Way behind but some pics to kick things back off

I'm way behind on everything and in the States right now. I'm off to Rwanda tomorrow (long story) and will bring things up to date over the next few weeks. In the meantime here are some pics. I'm going to post several sets of pics since I actually have bandwidth here.

Here are some of pics from the Camel Derby:

Piled up in the only vehicle we could find

Stuck in the mud on the hellish road to Maralal

Another look at the road. These trucks were stuck here for days.

My Peace Corps friend Mindy poses with Samburu kids. See anything funny in this picture?

A Samburu child in traditional clothing

The camel derby begins

Samburu men and women congregate for the festivities

My Second Annual Maralal International Camel Derby

Today is very exciting! I’m in Nairobi working on a project, but this evening I am picking up my parents from the airport for their first trip to Africa. I hope they enjoy it as much as I have and manage to spend their two weeks here without any of the stomach bugs that plagued me during my first months in country. The sanitation on the tourist route should be a bit of an improvement over the living conditions of a Kitui homestay, but I’ve packed plenty of Pepto just in case.

Meanwhile I need to catch up on my latest adventure or I’ll have too much to write about two weeks down the road. This month I once again attended the Camel Derby in the northern Kenya town of Maralal, and once again it was wild. The trip began with full day trek from my house to Nakuru followed by a travel ordeal from Nakuru to Maralal.

The travels to Nakuru were uneventful until we were on the outskirts of Kisumu, where a gasoline truck had tipped over on the side of the road. A mob of people had surrounded the truck and were punching holes into the side of the tank to catch as much petrol as they could manage in their 20 liter water barrels. Every matatu that passed by, including our own, stopped to purchase discounted gasoline from the spilled tanker. The guys that filled our tank used their hands as a funnel and had teary red eyes and welts on their arms and faces from being soaked in the fuel. It was a bit sad seeing what people were willing to go through to earn a bit of cash. The next day the event made the paper, and it said that, despite the health concerns, things could have been much worse. The last time a tanker flipped some brilliant individual had the bright idea to light a cigarette, and many of the scavengers collecting fuel were killed as a result.

We arrived in Nakuru in one piece and I met up with several Peace Corps friends for the journey north to Maralal. After a stay at the dirty but cheap Mt. Sinai hotel, we left bright and early for our trek into Northern Kenyan wilderness. The last real town before the paved road becomes dirt (or in this case mud) is Nyaharuru. We stopped there for a visit to Thompson falls, a huge waterfall spilling into the rift valley. It’s beautiful and we walked down the steep trail to the base of the falls, where we were covered in mist and took some very nice pics that I hope to post soon.

I had anticipated a problem going any further than Nyaharuru, but figured we would get to Maralal one way or another. However, after several hours of searching we became discouraged as it became apparent that no vehicles were willing to take us any further. We were told the road was impassible due to recent rainstorms. We almost gave up when we came across a cargo truck that was willing to take us in the bed. The original price was 100 shillings and we almost took them up on it until the truck was about to leave. At the last minute people swarmed into the back of the truck, and it was stuffed to the brim. The dank, dark ride in an open truck covered by a leaking tarp to keep out the rain seemed extremely unappealing. To make matters worse, they decided the price for us should be 500 shillings as opposed to the 100 the other passengers paid. That was the last straw. The truck took off without us and we were left stranded in Nyaharuru with no way to travel any further north. In retrospect, this was the best thing that could have happened to us.

I called Laura, the coordinator of the event, to let her know we would not be able to make it. She told us to hold tight, because a private matatu that was passing through from Nairobi was carrying people to the event. We continued to wait and after yet another hour the matatu finally came. There was no room at all but the four of us managed to squeeze between seats and barely fit, much to the chagrin of those already onboard. Once again, fate was with us. Despite the discomfort of the extra people on board we became extremely useful further down the road.

Finally we were off, or so we thought. We spent another hour sitting in the vehicle not moving, because the driver, who had agreed to go from Nairobi to Maralal and had already been paid, was not willing to go any further. He was unwilling to refund the money as well. After a very long argument, the driver reluctantly agreed to go forward.

Things seemed fine at first. The scenery from Nyaharuru into the northern Kenya wilderness is dramatic. The scrubby bushes and thorny trees grow sparser and sparser, and there is absolutely nothing except an endless arid landscape in all directions. Last year there were occasional flashes of brightly dressed Samburu people herding their cattle, but even they were not to be seen.

We had several close calls in slippery mud but after a few hours we mistakenly became convinced the road was not nearly as bad as we had expected. Kenya has a way of doing that to you, so of course once our hopes were high we came across mud so deep that it was impassible. A line of trucks, at least a mile long, was stuck in place and buried up to the wheel wells. We attempted to bypass this by cutting through the brush, and passed vehicle after vehicle, including the truck that refused to give us a ride at a fair price. We also passed at least a hundred people stranded in what has to be the closest possible definition to the middle of nowhere. We were in still in good spirits, fishtailing through the muck as revving the engine high as we spun through the brush and mud, but we soon became stuck ourselves. Our driver had absolutely no idea how to maneuver through the mud, and as soon as we became stuck he pressed the gas peddle to the floor, digging a huge trench with the spinning tires that made matters much worse.

The next three to four hours consisted of getting unstuck, edging forward, and getting stuck again. It took everyone in the vehicle to keep us moving along, and before long we were completely exhausted and caked in mud. A small pickup truck behind us had the same problems, and we worked with them to keep both vehicles moving. Sometimes it took 20 people to lift the tire out of a rut just to keep going, and I’m sure we destroyed the vehicle before we finally struggled through the 5 mile stretch of impassible road. At one muddy rut, with ropes tied around the bumper to pull it through, we managed to actually tear the bumper from the vehicle. Later a tire was destroyed and the spare, which had unknowingly fallen a kilometer back, had to be located. Several petite Kenyan girls were on our matatu, and they were the real lifesavers. The women here never cease to amaze me and more than anyone they were digging through the mud to remove obstacles and keeping the vehicle inching forward.

