Thank You, Kesara

Thank you for staying in contact with Wairimu after medical school. Thank you for taking a position that landed you in Kisii. Thank you for having a sister, waiting for her nursing post to finalize, who wants nothing more than to help a near-stranger chop vegetables and peel fruit. Thank you for having DSTV, where watching Lady Gaga emerge from an egg-like pod during the Grammys felt normal. And thank you for allowing me to use your apartment for the better part of a day, with it's oven and refrigerator and freezer, to make a Valentine's Day dinner. So, a Kisii market-inspired menu, with only minimal ingredients (flour and yeast for dough; chocolate for melting; wine for drinking) store bought, all diligently photographed by Sarah.

Pan-Warmed Macadamia Nuts in Olive Oil and Salt

Avocado with Honey-Lime Vinaigrette

Pickled Red Onion & Chilled Cucumber Salad

 Sautéed Butternut Squash

 Roasted Root Vegetables with Yogurt-Cilantro Tzatziki

 Green Pepper & Tomato Pizza with Red Sauce 

and Eggplant & Caramelized Onion White Pizza

 Vanilla Ice Cream and Tropical Fruit Compote with Dark Rum and Ginger Root

 Chocolate Covered Frozen Sweet Bananas

Wine Spritzer with Lime Juice, Passion Fruit, and Frozen Mango Chunks

And, you know, candles. 

Blinded By My White

I'm used to mzungu. It's the single most frequently uttered word in my presence. Matatu drivers shout it as they pass. School kids scream it like the word "recess" as they run to the fence. Motorcyclists slow on the road for a fist-bump, saying it with a half-smile. Women with buckets on their heads speak it under their breath as I jog by, the way I might notify Sarah that I just saw a giraffe loping through Pike Place Market. It's jarring to so readily be identified first and foremost by my foreignness -- by my whiteness -- every time I step out the door. And it's not that it isn't understandable or even, in plenty of cases, endearing. But it's an otherness that is so entirely unshakable that hot and tired, waiting for a matatu to depart, it is hard not to fight the urge to permanently rearrange the man's nose whose high-pitched How are you? mockery has begun to feel like clockwork, hoping that I can relieve him of the inconvenience of having to pinch his face the next time he wants to make fun of white people. It is a rallying cry of schoolchildren; a factual observation of pedestrians and motorists; and the vocabulary of overt racism for a select few. Unlike the "Run, whiteboy run!" yells I would elicit heading down a dirt road in Jamaica, mzungu's meaning is more ambiguous; the term itself doesn't so much mean one thing or another as its usage and the speaker's intent seem to define the word. So it was with almost no sense of registered shock when a little girl in a red-and-white polka dot bathing suit, waist-deep on the steps of a kiddie pool, began tracing my every step with her eyes. Only slightly more surprising was that her singular focus detracted from her careful balance, landing her face down in the water. Now, thrashing her arms and legs out of the reach of the pool bottom, she appeared unable to lift her head. Or at least she hadn't figured that part out before I scooped her up by the armpit. Mzungu. Craning necks. Widely used. Nearly fatal.

Marabou Storks

These scavenger storks stalk the Kisii dump -- conveniently located along the 10 minute walk between our residence and the hospital. I just can't get over their size or mange. And they sound like helicopters when they take-off. The impending rain storm behind them seemed all too fitting. Check the Dasani water bottle for scale.

A Reunion Before Forests

An ambitious agenda the weekend before last kept us moving around western Kenya, finding amazing experiences every time we stopped to look around.  Friday night was a quick excursion to our favorite big city by the lake, Kisumu, for good food, gorgeous views, and a convenient jumping off point for other travels.  Saturday morning, after actual espresso (sorrry, Nescafe) Sarah, Wairimu (the Kenyan resident paired with Sarah) and I headed to Hamisi to seek out the family Sarah lived with during Peace Corps.  A few wrong turns, dusty dirt roads, and second-takes later and we were walking down a long driveway, Sarah sure that she had found it.  Without a phone or even a mailing address, there was no way for us to alert "Mama Carol" that we were coming.  

