BJCF, Kitale, and Back to Site (Finally)

It was unfortunate to leave the coast but there was still plenty to do before settling back into the routine of work in Kakamega. A group of visitors from the states had arrived yet again to work with the Brittany James Children’s Fund Orphanage in Migori, and I went there to visit for a few days. I did this for several reasons: First, I wanted to follow up on the sweet potatoes Habakkuk taught the farmers to grow many months back. Although I recently learned they are not yet hugely marketable, at least they are nutritious and inexpensive to grow. I was happy to hear that the farmers are having huge successes with them and even a nearby under-funded orphanage is now using them as a staple food for their children. Second, my guitar from the states arrived in one of the BJCF containers and I was eager to pick it up. I’ve tried to learn to play the thing on at least three separate occasions and every time I end up distracted and set it aside. The way I see it it’s now or never, since my evenings are pretty much free for the next year and a half. I can proudly say I’ve been practicing every day this week. The other reason I went to visit the orphanage is to assist Whitney, a social worker from the states who is looking into working in Kitale with an organization called World Vision. More on that in a minute.

Steve James’ orphanage continues to grow. They now have over one hundred children and BJCF is in the process of building a clinic across the street. The clinic will staff teams of doctors from the states working in shifts year round and provide free health care for the community. Steve’s project is coming along well. One only needs to look at the dismal conditions of the district hospital or the homeless street kids in town to see the impact he is having for those he can help. My only concern is self-sustainability, which I realize more everyday is critical for the long-term success of a project. Steve is working to address this with farming, poultry, and livestock projects, but it will only go so far. The orphanage and clinic, as things stand right now, will be dependent on outside funding for the entirety of their existence. Thankfully there are an ample number of sponsors and funding does not appear to be an issue any time soon, but I’m skeptical that the Kenyan government will ever step in where people like Steve have left off.. The enormous amount of foreign aid coming into the country no doubt helps discourage any initiative from the government, and therein lies the grey area that I wrestle with often. It’s inhumane to watch people suffer and do nothing to help, but I feel projects with the eventual goal of running without outside assistance should be a focal point of aid work in Kenya. Surely Kenya needs to be able to stand on its own some day. So anyway, that said I really feel God is at work at BJCF and his projects are leaps and bounds beyond most of the projects dependent on foreign aid I’ve come across.

After spending a few days at the orphanage and toughing out yet another unfortunate stomach bug I left to escort Whitney to Kitale. Kitale is about two and a half hours north of Kakamega, and since I love it there I was happy to help her out with the hassles of public transportation and travel to Kitale. Kitale is a long way from Migori and on the way we stopped in Kakamega. While there we met with the Wake up Women’s group so I could get some ideas from Whitney about what to do with them. I am determined to help these orphan kids but I don’t want to throw money at their organisation ‘till kingdom come, and even though they want me to build them an orphanage I'm not going to tie myself into a project like that. After speaking with Whitney I am going to try to use what I am learning through farming as a business to develop a self-sustaining way to assist the children. I have a meeting with Wake up Women next week to develop a needs assessment, and then I want to apply for a grant to purchase some land to grow cash crops in order to generate revenue to help the kids. I’m also thinking about a poultry project and will have more to say on the subject once I’ve pieced everything together. I trust Habakkuk more than enough to know that he will keep the money going towards the children even after I leave Kenya, and that’s saying a lot.

After our stopover in Kakamega we went to Kitale the next day and met with the World Vision group. They are supporting street kids and have a great orphanage program that is more like a halfway house in that the kids can come and go as they please. Nearly all of them get off the streets eventually and stay there, and young girls that were forced in prostitution, or young boys that were huffing glue and begging for handouts, seemed genuinely happy. The staff was great and the woman that is raising the funds has been living in and out of Kenya for years. We ended up spending the entire day with her and her adopted son, a refuge from Namibia who has become completely Americanized. I am going to work with her on growing medicinal plants and sweet potatoes with the help of the Farmers Network to further assist the children, and I may have even found a market for some of the dried chips we have been unable to sell.