The ride to Maralal from Nyahuru takes around three hours on a good day. In our case we spent over 10 hours on the road. When we finally made it through the mud it was dusk, and we were treated to a phenomenal wildlife show, as hundreds of large animals that had somehow been hiding during the day started to emerge. Near the road we saw plenty of antelope and gazelle, giraffes, zebras, and even a buffalo. As we continued things got a little too close for comfort. It was dark and around a bend our driver almost ran head-on into a full grown Elephant. The animal was three times the size of our vehicle and the driver slammed it into reverse and flew backwards to keep from being too close. A baby elephant was on the other side of the road, and we were very thankful as we cautiously edged past that we were not charged by an angry mother. Finally, almost kissing the ground, we arrived at the campsite. By then it was late in the night but at least we were there, and we had a camel race to look forward to the next day.

The travel was more of an adventure then the event but we had a great time at the derby too. After my extreme discomfort on a camel the year before, I decided to refrain from the 10k amateur race. I gave my handler and champion camel to another participant, who would have been the winner if she had not been directed down the wrong path. I decided instead to focus my attention on the camelathalon, where I became the two time 1^st place winner. The biking and running wasn’t too terrible, but trying to stay balanced on an extremely unpleasant and uncomfortable animal after a full throttle run and bike ride nearly killed me. I was so glad to be finished with the race and very happy to once again have enough prize money to cover the cost of the trip.

Even better then the camel races is the cultural experience of being in Maralal at the event. Because of the road less than 100 tourists were there for the games and races, but at least a thousand locals were present. The Samburu people gathered together to dance and sing in traditional clothing and beautiful beaded jewelry. Unlike the Masai Mara, where Masai people will perform “traditional dances” for tourist tips, these people were genuinely enjoining themselves. They were clustered into groups without any foreigners around, dancing and singing and jumping in a competition with the other Samburu tribes present. The event was extraordinary to watch.

The return trip from the Mara was a bit less painful. It was an adventure the first time but the though of going through it again was less than pleasant. Luckily the rain had held out and some of the trucks were even starting to drive out of the muck. Also, our matatu had four wheel drive. Even though we had to walk along side the matatu several times as it spun through the mud, the driver never got stuck. I loved the derby and can’t wait to show off some pics. I’ll post them once I return from my travels with my parents. Now I need to go and prepare for their arrival tonight!

Lamu Tamu and Exploring the Coast

The first half of June featured some excellent travel. I’ve burned through the majority of my leave time (all that remains is going towards my parents’ visit in August), but I had a great time doing it.

The adventurous Whitney (who told me I could not write about her without always placing an adjective before her name) is a friend who occasionally works at the Brittany James orphanage in Migori. She loves Kenya and will be working as a trainer of Kenya social workers next year. Meanwhile, she wanted to visit and I arranged to take some time off to show her around. She helped out at my site for a few days and we took off to wander around in the rainforest and explore the Kenyan coast. Amiable Whitney grew up as a service-oriented missionary kid in the Philippines, and as such she makes an excellent travel partner. Third-world travel doesn’t faze her and we had a great trip.

A jet-lagged Whitney arrived at the Nairobi airport on a red-eye 5am flight. Lucky for me I didn’t have to collect her. She was greeted by her friend Dero and brought to the Migori orphanage, where we met up. That worked out well because I needed to be in Mirogi anyway to tie up some loose ends concerning my wheelchair project. We spent a day there before heading off to my site, where I spent several days trying to square away my projects so I could spend some time on the coast.

While I worked on my various projects, enthusiastic Whitney worked a bit with my Peace Corps friend Jessica on a Public Heath presentation. She also spent the day working with the Wake Up Women’s group harvesting the very spicy Bird’s Eye Chilies the women are growing as a cash crop. She had fun working with my group and when we had everything finished we traveled to the rainforest for a few days before making our way to the coast.

The rainforest, as always, was a great experience. We stayed at the bandas (thatched-roof huts) which are not bad for the money, but I am counting down the days until I am at the Rondo Retreat, where I will relax in a beautifully landscaped all-inclusive resort with my parents in late August. While in the forest I did the usual; we hiked to the platform overlooking the natural clearing in the middle of the dense jungle, walked along several trails cutting through the forest, and woke up early for the sunrise hike to the highest point. I think I’ve exhausted my descriptions of the rainforest in previous posts. I’ve been there more than a dozen times now so I won’t go into too much detail this time around.

One thing worth mentioning is that, although the last group of monkey-watchers has come and gone, two new researchers have arrived along with the professor that heads up the program. Sociable Whitney got along with the primate researchers well, and we spent the evening talking with them in their cabin. The professor, who teaches at Columbia University, is remarkable. She knows literally hundreds of blue monkeys by name, and visits the forest every summer to meet the latest younglings, which she inevitably will remember the following year.

Following our trip to the forest we traveled to Kisumu to spend the day relaxing at Kiboko Bay with my Peace Corps friend Adrienne. Kiboko Bay is a tented camp right on Lake Victoria with very good food and a pool right on the water. Like Rondo, it’s a place I visit regularly but have never managed to stay at, and I am looking forward to bringing my parents there soon.