Cautious, Sarah slowly approached an open door, calling out "Hello..."  A few moments later, a diminutive, 70 year old woman ambled to the front.  After a brief moment of confusion, Sarah quickly produced a chubby-cheeked picture of herself at the house taken eight years earlier and it was all memories and affection from there on. 

Led by hand to her living room, Mama Carol sliced a pineapple from her yard to share. Without giving everything away, the conversation went something like this: 

Mama Carol [placing her hand on Sarah's knee]:  "Oh, I love you."

Sarah:  "Oh, mama, I love you too!  Thank you.  It's so nice to see you." 

Mama Carol [turning to Armand]:  "Thank you.  Thank you for marrying my daughter." 

Armand:  "Oh, of course.  Thank you for taking such good care of her."

Mama Carol: "Wairimu, you know that's my daughter over there." 

Wairimu:  "Yes, I know. You must be very proud." 

Mama Carol:  "Oh, yes. Very proud.... [turning to Sarah] I love you." 

And it kind of went around like that for however long it takes to slice and eat a pineapple in polite company.  After chatting in her sitting room, Mama Carol eagerly toured us around the property, showing off an enormously-horned goat her husband brought home a few days earlier.  She seemed just as amused by it's size as she was proud of it. 

It wasn't long, though, before Sarah spotted a three day old baby goat in the shade of an open-sided barn and the goat-of-the-day prize was quickly wrested away from all other competitors.  

The property was large and there was a field of banana trees below the house as well as half a dozen cattle roaming in another field.  Mama Carol's husband is in the military -- a framed commendation from the mid-60s bore former president Kenyatta's signature -- and it appears that they have done relatively well.  They have several children in Kenya and a daughter living in the States.  It was a wonderful reunion and an amazing way to start the day.  

Leaving was not easy, however, with Mama Carol insisting we stay for dinner, then demanding that we at least take a chicken with us if we were not going to eat.  Sarah politely reminded her that she doesn't eat meat, and soon Mama Carol was recounting how Sarah wouldn't touch any food when she was there and she couldn't even get her to eat ugali or vegetables.  Sarah disagreed, confessing she'd never weighed more than during her Peace Corps days because of all the food she was expected to eat.  It was clear we weren't leaving empty handed.  Eventually, Mama Carol suggested we at least take some sugar cane for the road, and, quickly seizing on this much more realistic request, we accepted.  She asked the teenage boy who helps her around the house to cut down an especially soft one for us and, prize in hand, we left down the same road we came in on.  I should note it is hard to go down almost any roadway in Kenya without seeing someone -- adult or child -- gnawing on a stalk of sugar cane.  It was my first, but Wairimu was a pro and Sarah a distant second. The taste is almost banana-like and easy enough to appreciate, but the technique is definitely acquired.  Later, tired out after chomping through barely a third of our respective stalks, we sliced clean ends and handed them to some local children along the road.  They were ecstatic.  

That afternoon we arrived in Kakamega town, on our way to the forest of the same name that once ruled this part of Africa.  The forest has now been reduced to a small, protected enclosure, but still provides hours of trails to explore.  Some miscalculations on our part necessitated a 1 1/2 hour walk in the afternoon sun to the park's gate, but sweaty and tired as we were, it felt good to finally get there.  A friendly Hungarian couple working in Eldoret were headed from the forest gate to the same camps; after stopping to ask us for directions they gave us a much appreciated ride for the last 15 minutes of the trek.  The forest could not have been more peaceful, but that didn't mean the forest rangers forsook the assault rifles so common among Kenyan authority figures (I guess park rangers in a predator-free forest qualify). That sole disconcerting image aside, everyone was extremely friendly and welcoming and we could not have felt more relaxed.  Housing accommodations were bandas on the forest floor or rooms in a chalet-like two story structure in a small clearing.  The property manager quickly started a fire in the field to boil water for us to bathe, and, after a putting together a surprisingly decent picnic dinner, we relaxed under more stars than I can ever recall seeing in the night sky. 