While in Kitale I made some great connections, including meeting a man working with the Pokot tribe in the Northwest wilderness. I may schedule a weekend sometime soon to travel with him and visit his projects. He also gave me the contact info for an organisation looking for farmers to grow a crop called artimesia that is used as an anti-malarial medication. I contacted the organisation and have a meeting scheduled next week.

We stayed the night in Kitale and went to nearby Saiwa Swamp national park the next day. Whitney gave up a trip to Masai Mara to visit the orphanage and I wanted to take her somewhere fun, plus I’ve wanted to go there anyway. The park is very small and was set aside as a reserve for the last remaining few of an endangered species of antelope. African swamps are apparently full of bugs and biting ants. At one point we stopped to admire millions of ants crawling across the path in what seemed like a river, only to find them crawling all over us as well. I fared better than Whitney and was only bitten three or four times, but these were no ordinary ants and had giant pinchers. They bite so hard that their torso rips off their head when you try to pull them off. Also, although the park had planks across the swampy parts, in many places the planks were broken or missing, and try as we might we’d find our feet soaked with Kenyan swamp water filled with God knows what. I’m just glad I’ve got my midservice medical exam coming up soon.

Regardless, the swamp was a lot of fun. I saw monkeys, including what I think was a species I had not seen before. He had just jumped across the fence with a maize cob he had grabbed from a nearby farm, and he stopped to observe us watching him, while standing upright and eating his meal. There were also platforms throughout the park with excellent views of the swampland, and as we were about to leave we saw one of the endangered antelope running for cover in some nearby trees.

The next day I dropped Whitney off at the Kisumu airport and I’ve been busy with my projects ever since. Lots going on including progress with the wheelchairs, a farmer field day, and meetings and training days coming up soon. Tomorrow I’m off to Bungoma to visit the lawyer and it’s nice to be back in the swing of things once again.

Pics - Mombasa, Coast and Saiwa Swamp

Here's a few more pics from my August travels:

Here's a view of the Indian Ocean from Mombasa. I passed through here on my way to Kilifi and loved the culture and landscape.

Here I am at Heller Park with the sister of the Peace Corps Medical officer, her daughter, and seven foot tall sudanese refugee they are sponsoring.

My view (when I wasn't under the water) for three days at Diani Beach

One of those giant leafy plants that looks like it could eat you at Saiwa Swamp national park in Kitale. Whitney, an expert awesome photographer, took this picture.

Pics - Maralal Camel Derby

Well the Maralal Camel Derby was great fun, and although I lost my Ipod (a.k.a. my link to sanity) during my whirlwind tour of Kenya at least my camera made it back. Here's a few pics from the trip:

Elephants in the wilderness of Nothern Kenya. So you don't have to go to a game park after all!

Samburu children on the roadside as we wait our turn to ford the flooded road

Samburu road block, waiting for the cattle to cross

Here's my champion camel, isn't he just precious?

I'm hoping I don't get bit or spat on in this photo

The start of the camel race

Trotting to the finish line at the end of the camel-athlon

Two of the FSD girls, Kim and Noel, who joined me for the trip. They thought it would be funny to run the race in school girl uniforms and got quite a reaction from the crowd.

The winners...me, my camel, and my Samburu camel handler. Third place ametuer camel, first place ametuer camel-athlon.

PADI Open Water Dive Certification at Diani Beach

I’m back in Nairobi from the coast and I miss it already, it's such a fantastic place to be. After my work with Soren in Kilifi I made my way South (involving four Matatus and a ferry ride) to Diani Beach. Several Peace Corps volunteers from my group were meeting there and the timing worked out perfectly so I could attend the four-day dive certification class and make my way back to Nairobi in time for my meetings there. A dive certification has been on my things-to-do-before-I-die list for some time and with the resident discount I am officially certified for several hundred dollars less than if I’d done it in the states.