I have been wanting to take off for the coast for awhile. We opted for a flight to Nairobi, as our schedule was tight and a there wasn’t time to fit in a hellish 9 hour ride on what remains of the road. There are plenty of airlines competing with each other in Kisumu and the prices aren’t bad, and the 30 minute flight was wonderful. After flying it's very difficult to convince myself to board a matatu for that route. The Kisumu airport consists of one small building to wait for the flight and a single strip of tarmac for a runway. School kids are often there on field days and it’s always funny to see hundreds of children identically dressed with their faces pressed up against the fence to watch the airplanes take off and land.

Our time in Nairobi was short as we made it to town, grabbed a bite to eat, and booked a bus to Mombasa. I don’t enjoy night travel and feel it is dangerous (because it is), but the road from Nairobi to Mombasa has recently been paved and as such it is a much safer and more pleasant ride than night travel to Kisumu. The bus ride was fine and I actually managed to sleep a bit, and we arrived in Mombasa early in the morning.

We met up with another Peace Corps friend in Mombasa and spent a half day wondering around the old Swahili town. Narrow, winding roads pass by plain white buildings made beautiful by ornately carved Arabic doors, windows, and balconies. The entire area is Muslim and the streets are filled with men in white robes, women in black burquas, and young girls with colorful head wraps. The coast is the only place in Kenya with any kind of culinary culture, and the food, as always, was delicious. The air is scented with the savory fragrance of kebabs and chicken tikka from the many street vendors, and we enjoyed Chicken Biriani, a chicken curry in yogurt sauce served over fragrant rice. No coastal meal is complete without freshly squeezed juice, which got progressively better as we made our way north towards Lamu.

The main reason I wanted to go to the coast again was to visit Lamu. Prior to Kenya’s unification, Lamu was an independent Swahili state with a very unique culture. It is considered the jewel of the Kenyan coast and everyone I know that has visited loved it. As such, the agreeable Whitney and I decided to make our way North from Mombasa, with Lamu as our final destination.

There is plenty to see and do on the coast between Mombasa and Lamu, so we took our time getting to Lamu in order to visit various sites along the way. Our first stop was Kilifi, where my Peace Corps friend Soren was willing to take us in for a night. Soren’s site is basically paradise, and as such he is extending his Peace Corps service for a third year. He is within walking distance from the beach, and we went with him and his Kenyan friends to a point where a wide channel feeds into the ocean. It is an excellent place to swim and we decided to swim across the channel to the shore on the other side. Soren does this regularly, but one of his Kenya friends had a difficult time. I was unaware of her swimming abilities and surprised to learn that this was her first time to attempt to cross the channel. She was only able to doggy paddle, and by the time we reached the other side she was exhausted. Soren and I had to swim back across the channel on either side of her, helping her to stay afloat until we finally made it back to the shoreline.

Exhausted, we went to a sea front café for a pizza dinner. Due to the Italian influence from a regular stream of tourists, the northern half of the Kenyan coast has excellent Italian food, which is yet another reason I am very envious of coastal volunteers. After dinner we made is back to Soren’s house before taking off early for Malindi, the next leg of our coastal adventure, in the morning.

Malindi has a negative reputation. People claim it is crawling with Italian tourists, who frivolously spend money in private resorts and have little regard for cultural sensitivity or the well-being of the locals. Furthermore, drug use is rampant and Malindi is well known for its child prostitution, as sex tourism is apparently very popular among many Malindi tourists. As such I was not particularly excited about spending time there, but I was pleasantly surprised that I did.

The good-natured Whitney and I were fortunate to travel in unusually sunny weather during the rainy season. Because of the rain, this was a time of year when very few tourists were around, and as such prices were significantly lower and we were able to experience places like Malindi and Lamu without annoying swarms of tourists. Malindi sans-tourist is a very nice place to be. It is apparent that the influx of money from the Italians has done much to improve the city. The streets were well paved, the parks and sea front were picturesque, and the city itself was remarkably clean. We ate at a phenomenal restaurant called “I Love Pizza”, and the food there was in the running for best pizza I’ve ever eaten. The people were very friendly and laid back and I think the entire town was relaxed and in low gear until the tourist season began.

We also took an excursion to the nearby Gedi ruins. Gedi was an Arab trading city built on the coast more than 800 years ago. As the ruins testify, the architecture and infrastructure of the city were very advanced. However, for reasons unknown the entire civilization was abandoned sometime in the 17^th century; it was not a gradual decline either. Whatever caused those people to leave made them leave in a hurry. Valuables such as silver, jewels, and imported Chinese pottery and chests were left behind with disregard. Also, because the local Swahili people considered the place cursed, it was all left virtually intact until it was discovered by the British. However, the strangest part about Gedi was that, although it existed for centuries and obviously had thousands of wealthy inhabitants, there is no written history that it ever existed. I found the history (or lack of it) fascinating and the ruins very intriguing. Gedi even had a running water, baths, and latrines that surpass those in use by the majority of Kenyans today.

Following our visits to Gedi and Malindi we took the bus to Lamu. The original plan was to spend a few days in Lamu, visit a Peace Corps friend on the nearby Island of Pate, and sail onwards to explore Kiwayu Island before coming back to Lamu in time to catch our Nairobi flight. However, after the travel to Lamu (A six-hour bus ride on a miserable road followed by a ferry overloaded by about a hundred people), we decided to stay where we were. A big part of the reason was we no longer felt like travel was Lamu itself. The Island has a way of sucking people in, and I was in no hurry to leave once I arrived.

Lamu is beautiful. The people there live a centuries-old way of life that has changed very little, and it felt like an Arabian world from the distant past. The streets that maze through the town are far too narrow for automobiles, and in fact there is only one car on the entire island. The majority of people choose to walk or ride donkeys, which are the main means of transport and the work force on the island. Donkeys are everywhere and walking through the streets was an entertaining challenge, as we would weave around street vendors, donkeys, children, men wearing kikoys, and women dressed in traditional Muslim attire.

