Chapnet

The “Startled Muzungu” is (apparently) a face I make when something has gone terribly wrong in our planning (or lack thereof) and it’s not clear that there is any sort of easy way out of whatever mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. The Startled Muzungu has made an appearance twice on this trip: once on our first day when we slept through all of the boarding announcements for our flight from Frankfurt to Cairo and the plane was moments away from pulling away from the gate, and again yesterday when we first arrived at our lodging within Lake Nakuru National Park.

We’d spent the previous night at a decent hotel in the town of Nakuru and had made arrangements to spend the next two nights at the Wildlife Clubs of Kenya Guest Houses inside the park itself. We arranged an early-morning game drive that would drop us off at the lodge, where we would spend the next day and a half relaxing while herds of water buffalo meander by the lodge’s fence.

We were getting quite hungry by 2pm when we were dropped off at the guest house. We unloaded our bags from the safari truck and waved goodbye to our driver as he left through the locked fence that keeps guests in and wildlife out. Eager for a bite to eat, we followed the host as he took us on a tour of our cottage.

“Here’s your room…here’s the eating area…here’s the kitchen…”

“Looks great! Is there a restaurant?”

Silence.

“No. You cook yourself.”

Silence. Stares. The Startled Muzungu.

“We have no food with us.”

Silence. Stern, annoyed look from host. I start working on plan to stretch a few slices of beef jerky and some Tic-Tacs through two days.

Now, to be fair to us, the Lonely Planet makes no mention of needing to cook for yourself, and every other lodge we’ve stayed at has had some sort of restaurant, which is important when you’re sealed off from civilization and surrounded by wild animals.

“What is your driver’s phone number?”

Thankfully we copied it down.

“I’ll call him. Maybe he can take you into town.”

Which, thankfully, he did. We raced along the bumpy road out of the park and into the city to Tusky’s supermarket.

“Shop fast. They may not let us back in if we are late.”

20 minutes later we were leaving Tusky’s with three big bags full of supplies, including important staples like Skittles, popcorn, chocolate bars, and ice cream. (Some real food, too.)

And now we’re here, very comfortable and enjoying the meandering buffalo.

Yesterday’s game drive was enjoyable. The lake is home to a dizzying array of birds, and we finally saw some white rhinos which allowed us to check off the last of the Big 5. (No sightings of the much more elusive and endangered black rhino.) We also had another fabulous lion encounter. On to some pictures!

Our 4-day safari ended with a morning drive in Amboseli, then a long haul from Amboseli to Karen, a town on the outskirts of Nairobi named after Karen Blixen of Out of Africa fame. While in Karen, we took a trip to Carnivore, a renowned restaurant that’s either awesome or disgusting, or most likely a little of both.

Carnivore, as the name suggests, sells just about any kind of meat that’s legal to sell. (There’s a note at each table that the Kenyan government outlawed the sale of game meat in 2004 (zebras, giraffes, who knows what else?), but that they’re lobbying strongly to bring it back.)

The servers make their rounds with spits of meat of all kinds. We were pretty adventurous, trying camel, crocodile, and ostrich (although we did draw the line at ox whoosie-whatsits).

It distinctly did not all “just taste like chicken.”

From Karen we hired a car to take us to Lake Naivasha, where we’re staying now. On the way we stopped at a giraffe sanctuary that is working to revitalize the population of the endangered Rothschild giraffe, but focuses mainly on providing the cutest photo-ops in the world.

We’re at a comfy campsite at the edge of the lake where hippos apparently graze in the evening, but we haven’t been lucky enough to see them yet. There is an electric fence to keep them away from guests. Lake Naivasha is next to Hell’s Gate national park, another entry in Kenya’s absolutely fabulous national park system. Hell’s Gate is very cool because you don’t have to be in a vehicle to visit it—you can walk or, in our case, ride your bike through the park.

Common sense and the animal’s natural trepidation when they see people are the only limits to how close you can get to the wildlife.
Which means sometimes you can get awfully close. There are hyenas, leopards, cheetahs, and even a couple of lions in the park, but apparently you’re not supposed to be worried. I spent a good chunk of time thinking about how to use the bike in self-defense. (Which is about all it was good for, especially when the pedal fell off. Sadly this event didn’t end up documented with a photo because at least one of us was really annoyed when this happened.)