Kilifi and Malindi, to the north of Mombasa, are full of Italian tourists. In fact, instead of the “how are you?” that I get all the time in Kakamega the kids shouted “Ciao!” at me, no doubt because of my Italian roots and complexion. At Diani beach the majority of tourists were German, and many of the signs were written in both German and English. Diani has the best beaches I’ve ever seen: clear blue water and perfect, white sand. It was also insanely expensive. The cheapest hotels were over a hundred bucks a night (with a resident rate) and it was almost impossible to find a meal for under ten bucks. Luckily I’m a Peace Corps volunteer. There was a campsite across the road from the beach for about six bucks a night and an easy walk away from a beach resort where we could spend the day pretending we were staying at the resort hotel and relaxing in their cushioned lawn chairs. Concerning the food, all the Kenyan staff had to eat somewhere, I reasoned, and I found a shack on the beach where a decent meal was less that fifty cents.

Speaking of Kenyan staff, one thing I found unfortunate is that every tourist staying at the luxury hotels was white, while the only Kenyans were the underpaid staff and people trying to hawk souvenirs on the beach. It was great using Swahili with them, as it was completely unexpected. A Tusker on the beach is 200 shillings, which means about a 150 shilling profit. I wonder how much of these enormous profit margins make it back to the staff (who I would guess are earning around 100 shillings a day) and how much of the money is simply going into the pockets of the wealthy, Indian hotel owners. I’d hope that at least the tips help.

Concerning diving, it was a lot to learn in a very short amount of time. A dive certification can take an entire semester and count as class credit, and we had just four days to learn everything. I spent most of my time in a pool and later in the ocean, or reading the book and studying buoyancy control, dive tables, and safe diving practices. My first dive in the ocean was amazing. We stayed on the inside of the reef, and even there I was surrounded by brightly colored coral, tropical fish, and an assortment of sea life. The conditions were not good on the outside of the reef due to choppy water but I plan to come back in January for another dive further out, where it is easy to spot larger fish, sea turtles, and even dolphins and whale sharks. The visibility was great as the water is warm, blue, and crystal clear. The world is two-thirds water, and now I feel I have that much more to explore. I just worry I’ve sucked myself into a money pit but now that I’m certified the dives are not terribly expensive and I plan to rent the equipment.

So now I’m in Nairobi. I ran into the FSD group on their way to various beach locations and safaris, and had a chance to see them off. Kakamega won’t be the same without them but there’s definitely less distractions from my job now. I also had four meetings today. I’m working on setting up my fundraiser through Peace Corps for disabled persons, I had a meeting at the FAO headquarters, and I managed (hopefully) to square away a market for fresh sweet potatoes. Tonight I’m off to Migori to spend a few days with the visitors from the states working at the BJCF orphanage, and then finally it’s back to my site. This has been a much needed break and I feel completely refreshed and am looking forward to getting back to my project.

Unfortunate Market Info, Mombasa, and Coast Life

I have given up on the hopelessly corrupt Kenya Program for Disable People and after several meetings in Nairobi I finally came across a legitimate organization for the disabled (detailed email and fundraising effort coming soon!). Also, after speaking to three different Nairobi-based marketing organizations, I have concluded that the market for sweet potato chips has dried up. This is particularly troubling. The entire network has been thoroughly trained in growing and processing sweet potato chips with the expectation that there is a very good market for the value-added cash crop. In fact, due to the previous volunteer preaching the word of Sweet Potato and plenty of encouragement from the FAO, sweet potatoes are the only focus crop the network currently has. I’ve been working at diversification since I came on board and finally some success is being made, but it is surprising to me that the network made it as far as it has with this all eggs in one basket mentality.