Lamu did not feel like anywhere else I have been. The culture is entirely Muslim and most people there appear more Arabic than black African. It is the only place in Kenya where I have felt completely safe walking at night, and I fell in love with Lamu. It seems to have that effect on nearly everyone, as Kenyans called it “Lamu Tamu” (“Sweet Lamu”)

Lamu town does not have a beach, but Shela Beach, on the other side of the island, is spectacular. The beach goes on for miles without any man made buildings, and as we looked down the coastline there was nothing but sand dunes and palm trees. It took considerable effort to pull myself away from Lamu town, but Shela was worth it. Although I did not make my way to Pate, my Peace Corps friend decided to join us in Lamu, and we had a great time relaxing on the beach at Shela and fighting the waves in the ocean.

The downside of such beauty and isolation is that it has become a second home (or third, forth, fifth...) for some of the wealthiest Europeans. They buy large plots of land, fence them off, build gargantuan houses, and leave them vacant for the majority of the year. Many of them hire Masai to guard their property. I wonder how the Masai feel, considering how their way of life is so contradictory to guarding homes that are not even lived in. Thankfully, the majority of this takes place in Shela and nearby Manda Island, leaving Lamu town itself relatively intact.

Lamu also has amazing seafood for very good prices, and the fruit drinks were incredibly good. Nearly every restaurant on Lamu offers fresh juice, and the varieties include banana, passion fruit, avocado, coconut, papaya, orange, and pineapple just to name a few. You can mix and match as you please, and I found coconut pineapple banana to be my favorite.

There were also many very talented artists. Wood carvers create beautiful chests, plates, and ornately designed furniture. The beaded jewelry is extraordinary, and the colorful kikoys, often worn my Lamu men, can be made into bags, shirts, trousers, or left as they are for a sarong or a beach towel. A sunburned Whitney and I spent a lot of time just wandering from shop to shop, looking at the crafts, and making friends along the way.

Ok, I think I’ve written about my travels and raved about Lamu enough now. It was hard leaving the place but I was very grateful to have a plane take us back to Nairobi as opposed to days of overland travel. I love the Kenyan coast more and more every time I visit.

10 New Pics

Here are some pics from recent travels exploring the Kenyan Coast

The Gedi Ruins near Malindi on the Kenyan coast. They are over 500 years old and there is no written history on what was a very advanced Arab civilization

A view of Lamu Island as I arrived with at least 100 locals on a boat built for perhaps 20 people

There is only one car on the island, and the majority of the work goes to the Donkeys


Inquisitive Whitney at the Donkey Santuary, the local hospital for Lamu's workforce



A fierce-looking Whitney poses with her Masai friend on Lamu Island. The guy followed us around until we finally bought some jewelry from him. We got this picture in return. Masai are hired to guard the billionaire's houses on Shela Beach the 11+ months out of the year they aren't there. (The Dunlops, the Puegots, and British nobility among them)

A typical congested, donkey-filled narrow Lamu street. The one vehicle on Lamu Island doesn't go many places

A Lamu sunrise viewed through a moquito net

Joe of Arabia overlooks Shela village

I love Kenya's giant insects (roaches aside), and they get even bigger on the coast. This enourmous spider can allegedly catch and eat birds

Check out this giant stick bug

Mt. Kenya Pictures

Here are some pics from the Mountain:

Above the treeline and past the grassy plains an alien world exists unlike anything I have seen.

Sunrise from the summit

More Mt. Kenya Terrain

An alpine lake in the valley below

A Summit Sunrise at almost 17,000 ft.

I never thought I'd see this in Kenya

Mt. Kenya!

It seems I’ve all but abandoned the blog, but I’m determined to get back to it. Over the last three months there’s been a lot going on, but I’m actually starting to have some success stories. Even though I’ve been extremely busy it’s a shame not to write about some of the positive things finally happening after all my complaining over the past 21 months. (Hard to believe it’s been that long!)

So coming soon: a summary of my life in Kenya since February. I’d do that now, but I am still pumped up about one of the best hikes of my life on the slopes of Mt. Kenya, and since it’s fresh on my mind that’s the topic of the day:

I’ve wanted to take on Mt. Kenya since arriving in country. It’s the tallest mountain in Kenya and the second tallest in Africa, topping out at over 17,000ft. Africa’s tallest mountain, Mt. Kilimanjaro, is not far away, but it costs five times as much and is a huge tourist destination. Friends that have climbed both complain that Kilimanjaro consists of a Disney World line all the way to the top and tell me that the scenery and experience of Mt. Kenya is much better.

Anyway, Mt. Kenya’s been on my mind for awhile, but I’ve never managed to find the time to take it on. With this being the rainy season, I started to worry it wasn’t going to happen, so I finally decided to take my chances and give it a shot anyway. I called up my Peace Corps friend Adrienne and then Dero, a photographer from the States working a six-month stint at the Brittany James orphanage. Dero is very much into the hiking and outdoors and was an excellent hiking companion, and Adrienne is always up for an outdoors adventure.

I began the journey with a trip to Migori to meet Dero at the orphanage, where I finally had an appointment to distribute wheelchairs (blog post coming soon). Short on vacation time and swamped with work, I decided the best way to fit everything in would be the night bus from Migori to Nakuru after the wheelchairs were handed out. Adrienne would meet us in Nakuru, and we would all leave bright and early for Nanyuki to begin the hike.