Hell’s gate features a hike through a gorge to hot springs and vents powered by the magma not far below the surface. The hike was long and hot, but very worthwhile. Despite our long absence from real exercise, the guide was impressed at our pace, so we felt pretty good, until the long, grinding ride out of the park (turns out the ride in was all downhill), which was made even more fun with a wobbly semi-repaired pedal.

So now we’re biding out time at the bar/restaurant at the campsite trying to stay awake until it’s late enough to go to bed (getting close now!). We stayed in a banda last night, but we figured we’d go all out and do the tent thing tonight.

Hey why not?

PS – I updated the map at chapnet.ca/africa with more information about where we are/have been/will be, and I added a marker for our current location. Enjoy!

We traveled from Tsavo East to Tsavo West yesterday and from Tsavo West to Amboseli this morning. The parks are very different—Tsavo West is very hilly and bushy; finding animals is sometimes tricky, but the landscape is rugged and beautiful. Amboseli sits on the plains at the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro and offers views of animals as far as the eye can see. The ground here isn’t the rusty red of the Tsavo parks, so the elephants are dressed in their more recognizable greys.

We realized how lucky were were to see three of the cats on the first day—we haven’t seen any cheetahs since, although we did have a good close-up of a leopard (who unfortunately moved into cover before we could get our cameras ready). Watching the leopard disappear into the grass only a few meters away was a fantastic demonstration of how well hidden it is when it stalks its prey.

A great opening to the safari! The Tsavo East landscape is stunning and we saw a bit of everything—check off four of the Big 5! (Well, maybe 3.5, the leopard was hard to see…)

We certainly picked an interesting time to visit Egypt and an even better time to leave. The scenes flooding out of Cairo are interesting to us in part because the focal point of the protests are taking place very close to where we stayed, but mostly because one of our lasting memories of Cairo was how safe we felt and how friendly everybody was.

The TVs at the Cairo airport were showing scenes from the streets of Tunis while we were waiting for our flight to Kenya, an eerie foreshadowing of events to come. The uprising there made me think about our tour guide Michael. Michael was very smart, gentle, and soft-spoken, but his demeanor changed when the topic of the government was brought up. He firmly believed that the last election was fraudulent. His frustration was palpable: the government was more concerned about spreading Islam and staying in power than it was about building the country. We asked once about all of the children who were selling trinkets at the tourist stops.

“Is school compulsory?”

“Yes it is, but…the government, they don’t care. They don’t do anything about it.”

I hope Egypt comes out of the turmoil healthier, stronger, and with the government they deserve. I hope that Cairo is able to recover and continue to be the dynamic, safe, friendly city that we experienced. And I hope Michael and all of the friends we made there are safe.

On a different note…I’m writing this post on the patio of our room in the middle of Tsavo East national park. Less than 100m away is a watering hole with elephants drinking and having a much-deserved afternoon bath to escape the heat. This safari business is pretty sweet.

Once the dust had settled and we were safely in our hotel room in Mombasa, Michelle made a pretty good guess about where the trouble had started: “You know, I think if you don’t want to be treated like a tourist you probably shouldn’t ask if you’re in Mombasa when the bus makes its final stop in Mombasa.”

Point taken.

Our ride started well enough, in very Kenya-fashion: a tour bus rumbled up to us as we waited on the side of the road, the conductor jumped out and told us it would be 200 shillings each to get to Mombasa (about $5 total for a 100km ride). We boarded, but only saw one open seat. No problem, apparently—the conductor grabbed a spare cushion and put it on the steps from the cab to the passenger door. “You sit here.” I happily obliged (although there’s something to be said for not being able to see the road and traffic ahead—thankfully (?) the speedometer was broken, so I could only guess what our top speed was).

A little less than two hours later, we arrived at our final stop. It looked city-ish and everybody was getting off, but we wanted to make sure, and uttered the fateful line.

“Are we in Mombasa?”

This set off a flurry of activity. One man was adamant that he could help us find our hotel, another one kept trying to carry our bags. We were funneled to a tuk-tuk (a little 3-wheel motorbike with a cab build around it; it’s a great mode of transport for a busy city). Thankfully our bags made it too.

The adamant man joined us in the back seat; two other guys tried to climb into the front. The driver kicked out one of the guys in the front and we took off. Note that at this point neither the driver nor adamant-man had any clue where we were supposed to be going. When we told them, adamant-man (who was growing increasingly frantic) told us, “That is very far!” (It wasn’t, ultimately.) “That will cost double!”