Here’s how I think it happened: Someone, somewhere told the network that a miller in Nairobi was paying 80 shillings per kg of dried chips, which is a ridiculously high price. The Kenya Agricultural Commodities Exchange is said to have confirmed this, and the network was told the market was there as long as we get certified, which after an extraordinary amount of effort was completed through the Kenya Agricultural Research Institute (KARI) and Rhoda Nungo a few months back. Meanwhile, the previous volunteer’s farming-as-a-business training, all of the posters on the walls of our office, and everything discussed in the field encouraged farmers to pull up their sugarcane and start growing orange fleshed potatoes. Many of them listened, and I am afraid they are going to get burned for it. Certificate in hand, I spoke to the KACE office in Nairobi, who then contacted the mill only to learn that they are no longer purchase the dried chips. I later learned that the most they ever purchased was 2 tons, while our network currently has almost 7 tons of chips to sell. There is one other organization that is using dried chips in the nearby district of Busia, but despite all of their efforts they are only selling around 300kg a month and the supply from Busia farmers far exceeds the demand. Due to this they are buying up potatoes at only 5 shillings per kg, which is keeping the farmers about as poverty-stricken as they are with sugar cane. My only hope as far as the chips are concerned is that we can create our own market with the grant money I was approved of through the Ministry of Agriculture. Then again, six months have passed with no definite word, and I’m not incredibly optimistic the funding will come through.

On a more positive note there’s a chance I can find a decent market for the fresh potatoes if not the dried roots; Lord knows we have enough to sell. I have an appointment scheduled in Nairobi next Monday for a market buying potatoes for 700 shillings per 98kg bag, which isn’t much but better than nothing. It certainly isn’t the 8,000 shillings per bag promised to the farmers for dried chips in the past.

Now on to more positive things: I love the Kenya Coast. It’s just beautiful and life is good here. People are very chill and relaxed, and I am surprised by the diversity. People on the coast are about half Christians and half Muslim, with a few Hindus here and there as well. Beyond mere tolerance everyone gets along very well…its hakuna matata at its finest. This weekend I played soccer on the beach with a mixed team of Christians and Muslims, and the people playing were Swahili, Somali, Indian, and Omani (plus two wazungu). Anyone that thinks black Africans all look similar is mistaken. After a year here I can distinguish between a Kikuyu and a Luo tribesman, and it’s not difficult to differentiate a Sudanese from an Ethiopian from a Somali. Something else interesting: While Kenya was under control of the British the coast was actually ruled by the Middle Eastern country of Oman. When Kenya achieved independence in the 1960’s, Oman gave back the coast while England relinquished the mainland. As a result there is a distinctive Arab flair to the coast and it feels like a completely different country than Western Kenya.

Because the train from Nairobi was full I took the night bus to Mombasa. I was a little nervous about it because it is not recommended by Peace Corps, but I had no problems and actually slept quite well. I contacted a Peace Corps volunteer staying in Mombasa, and even though she was gone for her Close-of-Service conference she left me her keys and I was able to crash at her house that evening. Peace Corps is great for travel connections. After unloading my things I took a matatu to the old town to look around. I started at Fort Jesus, which was a Portuguese fort build to fight for domination of the spice and slave trade against the Arab city-states that dotted the coast in the 1500’s. The fort changed hands many times and has a long and bloody history, but I found it interesting and was treated to my first view of the Indian Ocean from the top of the fort.

Afterwards I went into old town and had a fruit drink called “skud”, which is banana, passion, and pineapple blended with avocado juice and homemade ice cream. It was one of the best drinks I’ve ever had and all the food I tried on the coast (a fish curry called Biriani, Chicken Tikka, Coconut Beans, kabobs) was amazing. I wish the culinary culture of the coast could somehow find its way to Kakamega. I then started wandering around the streets of old town, and was surrounded by Muslim culture: men wearing skull caps, white robes, and sandals, women wearing black robes called burkas that cover their entire bodies except for a narrow slit for the eyes, and young girls with henna paintings on their hands and feet.