The night bus, as always, was terrible. Every time I would almost get some sleep the bus would sail over another bump, lifting me off the seat and leaving me sleep-deprived and ill-tempered. The bus was supposed to arrive in Nakuru at 2am, where we would take a taxi to Adrienne’s hotel room and crash on her floor until the first matatu left for Nanyuki in the morning. As we approached the outskirts of Nakuru, I was anxiously awaiting at least a few hours of sleep, and the bus driver decided to pass a slow moving vehicle in front of us. Kenyan drivers often find it unacceptable to wait for the oncoming traffic to pass before overtaking (although, ironically, there’s never an issue with arriving two hours late for a meeting) so the bus had to immediately veer back over to avoid a collision. What the driver didn’t realize was that a broken down truck without any marker lights was on the road just in front of the vehicle it passed. With no option but to crash into the truck, the driver slammed on the brakes just in time to smash up the front end of the bus. The bus was totaled but luckily there were not any injuries. The moral of the story: the road between Kisumu and Nairobi is terrible. I’m sticking with the train on this route or day travel from this point forward.

We stood outside the crashed bus with all the other sleepy passengers for about an hour. Finally another bus came by to pick us up and take us into town, and we grabbed a cab to arrive at the comfort of Adrienne’s hotel room floor by 3:30am. Our 6am alarm was ignored, and we left for Nanyuki with barely enough time remaining to arrive that day. The guide met us at the matatu stage, walked with us to his office, and of course began raising the prices on everything I had been quoted on the phone. I’m very adapted to Kenyan bargaining tactics now, so I told the guy we didn’t have time for nonsense and began to walk away. This approach works nine times out of ten, and suddenly what began as a $110 ride from the park exit to the nearest town was thrown in for free and an additional $75 per person was knocked off the price. An all-inclusive package, including 3 porters, a cook, a guide, park fees, transport, and all meals and accommodation worked out to $200. I know it sounds cushy, but I’m not too proud to say I wanted to enjoy myself along the way. Having everything taken care of and someone else carrying my heavy bag went a long way towards making that happen.

We began the trail on what is called the Simeron route. To get there, we piled into a private matatu filled with 15 people. I found it a bit strange, since there were only eight of us hiking, but I assumed the additional passengers were just hitching a free ride. However, on the mountain it had been raining most of the day, and I soon realized what the extra people were for. The road was thick with mud and the rear-wheel drive matatu kept sliding sideways and off the road, where it would inevitably get stuck. That’s when all those extra people came in handy. For a solid five miles we moved along at a snail’s pace with the engine revved high and tires throwing mud everywhere. 10 guys were surrounding the matatu and basically lifting it off the ground to keep it moving forward. Gotta love this county.

We arrived at the park gate around 5pm with a 10km hike ahead of us to get to the first cabin. Our timing was perfect and we made it to the cabin just as the last bit of daylight faded away. There was nothing spectacular about the first day of hiking, as we followed a dirt road build to carry scientists to a nearby research station. The scenery consisted of a sparse forest and the occasional gazelle or bush buck (which surprisingly makes a loud barking sound just like a dog). The climb was a bit difficult the first day as we began to acclimate to the altitude, and it got plenty cold at the 11,000 ft. elevation cabin.

The following day was much better, as the road ended and the real hiking began. The day started off nice, with plenty of sunshine. It was remarkable how quickly I went from three layers of clothing and a jacket to shorts and a t-shirt as the day progressed. The cook’s food was exceptional considering the circumstances, and the porters had no problem keeping up, despite the huge bags of gear and plenty of cigarettes. As we continued the to climb higher the landscape changed dramatically. We rose above the tree line to barren plains of short grass, which I assumed would continue until the snowy peak, but as we continued to climb things got weird. The landscape morphed into an alien landscape, with five-foot high plants covered in fur and huge cabbage-like flowers sitting atop what appeared to be tree stumps. I read up on this, and the fertile volcanic soils, combined with the equatorial alpine climate, creates a landscape unlike anywhere else in the world. Descriptions alone won’t do it justice so I will try and post some pics.

I was also amazed at the deep jagged valleys cut into the mountain. Far below us clouds began to gather as it rained in the forest we had passed the day before. Then, slowly, a mist began to creep in that stole our spectacular view and left us with little visibility. Once the clouds settled in, the temperature fell immediately. My shorts and t-shirt suddenly became very inadequate and once again I was bundled up in as many layers as I could throw on. My rain gear proved useful though, as the mist and clouds soon became freezing rain, which then turned into hailstones. The hailstones fell faster and faster until eventually the trail and surrounding landscape were completely blanketed with small white spheres of ice. As we continued to climb, by now thoroughly frozen, the hailstones began to subside and snow took their place. Snow on the equator! I couldn't believe it.

We arrived at the next cabin in the late afternoon, and I was all too happy to change clothes and get out of the weather. The altitude here was 14,000ft, with around 2,500ft to go to reach our summit the following morning. By “following morning” I was surprised to learn that meant we left at 2:30am. As I had learned, the mountain is usually clear in the mornings, but by early afternoon the clouds have settled in soon to be followed by rain, sleet, ice, or snow.

2:30am didn’t take too long to arrive. I was wearing everything I owned, while bundled up in a winter sleeping bag, and still felt cold. Getting out of bed wasn’t easy. I could not believe how cold it was. I’m told that the temperature averages around 10°F and after spending more than two years without experiencing sub-freezing temperatures it was a bit of a shock to my system. I was groggy and tired and still trying to work up the enthusiasm for the climb ahead. Meanwhile, the porters and our guide had brought a bottle or rum with them. We went to bed at eight so we could be rested for the summit, while the guide and porters had stayed up the entire night drinking, smoking, and playing cards. Unbelievably, they seemed fresh and ready to continue the climb the following morning.

Once I got moving things improved, and the remaining elevation gain was the toughest climbing of the trip. I was surprised how quickly I heated up and how many layers I had to strip off just to keep from roasting despite the freezing temperatures. As we continued to climb a dim horizon of light started to appear to the East, and we reached the summit just as the sun began to rise in the distance.

