Travels in Embu
Thursday, 7 June 2012
Friday, 1 June 2012
Mombasa; and The End!
There
are no lights on the Nairobi-Mombasa highway, and a thousand stars, and bumps.
2am coach stop: the confusion of an African ‘service station’, all hung with
gaudy fairy lights, maybe I’m tired but it really is surreal. Stumble off coach
in a daze, deafened by un-popped ears (we are travelling downhill all the way
from Nairobi) to use the drop toilets, nice. It is a total hotpotch of people;
there are strange corked bottles for sale in dark corners, enormous plates of
greasy chicken, mandazi, ‘bisquits’; the pink flickering lights of the ‘pimped
up’ coaches and matatus blur your eyes…I don’t want to get left behind.
Arrive
5am in Mombasa, feeling very tired indeed! And in great need of a shower. A tuktuk
carries us through the dark and dusty streets – all rather dreamlike, and so
hot and humid! Welcome to the ‘New Palm Tree Hotel’!, complete with white
balcony, and roof top all hung with bed sheets (gosh, socks dry quickly here),
air-conditioning and hot showers.
We
visit the Old Town and Fort Jesus (built by the Portuguese following their
invasion of this coastline in the 15th Century – eventually an Omani
33-month siege ended their two-century rule, and today Mombasa, although predominantly
Swahili, still has massive Arabic influences (actually the neat green parks and
whitewashed streets have a definite European feel; despite the hanging creepers
and somewhat un-European trees!)). There are beautiful old winding streets to
be explored (all seem to have their own resident crowd of kittens), with carved
wooden balconies and Zanzibari doors, fascinating (inlaid with heavy spikes as
protection against the war elephants which were deployed here so many years
ago) – leading all the way down to the old harbour and the blue Indian Ocean.
It is so hot! A tropical storm is coming…
Mackinnon
market spills out onto the surrounding streets, and is a chaos of an incredible
variety of tropical produce (all weighed on copper scales, you bargain hard for
‘good price’…) – baobab seeds (‘vimto’ flavour), dried mango, sugar cane, dark
and sticky tamarind roots, green coconuts (the unripe cousin of the brown and
hairy; lovely to drink, like water), black cumin and a hundred other spices –
cinnamon and cloves from Zanzibar, red coffee, green and pink peppercorns,
teas, masalas, bright pink paprika, vanilla pods; also piles of macadamia nuts
and the speckled beetle nut (a mild stimulant when crushed and eaten);
beautiful chillies laid out in the sun to dry, symmetrical rows of passion
fruits, tomatoes, lemons and limes, papayas, wafting coriander, women carrying
great bundles of lemongrass on their heads, coconut cakes, bizarre long green
‘dhudi’, and other fruits that I don’t even know the name of. There is an
inside market hung with swinging beef carcasses; outside you can buy fried
lobster tails, tilapia, fried taro roots, chappatis, weaved sisal baskets; another
room is full of chicken cages and clucking (a new load have just arrived,
packed and cowered in the boot of a tuktuk – they are carried in in bundles by
the feet, passive as usual…); men are making the traditional leather sandals
worn here (inlaid with beads and tiny cowrie shells). The cloth market street
is famous throughout Kenya for its kitenges
(waxed versions similar to Kangas) and kikoys
(bright woven cotton scarves worn by the men as skirts). All mad and
bustling; women in their veiled black ‘bui-bui’, stall holders shouting and
selling hard; all complicated by the presence of honking, brightly coloured
tuktuks driving all over the place…
Next
day: make our (tuktuk) way to the busy bustle that is the Likoni ferry (the
only way to the South Coast; as Mombasa itself is an island – we queue up with
the rest of the crowd – women balancing ridiculously big loads on their heads,
men pulling ridiculously over-full banana carts. In the confusion on the other
side we manage to locate a matatus which is travelling to Tiwi beach – the road
passes through the market which looks as impressively confusing as Mackinnon’s
(all a mass of bamboo-roofed stalls) - there are many mango trees along the
way, too, quite odd, actually, with their tear-drop shaped deep-pink loads .