“Fine, just take us to the hotel.”

[Incoherent, agitated]

“Just take us to the hotel.”

[Jumps out. Comes back. Agitated.]

“Take us to the hotel.”

“You get out! See! Leave her! I need to show you!”

“No. The hotel. Now.”

“But we can’t go, it’s expensive!”

[Both sweating. I’m gripping all of our bags because I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s pretty clear he’s trying to scam us.]

“Can’t go where? Take us to the hotel.”

“Ok! I show you.”

Inexplicably we go for a lap around the parking lot of a church. A security guard eyes us warily. We exit the parking lot. Stop. More incoherent babbling about money and parking lots and hotels.

“Take us to the hotel. Now.”

At which point, I think we finally broke him. The hotel was no more than 100m further down the narrow road where we did our lap around the parking lot. Agitated-guy got out with us and helped us unload the bags, then asked for all sorts of ridiculous amounts of money.

We didn’t oblige.

All of which kind of set the stage for Mombasa. It was definitely a change of pace from out comfy hut at the Ecocamp (with its own rooftop deck!) and the friends we made there. We’ve felt less at ease and less welcome here. The street vendors are more aggressive and less friendly. We were approached by one  particularly persistent vendor at a beach near the city who effectively told us that the only way to get the vendors to stop hassling us was to buy something from him.

“Then I’ll tell them you’re our friend and they’ll leave you alone.”

We paid up. It felt like extortion. We didn’t stick around long enough to see if we were truly not going to be bothered by anyone else (it didn’t look promising).

On the bright side, out hotel is very comfortable and has air conditioning, which has been a godsend as we were definitely in need of a clean room at a temperature that our bodies recognize. They do have an irritating habit of cycling through the same John Denver and Kenny Rogers songs all day (people from the west like Country/Western?), but a comfortable 20C has a way of taking the edge off.

Next up: a safari! A 4-day, 3-night trek through Tsavo East/West and Amboseli national parks. Big 5 here we come!

Most people come to Kenya to see the Big 5: Lions, Buffalos, Elephants, Leopards and Rhinos, but during our trip down the east coast of Kenya, it has been the small things that have amazed us the most.

No big game at Mida Creek, but we were equally delighted (and camera ready) to find our own little five: baboon, frog fish, fiddler crab, bee eater and Gary gecko, our nightly dinner entertainment.

Mida Creek Eco Camp was also one of those small things. As previously posted, it is a small camp, established and run by the local Giriama tribe. Proceeds from the camp support two teachers at the local school. I would hazard a guess that the energy and enthusiasm of the community towards their small home grown venture would be hard to replicate in a big NGO initiative. After arriving in big, hectic Mombasa on Wednesday, we have come to appreciate the small places we have seen even more.  [A teaser for our next Mombasa post: what happens when you put 2 fresh-off-the bus Mazungus (that’s us) in a tiny tuk-tuk stuffed with a driver, one ride –along and a really ineffective would-be scam artist?]

It seems like every place we have gone so far, we have met a few people, whose stories resonated with us. At Mida Creek, it was Mateso and Eriki, two Giriama employees at the camp. Mateso was our smiley waiter, tour guide, fireside story teller and all-round-buddy at the camp.  We swapped many stories with Mateso, the most applicable to us being Giriama wedding customs:

Mateso – First, if you like the girl, you meet with the her family and decide on the dowry

Us – Oh wow, how much would a dowry be?

Mateso – Something like some goats, coconut wine and some money.  [At this point I’m eyeing Ryan wondering if that sounds a little more appealing than having to cough up an engagement ring.]  Once the dowry is settled, you decide on  night and secretly go to the girls house and steal her – she is ready with her things. The next morning the family finds that she is gone…

Us –And then you’re married?

Mateso – And then you’re married. 

[Side note:  being in the middle of wedding planning this sounds like a nice, romantic alternative…minus the goats.]

Anyway, after trading many stories you forget how different your lives really are. We started talking about the drought that has affected Kenya this year, and Mateso told us that growing up, he always remembers a few months of the year where you would go without food. You would have to occupy yourself with other things or else the hunger will make you crazy.  