As I was wandering though the narrow streets I came across a group of wazungu women and a skinny jet-black kid who was almost seven feet tall. I stopped to listen as a man came up to them and warned them not to continue down the road. He said there were drug addicts everywhere that would not hesitate to kill them and take their money. A bit concerned myself, I decided to stop and listen. After the guy’s spiel one of the women told him he was being ridiculous and to bugger off. It turns out he was a tour guide who did not like people walking through the old town without paying for his service, and was just using fear tactics to scare people into going with him. The assertive woman that told the man to leave has lived in Mombasa for 18 years, and the other two women she was with, a woman named Zelda and her college-aged daughter named Ariel, turned out to be the sister and niece of Sylvia, the Peace Corps medical officer for Kenya! It’s a small world and once I told them I was Peace Corps we hit it off well. We walked with the woman living in Mombasa down the perfectly safe road to her very nice house and she treated us to drinks and told us a bit about her project working with orphan children and drug addicts. She then excused herself and I spent the rest of the day with Zelda, Ariel, and the beanpole kid. The kid turned out to be a Sudanese refugee named Joseph who had escaped to Kenya. He lived at the airport for three months with nowhere to go and was taken care of by sympathetic airport employees. He was eventually found and assisted by Zelda, the sister of the Peace Corps Medical Officer. Zelda is married to an American Embassy guy and is living in Nairobi. She put Joseph into a secondary school in Nakuru where he is a star basketball player. He enjoys the sport because he claims it is so easy to dunk the ball, and starting up at the guy I have no reason to doubt it. He was the nicest kid and it breaks my heart to know how many similar cases are still stuck in the horrors of Southern Sudan.

At the recommendation of the woman from Mombasa we went to Heller Park, named after an environmentalist who 30 years ago converted an old gravel quarry into a game park. It was a nice hike and we saw plenty of Hippos, Buffalo, Snakes, and Crocodiles behind fencing as well as birds and monkeys everywhere. There was even a giant Galapagos turtle roaming around and I went for a ride on his shell. Afterwards, we went back to Mombasa for dinner and I took a terrifying Tuk-Tuk (three wheeled taxi) ride back to the PCV’s house to call it an evening. I have Zelda’s contact info now and a free place to stay the next time I am in Nairobi, so all in all things worked out pretty well.

The next day I left for Kilifi and to visit Soren, a PCV living on the coast. Soren is also working with the FAO but as a public health volunteer. He wanted to know more about farming as a business and how it can help the Kilifi Network farmers, and I was more than happy to meet up with a volunteer living on the coast. As soon as I arrived we piled into the back of a pickup truck and went to the field, and along the way we passed hundreds of small farms full of cashew nut and coconut trees. The coconut trees are over 50ft high and have notches cut into them, enabling a barefoot farmer to shimmy up to the top and throw coconuts to the ground below. There is also a tree here called the baobab and it is beautiful. They are ancient, grizzled trees with trunks that must be 15 feet across, and they are considered by many to be sacred. The field day was a bit low key compared to Kakamega, without as much singing and dancing, but it was a good experience, and I had a chance to fill myself with “madafu”, or fresh coconut milk. After our day in the field we went to a bar overlooking the crystal clear blue waters of the Indian Ocean, enjoyed a few drinks, and called it a night.

The following day was fantastic. Soren lives within walking distance of the beach and I laid out on the white sands and soaked up sunshine. It was low tide and I could walk into the sea for what seemed like miles without it ever becoming deep. Meanwhile I was able to look down and see sea urchins, brightly colored starfish, and an assortment of other sea animals that would be very bad to step on. I’m extremely tempted to get dive certified while I am here. We stopped for lunch at a resort hotel wanting 1500 shillings for a buffet lunch, but using Swahili we convinced the guy that we were not tourists we were able to eat for 500 shillings each, and the food was great. The price is negotiable for everything but a newspaper in this country. We went back to the beach and I read a book while a group of Kenyan women were standing nearby tenderizing an octopus by hurling it against a rock hundreds of times.