I’m still rather flu-y, despite the heat!
Taxi
from the road – coconut, baobab trees, and vervet Monkeys swinging in-between.
Twiga Lodge borders the white sands of Tiwi beach, which is littered with empty
coconut husks and tiny hermit crabs, and lapped by the balmy warm blue-clear
waters of the Indian Ocean – wow!- completely picture perfect. I ride Armet the
camel (dressed in a gaudy orange saddle, each handlebars decorated with a
brightly perched bunch of pink bougainvillea) –
saggy knees and beautiful, sorrowful eyelashes – perhaps he’s just hot.
It’s a gentle life, on the coast….
The
following day we make a small hop along the coast so as to ‘cover’ the whole
area. There are 26 ‘colobridges’ along the road – for the benefit of the
colobus monkeys which live here and don’t know how to check both ways. Diani
beach is absolutely stunning, with pure white fine sand - it is still windy and
lying on the beach, this is blown deep into my ear. Hair-like-straw. The beach boys
here are nothing if not persistent, ‘sisterrrrs…’, selling everything and
anything! The campsite cook makes us a delicious ‘Zanzibar’ soup, made from ‘eddy’
fish, coconut milk and saffron.
‘Shoppin,
shoppin’ – I buy a wooden giraffe keyring from a man who is carving them on the
spot from a solid log of ebony, black and polished, and as heavy as an iron
bar.
We
are punted out to the coral reef in a hollowed-out mango tree (it has ‘stabilizer’
wings on each side – a good thing as it doesn’t look particularly seaworthy…) –
it is hard work against the wind and we are buffeted by the salty waves – they
are pure turquoise and warm. The bigger deep blue surf far out marks the start
of the reef (which blocks shark access to the beach…oh good! … there are fishermen
here hauling in huge nets of white snapper. Snorkel, mask and flippers on: putting
your head under for the first moment reveals an utterly magical underwater
world, familiar from the TV….the water is literally ‘hung’ with Zebra and
Spiro; Angel and Nemo fish; shoals of tiny electric blue flashes moving in
unison; and hundreds of other colours and species, all going about their daily business.
Our guide dives down to pick up a sea urchin and cracks it open with a stick on
the sea bottom – I hold it as they all flock to snatch mouthfuls of the caviar-like
yellow intestine spilling out – it is empty in
seconds. There is a patched-yellow sea snake carving its way along the
sea floor, and a red pure plastic star fish; another star fish is about 2
inches thick – orange plastic on the bottom and red velvet on the top with
black sticky circles. Care must be taken not to tread on the black spiky sea
urchin (which would cause a nasty sting – luckily we ‘needn’t worry’ as the
antidote, papaya milk, is ‘available’). Huge, fluorescent blue-rimmed clam
shells clamp ruthlessly and tightly down on a piece of coral placed inside;
there are giant other-worldly orange puffballs of coral; shimmering pink
barnacled shells with a surprise disgruntled resident who reaches out to pinch
your finger… Patches of clear sand are littered with the debris of dusty shells
carcasses, bunches of green sea spaghetti and pink ribbons of weed. A definite highlight
of my trip.
I
buy an octopus for 700ksh from a man on a bike (caught fresh from the deep sea,
along with lobsters, using a snorkel and spear). They are hung in a great inky
bunch by a string through their bulbous hippo heads - the man removes the brain
and ?intestines (more black ink spills out). Then we have to go to the beach to
‘tenderise’ it by flogging it against the sand – what a pitiful limp sandy
specimen. A good washing in the sea reveals its original pearly-white star
shape, large tentacles with suckers in symmetrical neat rows thinning to a fine
grey point (complete with mini suckers). The campsite cook is very obliging and
cooks it up as a delicious salty coconut curry – it is very meaty and chewy.