Eriki was the second employee we had a chance to chat with. He was only able to start Standard 9, without paying, because of his good grades (school is free in Kenya from Standard 1 to 8, after that school fees and uniforms are the students responsibility). He became sick and had to leave school for 3 weeks. When he returned, he failed a test due to his absence and because of the failing grade was asked to either pay his fees or leave the school – no second chances. We asked how much it was – 20,000 Kenyan shillings a semester…I was thinking that was $2,000 Cdn but after a bit more thought (rusty math of the unemployed), realized it was $200 Cdn, the cost of one fancy meal at home. To me, the most unfair part of this story is that Ryan and I, on a whim, could pay for him to finish school. A decision left to people he doesn’t know and has no control over.

Despite the sad stories, the Eco Camp is very promising for this community. We were speaking to Mateso the day we left, and they are planning to  expand the camp by building a volunteer hut and a small medical clinic, so that mothers won’t have to walk 5 km to the overcrowded clinic in Gede. All of these small things have made a big difference at Mida Creek…we can’t wait to see what this little place does next!

For more information about Mida Creek Ecocamp: http://www.midaecocamp.com/

This post is a race against time: we may have Internet access wherever or whenever we want, but the computer is low on batteries and there is no way to recharge at the Eco-camp. The race is on!

We’re on our way to Mombasa tomorrow morning. No need to book buses here apparently—we’ll just head to the main road with our packs and flag down the first bus we see that’s headed the right way. The Eco-camp has been a pleasant place to stay. All proceeds go directly to the community and help pay the salaries of teachers for the school. The staff are all young people from the local village—all incredibly friendly and helpful. You can get lulled into feeling a sense of sameness until you hear their stories of hunger and lost opportunity, and it breaks your heart to realize that what you’re paying for your upcoming four-day safari could send someone back to school and maybe onto a brighter future. But that’s a post for another day.

Yesterday we headed to the nearby town of Malindi, then down to the beaches of Watamu, which are often voted among the very best in the world. It’s not hard to see why, with bright white sand that stretches on for miles and miles and crunches under your feet like fine powder snow. We decided to head out snorkeling again since our trip in Lamu was only so-so. We were definitely not disappointed—water as clear as glass and hundreds of amazingly colourful fish in every direction. I’ll add a couple of pictures from the underwater camera…Cousteau I’m not, but I think they get the idea across. (Ed. note: I mostly used the camera for video, so I’m telling myself those will be a lot better.)

The Eco-camp sits on the edge of a shallow bay surrounded by mangrove trees. We went for a walk in the mangroves with a helpful guide who identified the various birds, trees, and fish-type-things that we encountered.

I say fish-type-things because the coolest creature we came across was a mudskipper or “frogfish,” a confused little fella who can’t quite decide if he likes the water or not.
But battery issues dictate that I wrap this up! Mombasa tomorrow and our first safari starts this weekend. Many stories still to tell!

Our trip out of Lamu was a combination of tedious and eventful; a hot, crowded bus driving along a bumpy road for most of the trip. Bumpy enough that we managed to blow a tire and got to take a 45-minute break on the side of the road.

The blown tire was swapped for a threadbare replacement, but thankfully that only needed to carry us a few miles down the road where we got something a little sturdier.

I can’t say enough about how nice our stay at Jambo House was. The German owner, Arnold, doubles as your tour manager, helping you to organize boat trips, dinners, or anything else you can think of. Breakfast was served on the rooftop patio every morning, starting with a serving of fresh fruit and the most amazing juice you’ll ever taste. You then get your choice of an egg dish, of which there were a number of options, but we could never resist the delicious French toast.
One of the most important tasks we undertook in Lamu was that of wiener-wielder for the local cats. (Go ahead and re-read that sentence, you most likely got it right the first time.) Most of the cats are gaunt, but we took particular interest in one little grey-and-white kitten who lived near Jambo House. We bought sausage from a nearby bakery and fed the kitten whenever we walked past.

Now I have to relay part of the story that may offend some, so be forewarned. Keep in mind that I’m simply repeating facts.

“What’s his name?”

“Pussy.”

(Blushing.) “Oh! And that kitten over there, what’s her name?”

“They share the same name. Pussy.”

In this picture you can also see part of Michelle’s henna painting—yet another service that Arnold was able to arrange for us.

We took a couple of trips to Shela beach—miles and miles of virtually untouched sand that you have almost to yourself. We played with my supercool underwater camera, a Christmas gift from Sara and Sam. So cool!

