill next door where maize is refined and processed for shipment. Andrew's friends were able to secure a couple extra bikes making it possible for us to spend a day with James Kimani exploring mangrove swamps on the outskirts of town near his home. We saw how the plants help to hold together the shoreline, their manner of reproduction, and how they provide habitat for baboons who we could hear in the brush as they barked back at local kids who were teasing them. Before returning to town, we stopped at the Kimani homestead and enjoyed a restful hour of visiting family and drinking chai tea.
On Sunday we attended mass at the local Catholic Church, enjoying the singing and fellowship, most of it in Kiswahili. Before the end of the service, the three of us were asked to come forward and speak a few words to the congregation, a somewhat intimidating request since most of the people were strangers. Fortunately Andrew was prepared for this having experienced it earlier when he was new to the community and had written a few sentences in Kiswahili to introduce his parents and give thanks for the hospitality of the townsfolk. Mama Andrew and I also spoke a few words (in English) expressing our gratitude for the warm welcome we'd been given and for the good care that had been provided our son. It was clear that most of the congregation was very pleased to include us in their lives and held Andrew in high esteem for his work at MEC.
We spent the afternoon visiting with Joel Mugacia and his family. He was a mentor to Isaac and got to know Andrew at the recent celebration of Isaac and Beth's wedding. We met him at the church and were invited to have some chai tea at his house afterwards. It was very pleasant to meet his wife and young adult children. We learned more about the school systems, the advantages and drawbacks to higher education in Nairobi compared to local schools, his hopes for his children's futures and the challenges in making ends meet, especially after the last drought which resulted in fewer crops for the market and less income for the family. The visit was most enjoyable but it was disheartening to know that his daughter had to wait to fulfill her dreams of becoming a nurse due to the cost of college tuition and the family's current lack of funds to pay it.
On another occasion, the three of us walked a few kilometers to Lake Kenyatta on the opposite edge of town from the Kimani place. The lake provides the city's drinking water and, as we passed the water treatment plant, Andrew explained how it was pumped to a high point nearby and delivered by gravity from there to the rest of the town. The lake is very scenic and somewhat removed from the bustle of town life, so provides a nice place to get away. Hippos can be a concern, especially if one were to get between a mama and pup or in the morning as they move back toward water to avoid the hot sun. Since it was midday when we made our trip to the shore, we didn't see them anywhere although a couple times we could hear far-off snorting and grunts from their location further around the lakeshore. It didn't make us feel any bolder to hear that a hippo killed a resident when he got to the wrong place at the wrong time some time ago.
Much of our visit was devoted to socializing, eating and laughing with Andrew's friends and associates. We spent a fun-filled afternoon at Isaac's house with his lovely wife and daughter Susan, as well as his brother Paul and family. Isaac and Paul both enjoyed showing us around the shamba explaining how crops were planted, tended and harvested. The children (Paul's three daughters and Susan) never tired of seeking our attention, playing, and performing song and dance routines as kids do everywhere. Susan was especially adamant about having wild fun, insisting "Juu tena! Tena! Tena! (Up again! Again! Again!)" after she had trained me to swing her up into the air. At one toss, she succeeded in a complete flip, breathlessly exclaiming “Ngai!” once it was certain that she was no worse for wear. She figured out what I was up to when she rode on my shoulders and I aimed for low hanging branches to "rub" her off, giggling delightedly. Andrew later commented that he enjoyed the refresher on kid tormenting, some of which he had forgotten from his own childhood. As the day turned into night, we moved inside and enjoyed a tasty meal lovingly prepared by Mama Susan. When the time came for us to return home, Susan was disappointed that she had to stay and I was disappointed that there wasn't a way to slip her into a pocket or something and take her home to Arizona. Isaac's whole family will always have a special place in my heart.
Danson, the Chairman of MEC insisted that we’d be honored guests at a formal dinner following the monthly MEC Board meeting. As it turned out, this was the same day that we planned to visit Grace, Benson’s daughter. We'd only had a few minutes to get to know her the first day we arrived at Mpeketoni when we also met her mother and father, Benson Mbuthia with Chairman Danson at his bike shop. Grace was very friendly, sweet, mid-twenties, and clearly well educated. She was very interested in comparing notes with Mama Drew since both teach primary school. We managed to spend a little time with her in the afternoon before the evening dinner with the Board, although she was disappointed that we couldn’t stay longer.