Up
at dawn to see the early beach – there are hundreds of tiny almost-transparent
crabs, perfectly invisible against the sand – they disappear down their round
crab holes before you tread on them.
Freshly
baked bread and a pint of avocado juice for breakfast- just what I need (fair
wipes me out though!). Another fisherman arrives to sell some freshly-caught
calamari to the cook – these are even stranger beasts than the octopus –
blue-rimmed, golf-ball sized eye balls and a glittery-pink-white latex body.
Today we sit by the pool at the hotel (feels very luxurious) – all very relaxing
until the monkeys arrive to cause trouble… budget lunch is my bag of left-over
rice from dinner – at least, until I let my guard down – furry paw swipes and
the robber scarpers up the tree. Just to rub it in, he sits on a branch in eye
line, stolen bag balanced in front, and champs away most unattractively…small
grains of rice rain down on me – how annoying!
Matatu
back to the island where we have a lovely evening with Sakeena ( a friend from
Birmingham) at a really nice
North-Indian restaurant – I am recommended to try the biriyani (famous on the
coast line – flavoured with the beautiful spices – saffron, cloves, cinnamon,
and sprinkled with almonds, served in a traditional ‘Handi’).
Back
in Nairobi, I am renamed ‘Mwamboi’ (a Kikuyu name) by the AA staff, owing to my
love of githeri… (Or, ‘Mama Bean’ for short). There is a new advertisement on the
main road outside publicizing a company of ‘sign writters’ (talk about shooting
yourself in the foot). Tomorrow I fly home – the staff are packing for ‘Rhino
Charge’ at Samburu (a big annual event where vehicles ‘charge’, Rhino-style, in
a straight line for 3 days across
whatever terrain is planned for them) and
I am sorry to be missing it!
May
31st; Oti drives me to Jomo Kenyatta, early early. The end; to what
has been surely the trip of a lifetime. So much to remember. Kenya, asante
sana!!!
Lake Naivasha and the Masai Mara
We
leave early for the Masai Mara, stopping on the way in the flat plains of the Aberdare
National Park – here lies ‘Solio’, a series of seven villages of ‘displaced’
people (mostly squatters from the woods and roadsides of Mt Kenya National
Park) who have officially been given land here by the government. Luckily today it is dry, as the road quickly
becomes impassable with rain (although it is extremely dusty now instead). Moving
Mountains has set up a school in the second village, and we pass the group of
teachers making the long journey on foot– it is 9km each way from Naro Moru. Each
village has a borehole, and each homestead is allocated half an acre of land -
lots of potato seeds are planted - a staple of the Kikuyu diet. There are 400
children in the school, built by the charity using a cheap technique of chicken
wire and plaster, to replace the tented classrooms (the very first lessons were
taught under the shade of an acacia tree, which has been ‘preserved’ as a
reminder). There are also 4 new shelters for the teachers (to save them the
long walk each day), and a kitchen with a smokeless stove (which would
otherwise need parents to supply firewood to ensure a daily meal for the
children – difficult as trees are pretty sparse round here). Wilfred the deputy
greets us. Oti fixes the generator (it promptly blows up again, though).
What
a bumpy road, and dusty!! Lots to see, as the road is still bordering the edge
of the Aberdare Park – gazelles, monkeys and the magnificent Grey Crowned African
Crane; grazing Kikuyu flocks and the endless whistling thorn trees. We take the
Aberdare ‘Road of a Thousand Potholes’ (my name; not official or nufin…) through
the park and into the Rift Valley – on to GilGil and the Nairobi Highway to
Naivasha. Quick pause at the Thompson Falls, a 74m waterfall draining the Ewaso
Ng’iro River – big tourist scene here and the usual pleasantries by the hawkers
(there is even a ‘hold your own chameleon’ man (and pay for the privilege…) –
it has strong clamping feet like pegs, ingenious), ‘sisterrr…. looking is free’
– all very charming, but unfortunately even a flicker of the eyes towards said ‘special
offer’ comes with obligation. We set up camp at Fish Eagle site on the shores
of Lake Naivasha – Eva has brought mangoes and cabbages for lunch, and there
are blue Starlings, weavers, speckled mousebirds, and a peacock. Oti buys a
string of fresh tilapia from the shore fishermen.