We were blessed with clear weather and a phenomenal view; it was exhilarating to be at the top of the world. The landscape below was so diverse, from plains in the distance to rugged valleys to boulder fields and glaciers. I celebrated by having my picture taken at the summit marker, while our guide celebrated by smoking a cigarette. I haven’t mentioned how difficult it was to breathe up there, but just looking at the guy smoking made me sick to my stomach.

The return trip was a different direction on a route called Chigoria, which was even more spectacular then the Sirimon route. There were forests of crazy plants, panoramic views, a huge boulder field (that was miserable to navigate through), and a beautiful alpine lake feeding a waterfall that in turn fed a stream cutting through a deep canyon.

We were able to enjoy the scenery until around noon, when the rain finally caught up with us. The remaining hike was a bit miserable, with plenty of mud and rain leaving us completely soaked through. When we arrived at the park gates, we had been hiking for over 14 hours and more than 20 miles, but in good spirits for having taken on and successfully summited Mt. Kenya.

We took a matatu back to Nairobi, and went out to an Ethiopian restaurant where I tried raw meet soaked in spiced butter on the suggestion of an Ethiopian friend. It was edible but not great, and my stomach rewarded me with a nasty bug for three days afterwards. Oh well, you live and you learn. My trip concluded with a train ride back to site was only 2 hours late and much better then the night bus, and now that I’m back I’m gearing up for a trip to the coast in a week. I’m determined to get back into keeping up with my adventures and will write more soon.

Coastal Life Continued

Relaxing on a bright and sunny beach while melting into a lounge chair was great. After being completely worthless and spoiled on buffets and soft beds it was a bit tough readjusting. Luckily, even though it was back to my project and Peace Corps living, I did manage five more days on the coast.

Mike is a volunteer from the latest business group. He was placed on the coast to work a sweet potato project that is not so different from what I have been forced into in Kakamega. His host organisation is CIP (the International Centre of Potatoes). I’ve worked with them before and they are the ones primarily responsible for promoting Sweet Potatoes as a cash crop without even bothering to see if there is a market. Since the damage has been done in Western Kenya they are now making their rounds on the coast, coercing farmers into growing excess potatoes with false promises. When the job description is to promote sweet potatoes as much as possible and the donors require you do so, what does it matter if you’re doing more harm then good? You are still getting your paycheck. People can be so clueless and NGO’s can be such a joke.

It was with that cheery attitude that I met Mike and the Kenyan CIP officials for a meeting in Mombasa. Yet again I questioned why they continue to promote sweet potatoes as a cash crop when nobody buys them, and once again they averted the question as best they could. “Although there is no market now”, they claim, “one will emerge.” “It will just take time to establish the new crop in Kenya”. I then questioned why the tons of excess Sweet Potatoes already being grown by thousands of disillusioned farmers wasn’t already sufficient, to which I got some nasty looks and an uncomfortable silence. An extension officer from USAID was also present, and she gave me a contact for a “guaranteed” sales lead through an export market in Nairobi. It was enough to keep me pacified, but once I sent a sample for the 10^th time to a potential buyer they were not interested. There’s always a different reason, but in this case, the sugar content is too low. The loss of credibility to the network and the disillusionment by network farmers as a result of this crop is too much to go into right now.

If nothing else good has come out of this at least Mike has developed a healthy amount of skepticism for his project. He has been given a large budget for the purpose of finding markets and training as many farmers as possible to grow potatoes. If no market emerges he is just going to use that money to subsidize the farmers. Although not at all sustainable at least it’s a way to get some of the money CIP is so determined to spend back to the farmers.

Mike’s site is in Msambweni, south of Mombasa towards the Tanzanian border. The temperatures are sweltering and Mike lives in a shanty with one pit latrine for over twenty people. Also, there is a naazi bar next door to Mike’s house where drunks make plenty of noise late into the night. Naazi is nothing more than coconut palm sap, which I learned is highly alcoholic. Mike tried it once and spent the next week wishing he didn’t have to share his latrine, so I decided to leave it alone. Regardless, Mike has one of the best sites in Peace Corps. Just out his living room window is a view of the Indian Ocean. 20 miles north of his site the beach is filled with tourists, beach boys, and hawkers. In contrast, Mike has a shoreline almost entirely to himself. We spent every evening swimming in the clear blue water on his private beach.

On my first day at his site we had plenty of work to do. CIP had arranged training events for two farming groups deep in the interior. If we did not have a CIP vehicle to drive us it would have been impossible to get there, as even matatus to not use these routes. Although I disagreed with the work and honestly answered questions farmers asked concerning the sweet potato’s profitability (or lack thereof), the scenery was amazing. Rolling hills covered with palm trees nearly 50 feet high were a common site. Colorfully dressed locals and thatched hut villages littered the sandy roadside. I’ve said it before; the diversity of the Kenyan landscape is incredible.

One farming site, far into the middle of nowhere, featured a clear and tranquil lake. I wanted to walk to the shore line but could not, as piles of sticks and branches surrounded it. There was a small path through the clutter not far away, but the women fetching water made sure to throw plenty of stones before approaching. I was intrigued and asked what was going on. “The lake is filled with crocodiles” they said. “Just last year the Kenya Wildlife Service recorded the second largest croc on record here.” Apparently, even with the brush barrier, dogs and chickens go missing all the time. Although I did not see any crocs firsthand, I decided not to take my chances and kept my distance from the deceptively still water.