On Sunday we went back towards Mombasa and went to the public beach for a game of soccer. I then went into town to watch Pirates of the Carribean 2, a great movie, and went back to Kilifi for a great dinner too. I’m in the Kilifi FFS Network office now and I just finished a meeting with their network officials that went really well. Life on the coast is good.

Maralal Internatinal Camel Derby 2006

I finally made it back to civilization after one of the 5 most memorable experiences of my life. For those of you who don’t want the detailed account, here’s a quick summary of what I took home this weekend: 1st Place Camel-athlon, 3rd Place Amateur Camel, DNF (Did not finish) Professional Mountain Bike Race, 13500/= (almost $200) in prize money, cactus-related injuries, and a severely battered body. I’ll be away from site for the next 3 weeks, and it’s a pity because I don’t have my camera cable with me. The pics are great.

Anyway, I spent the last week getting things in order for my upcoming adventures and think things in Kakamega will be fine until I return. I keep finding cash crops with a lot of potential, and in September I’ll be busy learning about the markets and spreading the word to the Network. In the meantime my time away from site is off to a great start. Six of the FSD (Foundation for Sustainable Development) volunteers that I have become friends with joined me for the camel derby, and we left Thursday Afternoon for Nakuru, the midway point between Kakamega and Maralal. A map will show a much shorter route, but I was warned by many and forbidden by Peace Corps to take it due to recent skirmishes with Pokot-tribe bandits and automatic weapons. We were limited on time and decided to go by matatu from Kakamega to Nakuru instead of bus, which was a genuinely terrifying experience. The road is just pathetic and Kenyan has some terrible drivers. We were going down one particularly treacherous hill, and a BMW came bearing down on us after trying to pass three trucks on a blind curve. Luckily it swerved off the road and barely missed us, while the guy driving the Bimmer smiled and waved like it was no big deal at all. Several similar experiences left me vowing to avoid matatus on the Kisumu-Mombassa route whenever possible, while Laura, one of the FSD volunteers, sat in the front seat and screamed at the driver every time he tried to pass anyone.

We finally made it to Nakuru and stayed at the Mt Sinai Hotel, which for about $2 per person isn’t bad as long as you are not bothered by wet, dirty towels (I don’t even want to know about the sheets), no soap or toilet paper, and a freezing cold shower that doesn’t work in the morning. On the plus side we were given rooms on the roof with a great view of Lake Nakuru, and the nearby restaurant, called Subway but in no way related to the chain, had some of the best food for the money I’ve eaten here.

The highlight of the following day was the six-hour trek into the wilderness of Northern Kenya. We started with a matatu to Nyaharuru, which was one of the most beautiful drives I’ve been on. We drove along the rim of the Rift Valley and looked down at a spectacular panoramic view of rolling green hills dotted with Acacia trees and tin-roofed houses. An hour later we climbed out of the valley into fertile plains and the town of Nyaharuru. The more I travel in this country the more I realize how fortunate I am to be here. Peace Corps volunteers living in places like Mali have practically the same scenery everywhere they go, whereas I am doubtful anywhere else in the world has as much scenic diversity and beauty in such a small area as Kenya.

Nyaharuru is a nice town with a beautiful waterfall called Thomson’s Falls. I was able to see it on the return trip but the trek to Maralal was a huge hassle, as everyone went their separate ways in Nyaharuru to buy groceries, use the ATM, and wander around. Large groups of people are so difficult to organize and I was getting frustrated as the only bus of the day pulled out of the stage to Maralal before we had everyone together. We ended up renting a private matatu because there was no other way we would be in Maralal in time for the derby. Noel, one of the FSD volunteers, is fantastic at bargaining prices and she was able to convince the driver to take us for almost the same price as if we were using a public vehicle, while he initially wanted to charge us triple the cost.