We
take a boat ride onto the lake (the biggest freshwater lake in East Africa) – the
shoreline is covered with water hyacinths (shrek-y pipe ear leaves and purple
flowers) and giant papyrus, which act as a water purifier. Mt Longonot (my fav!-from
Hells Gate) is in front; Hippo Island (named because of its resemblance to a
hippo backside) behind. Incredible Pied Kingfisher (detailed black & white
markings); cormorants, and the African Fisheagle. Then I spy the hippos –
pinky-red brown, Labrador faces and cute stumpy bear ears (placed high on skull
to facilitate huffin and puffin, wallow-friendly breathing), an impressive jaw
span and MASSIVE corpulent , barrel-like bodies. They can hold their breath for
up to 6 minutes under water – lovely to see, err, from a distance… (They are
still the most dangerous animals known to man. I don’t believe it…)
Visit
Crater Lake, the site of the flamingo migration from Lake Nakuru –an incredible
sight: a solid MASS of pink and white - interestingly they become more pink,
the more blue-green algae they consume (through a filter system in their
down-turned bills). Ridiculously long legs – all well and good for wading, but
a problematic undercarriage when coming in to land!
Tilapia
choma and ugali for dinner (and sour uji. Oti and Eva take any beverage,
regardless, with 3 tbsp sugar…).
Next
morning we journey on through the foggy Rift Valley to the busy Masai town of
Narok – lots of curio shop treasure troves and cow traffic. It is a further 3
hours from here to the Masai Mara, along a jaw-shatteringly bumpy track the
ENTIRE way (the rains had caused the track to collapse and we are fortunate
that it was repaired just this morning- still, the crevasses seem fairly
substantial…). It is hot and dusty and EVERYTHING rumbles, loudly (I’m
seriously surprised the axel remains attached; suspension definitely went some
time ago – my vertebra are becoming increasingly well acquainted with each
other…) – all somewhat tiring, but the landscape is fantastic to see. The Mara
has no fence, so the flat plains are well-populated with zebras, gazelles and
wildebeest; interspersed with herds of Masai cattle – each with a lone, tall
Masai striding out in a with a spear and red shuka, tied and thrown over
the shoulder ( stands out brilliantly against the green), or resting crouched
in the shade of an acacia.
We
pass many manyattas – the circular Masai villages – each has an outer fence of
thorn branches for defence, hung with drying shukas; entry points are guarded
by the ilmoran (warrior – moran means they have not yet killed a
lion - all moran must spend 5 months
outside the manyatta in the wilderness, fending for themselves, and living on
meat, milk, and cow blood taken from the jugular vein, perhaps with a bit of
ugali mixed in- all veggies are shunned though...). Initiation into the ilmoran takes place in the Eunoto ceremony, signaled by the blowing
of a spiraled horn of a Greater Kudu antelope – this sound serves to bring the
dispersed families together from great distances – much beer is brewed and
consumed, sweetened with honey and sugar… ). A Masai man is polygamous and
takes as many wives as possible (girls are promised at birth and married young)
– the nuclear family live in a number of huts constructed from bent sticks
slathered in mud, grass and cow dung; and the precious cattle are enclosed in
the centre of all (a keen hyena has been known to jump even this final frontier,
though!) - the Masai believe that when the earth and sky split, Ngai gave them
the cattle to safeguard. Grazing close to the manyattas are smaller groups of
pretty white goats, which are entrusted to the younger boys (cattle for
teenagers, only…) – each one is swinging their own ‘grown-up’ stick. Waving
girls have red-ochre dyed hair, and are wearing beautiful traditional beaded
necklaces (glass beads were first brought over by the Arab traders and are used by the Masai simply for their
‘beauty’- red is the favourite colour (as for the shukas – apparently it scares
off the simbas); white is for milk;
blue, the sky; and green, grass.