When our first day was finished I had a chance to walk through Msambweni town. It is so different than Western Kenya. Nearly everyone in the town is Muslim, and a mosque that wails a call to prayer in the middle of the night marks the town center. Men in white robes and women in brightly colored kangas mill about the main street, and monkeys leap from tree to tree. The most strikingly different aspect of Msambweni wasn’t the clothing or landscape, but the attitude of the people themselves. Mike has already made several Kenyan friends and all of them seemed genuine interested in wanting a friendship and nothing else. The entire time I was there no one asked for money or shouted “mzungu!” or made me feel like an oddity. Brutally hot weather aside, coast life is good.

The following day we make our way to nearby Funzi Island. Our guide book said a boat tour was available that included a trip down a crocodile-filled coastal river and a visit to the island. Thanks to a ride in the CIP truck we were dropped at the pier of a stereotypical tropical village. After some quick negotiations in Swahili the tourist price was dropped by more than half, and we boarded the boat and spent the day at sea. First, we drifted down a large coastal river filled with mangroves and colorful birds called African flycatchers. Crocodiles lurked in the murky water and I was shocked to see that several fishermen were waist deep in the same water. When I asked the guide about it I was assured that, had I made the same decision, I would quickly become crocodile food. In fact this is a common fate for the troops of monkeys who routinely attempt to cross the river. The reason the fisherman are not attacked, I was told, was due to a strong traditional medicine given by a local medicine man. I would love to know what they could possibly be using to keep crocodiles away.

After the river we went to Funzi Island, which is about 5 miles off the coast and inhabited by around 2000 people. As we walked around there was nothing remarkable about the island itself, but the fishing boats known as dhows that were used by the locals were incredible. Entirely handmade out of wood and powered by sails, it was amazing watching how quickly they could glide through the water. A rancid smell on the island turned out to be fermented shark blubber, which is used to water proof the vessels. Funzi Island has no running water or electricity, and the houses and boats are all built from locally available materials. It was hard to believe the people here were living in the same way, and with the same technologies that they had been using for hundreds of years.

Following our tour of Funzi Island we went to “Paradise Found”. As the tide goes out the water level becomes very low for miles, and at one place near Funzi Island a patch of dry land emerges that is only accessible during low tide. We walked along the newly formed island and spent some time swimming and relaxing on the shoreline.

The next day I needed to head back to Mombasa to catch a bus the following morning. Before we left we toured the tide pools that emerge as the tide goes out near Mike’s house. Once the water recedes there are literally thousands of pools of water filled with marine life. The strangest part was that things seemed to be clustered together. On section consisted of tide pools willed with anemones, another with star fish, and another with small tropical fish. Mike described each section of pools as neighborhoods and I described them as a good reason not to walk around barefoot in this water.

In Mombasa I caught up with a few more Beach Corps volunteers and we enjoyed a local bar with live music. It was also when I tried “the mix” that I wrote about earlier and became sick for a week. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose but all in all my time on the coast was fantastic, and it has become my favorite place to be in Kenya.

Latest Pics

Here are a few recent pics:

The Yala river, located in the heart of the rainforest. A four hour hike but less than one on our Mountain Bikes

Adrienne and Justina, two Peace Corps friends from my cycle trip though the forest

The huge number of volunteers I had assist with mudding the Wake Up Women poultry house during this year's Cross Sector Training

Lots of progress on the chicken project. The wall on the right hand side? My handiwork. :-)

Working with the mamas on mudding the walls for the poultry house

Living the Highlife in Coastal Kenya

Well after our never ending train ride we finally made it to Mombasa. Jana wanted to see wildlife, and since Nairobi National Park didn’t work out we decided to visit Shimba Hills instead. Shimba Hills National Park is about 50 miles from Mombasa, and Jana and I were sick of public transport and decided to opt for a taxi. The train had arrived in Mombasa at 4pm instead of the scheduled 8am (after talking to many other people about their train experiences, I’m told we did fairly well), and we did not have enough remaining daylight to risk a matatu.

After some tough negotiations we boarded a taxi for the game park. Things were going well enough until we were 20 miles or so from the park entrance. That was when the drive belt went out on our cab and of course no replacement was to be found. Stranded on the side of the road after our never ending travel fiasco, I couldn’t help but to laugh. Jana was not amused.

Sometimes things go so absurdly wrong that laughter is the best coping mechanism. I see this reaction in Kenyans all the time. For instance, when a network official shared the story of how $400 designated for a disabled youth group was channeled through our local Social Development Officer and stolen, or how tons of free maize seed donated to widows ended up being sold by the Ministry of Agriculture, the result from the other network officials was nervous laughter. Except for politicians (who ironically are the primary contributors to corruption), most Kenyans I know rarely get visibly upset over something as commonplace as corruption. They realize it eats away at their quality of life, but since there is little that can be done about it, a shake of the head and a laugh that implies “this is life, what can you do?” is the next best thing. I even had this reaction when discussing the death of my friend Zelda in a Nairobi carjacking. “Those crazy carjackers! What can you do?”

The beautiful thing in this country is that for the most part, even when things go horribly awry, in their own Kenya way they eventually work themselves out. Such was the case with our stranded cab ride. As we sat on the side of the road wondering what to do next, a flashy car with a Dutch driver cruised by. Seeing us standing on the side of the road and looking pathetic, he decided to give us a lift. He was heading in the opposite direction from the game park, but by then we were just happy to find a way back to civilization so we could make a new plan of action. It turned out our driver was the manager of one of the multi-million dollar hotels at nearby Diani Beach. He offered to let us stay at one of the all-inclusive resort hotels for a fraction of the price.