While sharing stories about the challenges and triumphs of teaching, she insisted we have some fresh mango and we agreed, thinking we'd only eat enough to be polite and wanting to avoid a spoiled appetite. Meanwhile, a neighborhood toddler made himself comfortable while we visited, inspecting each of us closely and generally enjoying a little extra attention. When Grace peeled and sliced the mangos, he started to whimper and soon began to howl. Since he’d been hanging around me for the previous several minutes, someone asked what I might have done to cause his unhappiness. Shortly, the reason for his anguish was clear when Grace, without looking at him, handed him a juicy piece of mango. His crying and tears abruptly stopped, as he enjoyed the sweet tangy fruit. Like young children everywhere, he knew how to say, “Gimme dis!” in a language that anyone could understand.
Saving our appetites was a wise decision since the dinner prepared by the Board (mostly Benson’s wife) was more than could be finish. We enjoyed bowls filled with traditional Kenyan recipes including dishes made with beans, maize and greens. Of course there was also goat meat from a fresh slaughter as is the tradition for honored guests. One special plate was presented that we hadn’t seen before and looked suspiciously like the goat’s innards; a roasted stomach or something. Andrew and Mama were somewhat intimidated even though it certainly appeared tastier than the roasted goat’s feet that we’d sampled with Baba Kinyua.
Someone mentioned that it was customary to offer the privilege of carving to an elder or guest, especially a mzee like me. We all chuckled about that as I politely declined. A board member, probably the oldest of the crew gleefully volunteered saying he was clearly qualified by age. In order to avoid seeming rude, I accepted a portion and discovered that it actually tasted very good. Cuts of meat had been placed in a goat stomach, which was then stitched shut and slowly cooked. Shortly, everyone was enjoying some although Andrew, Mama and I still refrained from sampling the actual stomach itself. All of us had a good laugh at our mzungu response when the head of the goat was brought to the table. I braved a taste of tongue but the board members cleaned up the main platter.
The event was a huge success with all the members of the board attending and everyone enjoying the opportunity to celebrate and visit together. Clearly Andrew, Mama Drew and I were highly honored by the occasion. As the meal began to wind down, each member was given an opportunity to speak. Many repeated how grateful and happy they were with Andrew's contributions and personality. When it was my turn to give the 'Vote of Thanks' it was a chance to emphasize again how much we appreciated the warm welcome and hospitality we'd all received, and that we were especially grateful for the kindness and care they'd all given Andrew.
Right before the final prayer of thanksgiving and benediction, Danson finished up with his own observations that Andrew had already been very helpful to the company in addition to being a fun and easy person to get to know. He said it was an indicator of our love for him as parents that we would go to such lengths, the money and time, the danger and risks, just to see how our son is doing. We chuckled at the thought of coming all that way to 'check up' on him.
It was one of the finest parties we'd attended in a long time; such a great honor to be in the company of these pioneering town founders, these Kikuyu folks far from their homelands. Some are as old as or older than me, which means they knew Jomo Kenyatta well, possibly in a personal way. They had certainly lived thru those hard times when Kenya struggled for independence from European domination. Their perseverance, hard work and good nature about life continues to reflect in the positive social atmosphere of their community, a town that seems better able to withstand the desperation, poverty and hopelessness that's so much a part of our modern world.
The next day, Danson persuaded a friend of his, Pastor to give us a ride in his jeep out to the coast. It was a bright beautiful day and pleasant to ride through the outskirts of town toward the sand dunes. A few kilometers past the last shamba, we were at the end of the road and only a short walk over the dunes separated us from the Indian Ocean. It was superbly enjoyable to feel the salty breeze, listen to the squawks and twittering of the shorebirds, and jump into the warm shallow surf. Afterwards, Danson and Pastor drove us through a game reserve and more outlying shambas before returning to town.
That evening, we visited Paul Mutinda, the MEC Secretary and his family. Paul, of the Kamba people, met Andrew in Nairobi when he first arrived in Kenya. By coincidence, Paul had other business in Nairobi so it was convenient to travel together back to Mpeketoni. Shortly before our trip to visit Andrew, he asked that we carry a laptop with our luggage for Paul that they had ordered together on the internet. As it turned out, we carried it with us to the hotel in Mombassa where Paul would pick it up on his way through the city going the other direction. Andrew confirmed that Paul had the laptop a while after we were headed to Mpeketoni. We didn't actually meet until days later when he'd returned. It was a pleasure to get to know him when we met at last in church, MEC, and a time or two just in passing on the streets of town. I was pleased to see that my mental picture of him was correct in terms of warmth and openness even though he was much younger than I'd imagined, only a few years older than Andrew. It was mandatory that we stop by this good friend's place before leaving town.