At
the gate we fend off Linda, the masai lady selling her wares. Open that
sunroof! From now on, there is no leaving the vehicle, and we stand up and hang
on for our first game drive! - fantastic – it is dusk and we are extremely
lucky to come across a pair of lionesses deciding on their evening takeaway (a
tricky decision as it is a large buffet of buffalo – could be out of their price range - a group of buffalo
are a fearsome thing) - we watch for a long time as they slink forward and hang
back. A hyena has obviously heard the news and trots over hopefully for the pickings,
but he may not be lucky: us too, as we
must leave before the gate closes… Driving home in the dusk there are long
lines of cattle, bells clopping – the Masai are driving them home.
Bed for
the night is in the Mura Chui campsite - massive leopard print beds in a
thatched hut (and evening electricity from a generator) = very luxurious after
the past week (although promise of a hot shower falls flat, unfortunately). The
Masai use this campsite for water - they run away if we see them, though, earlobes
swinging (the huge pierced holes take only 3 months to make, apparently), and empty
bottles dangling by the forehead strap… Oti disappears to dust off the van each
night, a ritual, although perhaps unnecessary given the next few days; still,
he likes things shipshape…
We
leave for our second game drive at 7am, with a packed lunch. All toilet stops
to be taken round back of van, with care of simbas… ‘Mara’ means spotted and
refers to the changing Savannah landscape of grassland, interspersed with woodland
canopy – it really is VAST (583 square miles
- Oti says you could drive for 30 days to
reach the end) – this is the Mara
Triangle, studded with lush wooded granite hills called ‘Kloppies’ (home to the Kilpspringer antelope). A HUGE
sky and lone umbrella trees – it is so quiet, and it would be useful to have an
Impressionist painter to record the colours of the grasses… I like the
middle-sized acacias – thorns nearly 2 inches long, hence the name ‘wag-na-bie’
(the ‘wait a bit’ tree – of course, as the person in question disentangles
themselves!); also the bizarre euphorbias (although the toxic sap of these
doesn’t affect rhinos, apparently), and the even more strange ‘sausage’ trees,
with their long monkey-nut shaped sausage gourds hanging on long creepers (used
by the Masai to store their mursik
and other concoctions).
It
is a 4 hour drive to the Tanzania-Kenyan border, where the Mara meets the
Serengeti at the Mara River. On occasion we stick in the mud, but Oti seems to manoeuvre
us out each time, hakuna shida (no
problem). Here is the site of the
legendary Wildebeest migration (3 periods of migratory motion, with dispersal
in June into the Mara from the Serengeti plain – 2 million wildebeest
(accompanied by Gazelle, zebra and various antelopes), in a line stretching for
up to 25 miles in length, must cross the Mara River…). 3000 of them will
perish, due in part to the crocodiles which gather here for an
‘all-you-can-eat’, or often just a lack of swimming lessons – however their
numbers are replenished in January each year by the 400 000 new calves.