We started the ride to Maralal on a freshly paved road and were surprised that roads in this part of the country were well maintained. Then, thirty minutes later, we got what we expected: bumpy dirt (and eventually mud) roads for the next four hours. As random pieces continued to rattle of the matatu, it was incredible watching the scenery change around us. The foliage continued to grow sparser and the plains, covered with cactus trees, thorn bushes, and prickly shrubs stretched to the horizon. Surprisingly, it was on this terrain that I saw my first elephants. Scraggly trees broken to pieces from elephant damage started to appear and then in the nearby distance we saw a very large herd of elephants. Like the hippos, they were absolutely enormous and larger than what I have seen in the zoo.

After passing the elephants the landscape grew more barren, and among the sparse trees and bushes were herds of cattle, sheep, and goats. Guiding these herds were the Samburu people. They are closely related to Masai and are nomadic pastoralists who have maintained their traditions despite the influence Western culture has had on the majority of the people in the world. They wear traditional clothing, which in most cases consists of brightly colored robes and beautiful, ornate beaded jewelry. The women wear thick rings of beads around their necks, and both men and women have elongated ear lobes. Their skin tone is ebony black and the women are tall, slender, and graceful. The Samburu diet consists almost entirely of milk and meat, as very little vegetation edible for humans can grow in the area. We saw several groups of Samburu herding their animals down the road, and we were told many of them are fleeing from Pokots, who are using machine guns to steal cattle from neighboring tribes.

Finally, after hours of driving though the bush, we began seeing camels in the distance and realized we were close to Maralal. There is very little rainfall in this part of the country, but for some reason there were scatted rainstorms the entire time I was there. We even had to wait for some time to cross one particular section of road that had become a river. While waiting for other vehicles to cross I realized there was about a 50/50 chance of becoming stuck in the middle, as half the vehicles crossing stalled. Luckily we made it and finally I arrived at the Yare Camel Club and Campsite. I played a game of Ultimate Frisbee, registered for the Camel-athlon, and finally called it an evening.

My intention was to do the Camel-athlon only. It was significantly less expensive to register for than the Camel-only race, and I was trying to watch what I spent. Then I realized that most of the Peace Corps volunteers who had come to the event weren’t going to do anything but watch, and some of the Samburu people had been walking through the desert for over a month to be in Maralal to rent their camels for the event. Since the intention of the Camel derby is for it to be an income generating activity for the Samburu people, at the last minute I decided to do the Camel race as well.

The first thing I noticed about camels, besides how ugly they are up close, is that they hate people. They bite, they make a horrible throaty-gurgling sound, and the only way to get them to move at all is to beat the heck out of them with a stick. The next thing I realized is that the top of a camel’s hump is way too high. I was at least 12 feet off the ground sitting on a moldy couch cushion strapped around the camel’s hump with rope. Two large branches tied to the animal’s sides functioned as support, and it was a challenge just to stay in place. In fact, one guy was thrown off the camel at the very start of the race and staggered off deciding to no longer participate in the event. As for me, I hung on tenaciously while Charles, my Samburu camel handler, ran behind me smacking the camel in the butt with a stick. Occasionally the apathetic camel would grumble and stop moving, and no amount of additional stick-whacking would get it to move. Then, a few swift jabs between the hind legs were enough to get it going again.

Things were going great at first. I promised Charles a healthy tip if my camel won, and he was determined to have the winning camel. For the first part of the race I was in first place, and then I was passed by a kid that had six people surrounding his camel and whacking it. Apparently the fastest camel is the one that is beaten the most, because there was no way I could keep up. Then the rain started. Something else I learned last weekend: camels HATE water. Despite all the stick whacking, the race pretty much came to a halt until the rain let up. Even after the showers the camel was hesitant to move, and I quickly learned why. Camels have no traction for wet ground, and the entire pack was slipping and sliding across the race track. Off in the distance the first place camel slid sideways and dumped the rider, and for a brief while I was in first place. Unfortunately the first place camel was down but not out, and near the finish line he gained the lead again. As I approached the finish line I was in second place out of at least 40 camels, when a slippery puddle just a few meters from the finish line tripped my camel up. We slid and fell over, and as I remounted the camel and yelled a camel came from behind and took second place. My camel made third, which was still a good showing and made me 10,000/= richer.