Once again, we were treated to a sumptuous spread of Kenyan home cooking and the warm hospitality of his young wife, siblings and mother. Before the end of the evening, we each spoke of our gratitude for the time together and shared our observations and impressions. By now, praise for Andrew was no surprise and it was clear that having Mama and Baba Drew for guests was a big treat as well. I mentioned that Kenya had always been a place that held my interest since studying the country in high school when I was younger than Andrew. I said that I'd only dreamed of visiting until the possibility of actually being in Kenya became a reality with Andrew's commitment to working with MEC. Then I described how thankful we were that he was met by Paul in Nairobi and accompanied to Mpeketoni. Finally, I expressed how we had carried this computer from the US for this kind person, just missing him in Mombassa, and how much I looked forward to at last meeting this person, Paul Mutinda. On our way back to the hotel, it was easy to be overwhelmed with gratitude for all the good times and wonderful friends we'd met, and it was difficult to realize that our stay in Kenya would be over in just a few more days.
The following morning, Isaac joined us to go to Lamu, the next town up the coast where we would visit Issac's mother, see the sights of this historic outpost, then fly to Nairobi and onto Arizona. We intended to catch the bus, hoping there'd be room on the early one. When we got to the stage, Badi was there to greet us again and to manage our bags. When we explained our plans, he was able to arrange seats on the next matatu, same price but a much shorter wait and less crowded, although we shared floor space with more than a dozen chickens bound for market. I agreed to send him a pair of sport shoes for his troubles as we pulled onto the road headed north.
After an uneventful matatu ride and the short ferry ride, we found rooms at a hotel before setting out to explore the town. Eventually we found our way to the market where Isaac's mother sold produce from the shambas. Several folks from Mpeketoni find work in Lamu where trade and tourist provide a bigger economy. Mama Isaac was very pleased when we found her at the marketplace and we enjoyed getting to know her and exchanging stories about her days and ours. The love between mother and son was evident as she gave Isaac instructions for making us more comfortable, sending him to fetch boxes to sit on and sodas. Later in the evening, we met up again at her apartment for chai tea, a bite of food and pleasant conversation.
The island of Lamu is a very picturesque and ancient town, with lots of history related to Arab and Portuguese trade and settlement. There are no real streets to speak of, only narrow alleyways with barely room for a donkey and a human to pass. Two and three story buildings provide living space above the multitude of tiny shops that line the walkways. Goods are moved either by donkey, handcart or on the backs of the people. The harbor is filled with a variety of boats; some powered by motors, most with sails, called dhows; some clearly expensive and very private while most were well worn and looked ready for the sea, waiting for sailors and wannabees like myself.
In between visits with Mama Isaac, we wandered among the shops, managed a quick tour of the Lamu electric generating station, and enjoyed watching all the other interesting people. When Andrew encountered a boatman he recognized from an earlier visit, it was decided that we'd go sailing the next day before having to catch our plane. It almost seemed like too much to squeeze in but it was great idea and no one was happier to go for it than me since I had some limited experience learning to sail when I was young.
The next morning, we woke to the melodic sound of the Muslim 'call to prayer,' broadcast from the nearby minaret as the dawn sky began to brighten the horizon. It wasn't long before the four of us were out in the channel sailing in a dhow with a friendly crew and a very capable captain, all of them about Andrew's age. The breeze was just right, the water perfect for swimming, and the scenery wonderful. Our schedule didn't allow time to properly catch any fish but the crew had brought all the fixings for a fine seafood meal, which they prepared over a campfire on a far beach while the captain showed us Lamu Island's exclusive side.
On the way back, the captain let me take the tiller for a while which was great fun and a chance to re-live the fun I'd had sailing as youth so many years ago. My lack of practice showed on occasion in my blank expression when the captain gave directions as the boat heeled and waves began splashing over the side boards. But we didn't tip over; making it back to port safely and all agreed that it had been a wonderful time. Isaac was naturally the best sport of all. When we tacked causing the sail to switch from one side to the other, I slithered to the opposite side to help balance the boat. It was a rather clumsy move, me feeling a little 'old and in the way.' Isaac astutely mentioned in his perfect English and with utmost courtesy, "I believe the move should be made quickly."
We had been laughing earlier about Andrew's intention to teach Isaac some new English phrases such as "Ain't it the truth (bila shaka)" and "I'm gonna open a can o' whup-ass" (spoken with a Texas accent). To this, I added the appropriate use of "No duh!"
For instance, I say, "Oiee! Sign sez 'City Center.' Wazzat, the center of the city?"
And you say, "No duh!"
Isaac's observation and polite statement that perhaps I should have moved a little quicker from one side of the boat to the other was another great example: "No duh!"
All too soon, we'd gathered up our bags at the guesthouse, said good-by to Mama Isaac and caught the ferry over to the airport. It was all but impossible to maintain composure as we gave our last hugs, thanks and blessings for the days to come. Andrew and Isaac soon headed back to Mpeketoni while Mama Drew and I worked our way through the security gate and waited for the plane to take us to Nairobi, then London and finally back to Arizona.
Ask me if it was hard to leave Kenya and I'll tell you, "No duh!"
To be continued...
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