At
the river we can go for a walk, under the protection of a Ranger and his gun –
it is scorching in the midday sun. We pass a group of staring giraffes, and
giant 4-toed hippo footprints! – you can hear them too before you see them –
huffin, puffin, snortin, growlin – impossible to tell their number in the water
though as they sink below the surface and hold their breath. On the opposite
bank is a lone croc, biding his time until the Wildebeest feast begins next
month… We eat boiled eggs and sandwiches at the Trans-Mara gate – a fallen tree
here is covered in plastic looking red/blue agamas lizards. I quietly pick a
weaver bird nest off a low branch to investigate (definitely last year’s, as
it’s not green – so intricately woven, and very satisfying to hold…)
We
see a total of 15 simbas today, incredibly lucky (!) – including a male resting
in the shade of a tree with his pumba
kill (yes, Disney’s ‘Lion King’ has its facts right – Zazoo, incidentally, is a
red-billed Hornbill…). They have THE cuddliest, black-tipped ears, and like so
many of their colleagues, slightly comedic tails (black and tufted – apparently
they have some sort of spine in it, keeps it moving nicely). The buffalo herd
from yesterday’s hunt is still chomping away – maybe no luck for yesterday’s simba
then? – they are such huge beasts, with feathery winged ears attached just TOO
low down under their massive curved horns (which look like bunches with a
strict centre parting…not cool). They stare at you – fair enough, as they
suffer from chronic myopia. Many have a little cluster of oxpecker birds
perched precariously on their giant backs – deal struck, to do with lice
management, apparently…
Beautiful
antelope – a family of 4 delicate impalas picking their way across a river (can’t
help but think that their horns would make lovely handlebars); the majestic Topi
with their impressive tan coats and plum-colour markings; tiny ‘Dik-diks’,
which pair for life and die of heartbreak; blue duikers (like Elizabeth Huxley’s
‘Twinkle’ in ‘The Flame Trees of Thika’); and my favourite – Hartebeest (Kongoni
in Kiswahili) – their name is Dutch and describes their face which really is
heart-shaped…they have the most amazing eyes. Also Wildebeest (they really are strange
animals, with their saggy necks and mournful faces); silver-backed Jackals; so
many butterflies... My other favourite has to be the Zebras – their pattern is
as unique as a fingerprint and extends right up into the mane and all the way
down to the hooves (jeggings) – they are ever so fetching with their teddy-bear
ears (apparently they can never been tamed though…shame). (They have the most
well-rounded bottoms, too). Several matriarchal clans of elephants eat their
way past us (200kg must be consumed each day) – it is now thought that they
communicate via ‘subsonic’ rumblings which can be picked up by the trunk and
feet…
BIRDS!!
Wow!! Just SO many, and they could not be more exotic – the so-called ‘superb’
starling (as beautiful as a kingfisher, and as common as muck); the malachite
sunbird; the strutting secretary bird (black leggings firmly on – they ‘dance’
on their prey, snakes, to kill… - and a bunch of ‘quills’ hanging from the back
of the head); the stunning African Crane (also known as the Ugandan bird
because of its impressive colouring); enormous Kori bustards, lappet-faced
vultures, tropical boubous, hammerkops; and my favourite, the fluorescent pink
and blue-chested ‘lilac-breasted roller) – it has a golden back. Also several
ostriches – coy eyes and shockingly muscly drumstick legs, in SUCH bright pink,
like a drag queen wearing tights…
A
bumpy 4 hours return to camp, where Sammi, a Masai who helps out at the campsite,
walks us to his manyatta. SO interesting (and pleasingly un-touristy). We pass large
white flowers with big circular leaves: masai looroll ; also ‘sandpaper’ trees
(with very coarse leaves), used to smooth the beautiful olivewood sticks they
all carry. A group of his friends is summoned to dance for us – it is quite intimidating;
stamping and leaning forward towards you, jumping high in unison in their
rubber tyre-sandaled feet– they grunt and hum and chant, and bare their teeth.
After the dance comes the ‘pogoing’ (the higher you jump, the less dowry you
pay) - one of them is wearing a tall hat strung with beads, made from the pelt
of a lion.
The
masai are famous for making fire by rubbing sticks together, and we are given a
demonstration – one stick made from red cedar and the other taken from the
sandpaper tree – scowling, heads together, 2 take it in turn to spit and rub
their hands in the soil; then clap their hands at the top of the stick and spin
it down – the smoking dust is collected on the blade of a sword, and the flames
come quickly! (The hot sandpaper stick can now be used to make small burn
tattoos in patterns on the skin).