(Holy crap! I just noticed the fish swimming past Michelle’s face in this picture!)

We did eventually track down Elizabeth-the-tailor, who made Michelle a cute wraparound dress (under construction in this picture) and me a couple of shirts. I ordered one more “traditional”-looking white shirt that I haven’t actually seen any person here wearing, so it’ll either be really awesome, or make me look like I’m trying way too hard.
So Lamu was great, and we were sad to leave as we boarded the bus Mida Creek, an ecological reserve on the coast near a bird estuary. A mix-up with our room led to somewhat dampened spirits, but we were eventually assigned a hut and then sat down to a tasty dinner of grouper and coconut rice.

We had a couple of visitors during dinner. First up: this guy. Overcome by the excitement of the lamp on our table, a praying mantis crashed into our lamp and came to rest near Michelle’s plate.

As my brain was working to process this (I had no available slots for “dinner/praying mantis”), another guest:

“HOLY ____ ____, IT’S A ______ LIZARD.”

Yes, a friendly lizard had worked its way into the crack in the table and popped its head up next to my dinner plate. He stayed for a while and we were hoping to see him go after the praying mantis, but he soon got spooked and disappeared.

Today we’re going to explore the camp and the estuary. It’s very serene here (minus the braying donkey who screamed us awake this morning). I’m writing this post from a covered restaurant/bar area above the main office of the camp, and it suddenly started raining.

The camp has limited resources, but I’m nonetheless able to post because Kenya, despite its status as a developing nation, has a much richer array of wireless services available. I’m using a Safaricom USB modem ($30) and a top-up card that gives me 1GB of bandwidth ($10) anywhere that has cell coverage (which is just about everywhere we’ve been so far).

We’re reaching the end of our stay in Lamu. This is really a charming little pocket of the world where ancient culture mixes with modern technology; stands selling cell phones sit side-by-side with cages of live chickens.  Open drainage gutters run past Internet cafes.

The people are for the most part wonderfully charming and helpful. “This is Lamu,” said one man who led us through the maze of streets one night in search of a tailor (named Elizabeth…it took me a few minutes to put that one together), “we help each other.” We ended up at her house—she wasn’t home, but we got a detailed description of how to find her shop the next day. On another occasion what started as a seemingly simple trip to the post office resulted in a sort of help-doubling situation where every step of the process collected another group of locals who chipped in with wrapping, taping, weighing, unwrapping, verifying the contents, filling out paperwork, wrapping again, taping again, weighing again, and finally sending.

One young man was particularly helpful. There always seems to be a helpful young man everywhere you go who will not only translate and send you in the right direction, but will take you from place to place until you have what you’re looking for. He mentioned that he sells imported wine, so we figured we’d show our appreciation by purchasing a bottle. On the way to his house, Michelle asked if he had any children.

“Yes, a son. He’s four-and-a-half. But he’s in the hospital; his kidneys. Doctors say it’s very bad.”

“We’re sorry.”

“Hakuna matada. That is life.”

When he brought us the wine, he also handed us a letter from the doctor with a donation sheet stapled to the back. Acute renal failure; a transplant is possible, but the cost is $5000. We gave what we had—a pittance given the amount he needs to raise. A sad story that highlights a sad truth—even in this relatively prosperous, tourist-friendly town, raising $5000 for anything is a daunting proposition.

Which makes it difficult to argue against a new deep-sea port that is being planned for a town a few miles up the coast from Lamu. The port is largely funded by Chinese investors and will provide a direct link between Kenya and the rich oil resources of Somalia.

It will be an environmental nightmare. We went snorkeling yesterday in the channel that the ships will use as they come and go. A lot of the coral has already been ravaged by increased boat traffic, and the rest will have to be dredged to make room for the huge tankers and container ships. An entire small island will apparently be eliminated.

More people will descend on Lamu; workers from “Nai-robbery,” sailors from the ships docked at the port. The charms of the town—its conservative Muslim traditions, the innocent friendliness of the residents, donkey-dominated commerce and trade—could be at risk.

Our dhow captain for the snorkeling trip was more optimistic, hoping that a new town will grow at the port that will provide enough of a distraction to protect the spirit of Lamu that has hardly changed in two millennia. Maybe he’s right, maybe not. But it will bring jobs and money and a host of new of opportunities; and it might just mean that one more four-year-old will be able to walk out of the hospital on his own.