The next morning proved perfect for a hike.  After drip coffee from actual ground beans (two days running!) and some pastries and fruit, we began winding our way along the forest floor toward the river.  The towering trees provided excellent shade and were the near-constant object of our attention as they rattled and shook from the monkeys above.  Black and white Colobus. Vervet. Red-tailed. Blue.  Each species showed their personalities as they clustered high above our heads -- some seemingly content to stare down at us with curious looks while others took the opportunity to show off some truly incredible leaping abilities.  They never ceased to amaze and we were awe-struck as we alternately pressed ahead and paused to look above.  At eye level, butterflies continued to cross our path, several dozen different species by our unofficial count.  It was a gorgeous couple of hours spent among aging trees, active monkeys, and the slightly humid breeze of one of the last vestiges of Africa's great, equatorial forests. 

If this blog were scratch and sniff, you could smell smoke right now.

...currently on surge protector number four.

Lake Nakuru's Rhinos & the Tea Fields of Kericho

Sarah wrapped up project work mid-afternoon on Friday and we quickly headed to Lake Nakuru, about 3 1/2 hours away, for the weekend.  In her Peace Corps days, Sarah pooled resources with a few other volunteers and arranged a matatu to drive them around the park to look for animals. Sarah was highly motivated to head back as the lake is beautiful and the animals abundant.  Again, a little time on the road afforded some amazing opportunities to take in Kenya's physical landscape, an hour or so of which was spent winding through the tea fields around Kericho.  The higher altitude (cooler weather) and near-daily rains make for prime tea-growing conditions, apparently.  After we got back, still replaying images of the geometric patterns formed by light green tea leaves on seemingly endless hillsides, a headline in Kenya's The Standard declared that tea was now Kenya's number one export ("horticulture" was second and tourism third). 

Nakuru on Friday night was bustling.  After investigating a few hotels (accommodations continue to be a bit of a struggle) we settled on a place between Nakuru town and Nakuru National Park.  While exploring the town we met a guy arranging trips around the park. A little bit of haggling and soon we had decent price for a "Jeep" (I think it was a Suzuki, actually), with a removable roof, to pick us up at 6:30am.  It felt good to have some details hammered out the night before and not to have to cast about the park's entrance looking for a way around.  Since animals are more active in the morning, the early start was definitely a bonus.  One delicious Ethiopian dinner later -- $4 USD got us over-sized plates of injera covered in assorted, spicy sauces under a cloth-tapered ceiling with a hanging chandelier -- and we quickly went about the task of falling asleep, trying not to let the excitement of tomorrow's plans, or the incessantly howling dogs outside, distract too much.  

A man named Moses in a white, Jeep-like Suzuki picked us up in the morning and guided us around Lake Nakuru's dirt roads, winding through acacia forests and salt-crusted lakesides, up cliffs overlooking the park, and ultimately, circumnavigating the lake entirely. The day was cool and peaceful in the morning; hot and dusty by mid-day; wildlife-filled throughout.  Driving to the park we spotted a group of zebras, two of whom were mating.  We tried to show a little more respect this time around and left the camera in the bag, though our slack-jawed faces may have felt just as invasive.  At the entrance to the park, I quickly ducked inside the visitor's booth to pay the entrance fee while Sarah munched on a pastry in the car.  When I came back a few minutes later she was crouched inside, a monkey pawing at the sunroof above her head.  

Unable to contain her safari skills, Sarah had popped the roof and was standing up, inside the car, having a look around the entrance when a monkey dove into the vehicle, snatched a handful of fruitcake from inside its plastic wrapping, and promptly panicked.  Sarah, also concerned, crouched down to slide open some windows.  The monkey ignored the new exit and left the same way it came in.  Sarah shut herself in the car, and the monkey, now firmly resolved it could repeat it's highly successful stunt, started looking for a way back in.  It was a startling beginning to a day filled with surprisingly close encounters with wild animals.  