We
crouch inside his parent’s hut – it is pitch black inside, but there is a tiny
porthole window to let out the cooking smoke (which can be stoppered up with a
scrunched-up shuka) – there are 2 rooms, and 2 beds for the 6 members of this
family, and one extra space for the baby cow… This manyatta has been here for 7
years now, and Sammi tells me they plan to move on in another 3, as termites
eventually attack the wooden sticks of the houses.
There
is a school not far away which the children from this manyatta attend – today we
are welcomed to a singing practice being held for an end-of-term competition –
a group of children stand in a square, each with a stick – the dance sways,
stamps and jumps, and there are many parts to be sung – humming and chanting,
with the bigger boys snarling at the back (one blows the horn of the Greater
Kudu, carried spiralled over one arm),and a lead voice rises above it all –
very cool.
Walking
back, the cows are filing home again, and the Masai is dressed warmly in his
shuka – they are rather magnificent, thrown over one shoulder and billowing out
behind them, and the red can be seen for miles. The smell of the fabric is
amazing – strong, of ochre (red hair dye), sweat, cow dung, mud…
The
next day: our last game drive – 6 o’clock brings a wonderful morning with an
early sun. In total we have seen three of ‘The Big Five’ (samba, buffalo and
elephant – no leopard or rhino, or cheetah – but I am well satisfied!).
All the
way back to Narok (along the same road, unfortunately….doesn’t make for restful
snoozing AT ALL; plus me and Eva are nursing a cold) – from Narok, it’s the highway
climbing high out of the Rift Valley to Nairobi, and a quick turnaround for the
Mombasa nightbus!!
Monday, 28 May 2012
'Facing Mount Kenya'
Meet Majel at Jom Kenyatta
airport!! We drive out towards Naro Moru along the Nairobii-Thika superhighway,
past a group of galloping giraffes (this road borders the Nairobi National
Park), and later, the Del Monte Fruit farm in Thika- emergency stop for pink guava flavour. The landscape changes and is different to
anything I’ve seen before –very flat and sparse - valleys, euphorbias, the odd
house -- the Aberdare National Park
stretching away to our left and Mt Kenya to the right (swathed in cloud today
which hanging weirdly – you know there’s something BIG behind…). In Nanyuki we
pick up Cyrus, who will be our guide for the next five days.
We have lunch at the Trout Tree
Restaurant – built in a magnificent old fig tree – a mass of pulleys, ropes and
step ladders, with beautiful wooden tree stumps, and bar taps screwed into the
trunk (- all the brainchild of a Canadian Mzungo, apparently.). The garden below
is a lush jungle of banana leaves, amazing trees and lilies – and beyond lie
the trout pools which are home to over 80 000 rainbow trout. Fish man fishes us
out two into a bucket – crunch time is a knock on the head and then straight in
with a knife. All systems are go, and in five minutes unfortunates 1&2
appear chargrilled on wooden plates with butter and lime – wow! We also have
smoked trout, smoked over sawdust made from ‘merry oak’ from the woods of Mt
Kenya National Park. Bonus feature, a colony of beautiful Colobus monkeys have
decided to settle here – black helmet of fur, comedy nose and moustache, and
very beautiful and expansive plumed white tails (help them to ‘fly’ between
trees…).
Onwards, to the Blueline Hotel –
I wear a jumper, for the first time since I arrive in Kenya, and there are no mosquitoes!!
Many species of amazing succulents, and a family of busy weaver birds in the
peppercorn tree). Cyrus briefs us for the expedition, and Ann (goalie for Black
Cat girls, climbing with us) arrives from Embu.
Mountain Morning 1, and the
summit is clear. What an incredible profile. Our team of porters – Daniel,
Patrick and Kamiro arrive and we fill the van with supplies, it’s all so exciting!!
First stop, though, is the Equator at Nanyuki (6398 feet) – there is a queue of
American Mzungos waiting to have their picture snapped, and some overfriendly
‘curio’ shop owners (at least, until you convince them you ain’t buying).