After the camel race I felt like I had been severely beaten. My shoulder blades and arms hurt from trying to stay in place for the hour-long 10k ride, my feet were rubbed raw from chafing against the rope (never wear sandals when riding a camel), and most of all my butt and lower back hurt from trying to sit on top of the thing. I kept sliding off the camel to the bottom of the hump where it was more comfortable, but my handler would yell at me to get back on the top. Even as I sit here five days later I am still sore. Honestly there is no way I am going to ride a camel again, and those camel safaris through the desert that used to sound so fun sound like absolute hell now.

Regardless, I had registered for the Camel-athlon and was determined to follow through with it. It was only a 3k camel ride and I decided to tough it out. The Camel-athlon was divided into two groups: a team that consisted of 3 professionals (one runner, one camel rider, and one cyclist) and a novice class that completed the entire event with a single person. The race was fairly easy, with only a 5k run, a 10k bike ride, and a 3k camel. Several of the girls I traveled with decided to dress up for the event and wore Kenyan school girl uniforms that looked ridiculous. As for me, I decided to go for the prize money and I took the event seriously. The individuals ran alongside the teams and I did my best trying to keep up with the team runners. Something I’ve learned is that you will never, ever win again a skinny tall Kenyan in a matching spandex track suit. The winning guy had to have been running sub-five minute miles, and he left a road-runner like trail of dust behind him as he left me far behind. On a positive note, I was the fasted mzungu on the course and finished first place for the individual event and another 3500/= up. It helped that I had my champion camel and handler helping me through the final stretch.

That night I had a delicious camel burger for dinner. If it wanted to bite me I figured I may as well bite it too. Then I passed out at 9:00 feeling like a dead man. I slept restlessly as I could not find a comfortable position, and when I did doze off I dreamt I was in a boxing match and loosing badly. The next day I could hardly walk and popped a few Tylenol, which helped. The problem was that a 42km professional mountain bike race was scheduled that day, and I had found someone willing to lend me a nice Gary Fisher bike for the event. Honestly there was no way I could say no to a mountain bike race in Northern Kenya and decided to give it a shot despite my broken body. The race started off well, although of course the spandex-wearing skinny Kenyans were far in the lead. Nevertheless, I wasn’t in last place, and all I wanted to do was finish the race anyway. About 10 minutes into the race the rain came back, and it wasn’t long before I was covered head to toe in muck, which isn’t too bad in itself. Things didn’t become extremely unpleasant until about halfway through the race, when a shallow looking puddle turned out to be three feet deep. It swallowed my bike and threw me over the handlebars. I hopped back on a bit bruised but with no serious injuries, and kept peddling through the mud. Eventually things became so mucky that I had to push my bike instead of ride it, and at one point I lost traction and slid into a cactus. I actually had a cactus branch break off and remain stuck in my stomach, as well as blood pouring out of my arm from various puncture wounds. Muddy, beaten, bruised, and bloody I finally decided to quit 25km into the race. The remaining 20km consisted of five loops around a campground that was so muddy it had basically become a sloppy foot race while dragging the bikes through various mudholes. I finally couldn’t take anymore and walked off the course while cameras from Kenya National Television zoomed in on me. Now the whole country knows I am a quitter. Regardless, I was in the race to ride a bike and I wasn’t going to win, so why trudge a bike through mud for the next two hours? Personal challenge be damned, I had already won a camel-althlon the day before.

After the bike race I stuck around for prize money and awards, and was able to find a ride out of the desert the next morning. I made it as far as Nakuru, spent the night once more at the lovely Mt. Sinai Hotel, and have spent the last two days in Nairobi. I’ve done a lot of work on wheelchairs and for the network since I arrived, but I’ll save that for another day. As for now I’m about to catch the night bus to the coast and God willing I’ll be in Mombasa by morning. I’ll write again soon!