Fed up with budget travel, we took him up on the offer. At first I felt entirely out of place. Not only was the hotel extravagant, but Diana is almost exclusively the tropical resort of choice for Germans (Italians, on the other hand, make their way north of Mombasa to Malindi). Many of them did not speak English at all and even the menus and signposts were written in both German and English. With very few exceptions, everyone in the hotel was over the age of 50, and some were quite demanding and bossy. However, the hotel itself was amazing. Swimming pools, the first air conditioning I have encountered in Kenya, an incredibly comfortable bed, and hot running water complete with actual water pressure were just some of the perks. I have a newfound appreciation for all-inclusive hotels; it means all you can eat and drink all day long without having to leave the comfort of the hotel, and most of the time you can just stay in a lounge chair. In fact, many of the coastal tourists fly to Mombasa, immediately hop on a private bus, drive straight to the beach, then never leave the hotel again until it is time to go home. I loved reaction on the valet’s face when we walked to the road with our luggage and boarded a matatu back to Mombasa.

Another perk was my Swahili. Western Kenya is off the tourist route and most of the wazungu here are doing some kind of development work. Speaking Swahili gets a reaction but it’s not unusual to come across a white person who knows a bit. On the coast, and particularly in a resort hotel, nearly everyone is a tourist and Swahili is spoken by very few of them. Being able to talk in Swahili to the reception and staff of the resort hotel got a very positive reaction and made friends quickly. Also, as opposed to Western Kenya where Swahili is a second language and the local tribal dialect comes first, coastal Kenyans speak Swahili as a primary language and the fact that I could speak “mother tongue” was much appreciated.

We had such a great time at our resort hotel that after our two days were up Jana offered to cover two more. Her parents had done some research online and found a place at Baburi beach for a bargain. We decided to make our there, where the nearby nature trail I visited with Zelda last August would finally provide the wildlife viewing Jana had been waiting for.

Our next two days at yet another all inclusive hotel were as great as the first two, and I began starting to feel pretty worthless, and not at all in a bad way. I’ve never understood how great it is to just sit on a lounge chair under the hot sun on the beach and not move for hours at a time, but now I’m convinced there’s no better way to recharge. Thirsty? If you can manage the effort to look up and speak a few words a cold beer is on its way. Hungry? Well, there’s a snack bar with pizza if the buffet full of delicious food from the most recent meal wasn’t enough.

Remarkably, I did manage a bit of activity during my last few days. I went diving in the Mombasa National Marine Reserve, my first dive trip since getting certified last August. What a blast. The reef was spectacular and I got close enough to touch (though I didn’t) sea turtles, thousands of beautiful reef fish, a sting ray, and even a few creepy stonefish. I included the link so you can see the thing. It matches the reef so well you can’t even see it. The only reason I noticed is that is was pointed out by my guide. Also, it is the most venomous fish in the world. Why God created a creature that was both completely camouflaged and highly lethal is beyond me, but luckily I didn’t bump into it.

I also went back to Heller Park. I’m sure I wrote about it in August so I won’t go into it again, but this time I did manage to feed the Giraffes and it was hilarious watching sneaky moneys make a run for the giraffe food and cram as much of it as they could into their mouths before being chased away. I actually saw the same type of money reach through a window at one of our beach hotels and grab a handful of food off someone’s plate before running away as fast as possible. I wish I could have a mischievous monkey for a pet.

One night there was a raffle at the resort hotel. Only one person would win and there were over a hundred people. I asked what the prize was and the woman wouldn’t tell me, but when I suggested it may be a safari of some type she just smiled and kept her mouth shut. Since I assumed it was a safari or a travel package and I was certain I wouldn’t win, I was totally shocked when they called my number. Luck like that doesn’t come around too often. Beaming, I walked to the stage to receive my prize, where it was obvious I was getting a gift wrapped bottle of wine. Assuming a certificate of some type must be inside the wrapping, I opened it up to discover that all I had was a cheap bottle of white table wine. For over 100 people, most of whom were paying big bucks to stay at the hotel, I thought the gift a bit disappointing. What a pity to use up all my luck on a wine bottle. Next time the raffle is for a Porsche or Mountain Bike you better believe I don’t stand a chance...

...Or so I thought. On my way back from Nairobi I won a raffle again. Two raffles in less that a week! This time it was for a free bus ticket in luxury (sarcasm here) Akamba bus lines! I was the only person in the entire bus to win. What are the odds of that happening twice? Unfortunately, I had to use it within three weeks and never got around to it, so both prizes were pretty much a letdown and my luck has surely run dry by now.

Although I had a great time at the beach resorts there were several things that bothered me. On the coast sex tourism is huge, and child prostitution is a big reason that many tourists make their way to Kenya every year. I’ve been told it is at it’s worst in Malindi, but even in Bamburi I couldn’t walk to the beach at night without being harassed by a prostitute. Stranger still was that it was very common to see middle-aged European women with very young Kenyans. I spoke to some of the coastal PCV’s about this and apparently there is quite a market for young Kenyan men to sell themselves to older European women. In fact, one of the coastal Peace Corps Volunteer’s Kenyan friends does this regularly and is doing quite well for himself financially as a result.

Another slightly less disturbing thing was the performance put on every night at these hotels. I watched a bit of a “traditional Masai jumping competition” and some of the coastal tribes in traditional clothing dancing around to music. It struck me that the displays put on were more along the lines of what tourists would stereotypically expect Kenya to be like than the way it really is, and it made me a bit sad to think that the impression of Kenyan people given to beach tourists is limited to poolside performances staged to meet their inaccurate expectations.

So all in all my time with Jana was a bit stressful at times but a lot of fun. It also left me with so much to write about that I’m still over a month behind. Once Jana left (just for good measure her flight was delayed by a day and a half) I made my way South to work with a Peace Corps Volunteer for some time, but I’ll save that story for the near future as I frantically work to catch up over the next few days.