Early morning was chilly on the lakeside and huge African buffalo snorted mist and stared down our vehicle as we rumbled along.  It's hard to believe that these gigantic, powerful animals are vegetarian.  A few turns later and we were surrounded by thirty or so baboons swinging from tree branches and racing down the dirt road we drove in on.  The day pretty much continued like that -- we'd leave one mini-geographical area replete with one animal and a few minutes later be in another spot that not only looked and felt different, but was occupied with different animals. Although there were periods where we just cruised along the road taking in the plant and bird life, it never lasted too long.  The whole experience felt dreamlike; some kind of Safari Bingo as we spotted: Rothschild giraffes; rhinos (both white (several) and black (one)); Vervet monkeys; black-and-white Colobus monkeys; African buffalo; elands; gazelles; dik-diks; warthogs; plains zebra; waterbuck; baboons; various species of antelope; flamingos, storks, pelicans, and countless other birds.

The park also hosts some cats.  Although we found several paw prints in the road, we didn't see  these animals.  Moses told us they tend to sleep during the day and are hard to spot in this park. 

Early in the morning, still heading towards the lake's shore, we encountered a huge, lumbering, white rhino munching on grass.  Prehistoric looking, it didn't seem bothered by our presence. We turned off the car and watched as he grazed, crossed the road, and headed toward a small pool of water, pausing along the way to relieve himself.  It didn't seem like an encounter we should be able to have and it left us stunned.  The moment also yielded, perhaps, the greatest picture ever taken of a rhinoceros peeing: 

A few moments later, standing on a mix of grass and salt depositsm where a river met the lake's edge, the (literally) millions of pink flamingos had mostly migrated to Lake Bogoria, but several hudred remained behind and mingled among white pelicans and gray-brown storks.  A herd of zebras soon approached to drink out of the river, getting surprisingly close.  

A short while later, we spotted an adolescent rhino that easily could have tipped our car on its own, without it's escort's help. 

Sarah was right to insist on a vehicle where we could stand.  It was a wholly engaging experience standing upright as we lumbered down bumpy roads, spotting wildlife and encountering new pockets of plant diversity with a 360 degree view.  

A group of four adult and one adolescent giraffe.  Again, just incredibly close. 

Even without the animals, the landscape was staggering. Dry grasslands. Acacia forest. Lush hills. Barren cliffs.  

Exhilarated and dusty, we left the park for a late lunch in town before heading towards Kericho for a peaceful night among tea fields. Unfortunately, we miscalculated and missed out on the incredibly lenient "resident" pricing policy at the once-glorious Tea Hotel -- definitely where we'll stay next time.  

Kericho is an oddity.  It has this important economic function for Kenya, but it also is one of the most colonial-looking places we've been.  The tea fields are broken up by large mansions and a few clusters of smaller, nearly identical structures for the workers and their families.  All the buildings are white.  Things seem more orderly than any other town we've been to, but the environment remains, at least by appearance, so steeped in a colonial structure that it's abundant peacefulness has a slight, disconcerting edge to it. Seeing all that fertile land devoted to tea for export is troubling when food security is still such a pressing domestic issue.  The Tea Hotel itself was a striking example of what colonialism's heyday provided for and where it can end up -- the original wallpaper now peeling off in large, jagged chunks; art-deco style woodwork and furniture beaten and dusty; curtains crumbling from blocking 60 years of afternoon sun; still manicured lawns leading to an overgrown tennis court and a green pool.  It was like walking through a painting.  

The town itself felt decidedly more Kenyan, though cleaner and more peaceful than any we've been to. There was a small, grassy park in the town center filled with families and we strolled the streets with fewer double-takes and stares than we've become accustomed to.  All told, it was an incredibly intriguing weekend full of extremes that felt uniquely Kenyan.

So, I went to the market with 150 shillings ($1.85 USD)