Equatorial water demonstration (water turns clockwise 20m North of the line,
and anti-clockwise South – yes, it’s true!) – flows straight down over the line
itself. On into Mt Kenya National Park, to the Sirimon Gate where we will begin
our trek. Kamiro (58) the cook seems to be famous among the well-initiated here
– he reminds me of a very sprightly tortoise and has an amazing face (no teeth
though – sugar cane causes him difficulties).
He, Daniel and Patrick load a seemingly impossible amount of gear and food into
their own bags, and our large ones, and tie them together with string (all we
carry is daysacks, hardly seems fair…) – the loads are SO heavy and they are
bent double. Cyrus carries the box of
eggs tenderly. All are wearing trainers, and Daniel has on a pair of
pin-striped trousers.
Three hours of walking takes us to ‘Old Moses’
Camp 1 – we pass through the start of the ‘Afro-Montane’ habitat, complete with
baboons and black eagles, fresh buffalo and elephant tracks, and an
ever-changing forest of red cedars, African olives, Bamboo, Rosewood, old man’s
beard and junipers. Keeping eyes peeled for the elusive Mountain Bongo. Happily
we miss most of the rain, but it is certainly cold enough up here, about 5
degrees. Kamiro pumps up the kerosin stove in the dark kitchen, and we have hot chai and popcorn. There are
mysterious hunks of meat hanging up on nails (cold enough here to keep well) –
this is for the porters, apparently – Kamiro cooks us tilapia and roast
potatoes (goodness knows how!), and there are passion fruits and tomato fruits
for pudding… The weather closes in and it really is cold! -many more bowls of
chai are consumed, and we have hot water in our bottles for sleeping with
(along with precious camera battery – to preserve life)
Mountain Morning 2: hot pancakes
at 6am – today we climb to Shipton Camp. The weather is clear again and you can
count the snow-capped peaks, all 50 of them... Kikuyus believe that their god
‘Ngai’ lives on the summit, and build all their houses facing it (they are
buried too with their head towards it– all described in Jomo Kenyatta’s
autiobiography ‘Facing Mt Kenya’…) We climb in the early sun past the summit of
Tabletop Moutain to our left and out of the scrubland (badly damaged here by
poachers in a fire which ravaged this side of the mountain) - mountain chatts
warble, and I’m still hoping for an elephant, or at least a hyena… Slowly the
cloud passes below us and the sky is BLUE! Banana skins are lobed over shoulder
to feed the rock hyraxes (like very large, hopping guinea-pigs – ever so
stupid, with a tendency to stop and twitch nervously in the middle of the path).
Also many mountain mice, and incredible birds – my favorite is the turquoise
blue-black sunbird – they have hooked beaks for nectar. The landscape becomes
increasingly bizarre – giant lobelias, and tall and hairy giant groundsel with
green-purple ostrich feathers. With the thinner air it is a hard last push to
Shipton’s hut at 4200m, but we have made good time, and I am allowed to help make
the porter’s ugali (and beef stew, of course!) – ‘mzungo food’ is cheese toasties,
though.
We sit around the kerosin stove
all afternoon for warmth (I am wearing all my clothes). Kamiro is boiling
chicken - water boils here at 90 degrees - there are lots of cheeky chats who
flutter around (rich pickings for them here, including the hanging hunk of beef
which has travelled with us). Later we take biscuits out in search of the ‘tame’
rock hyrax, and can see our summit point, Lenana ( the name of an old Masai chief, who
had two sons, Nelion and Batian… these two highest peaks are said to resemble
the black and white of an ostrich feather, hence the nickname ‘Mountain of the
Ostrich’). Early bedtime with another hot water bottle - we are SO well looked
after and the stove is never off (actually becoming slightly problematic - it
keeps exploding with a giant plume of flame – bad for the eyebrows, but it’s
nice and warming…). The porters stay up in the kitchen and we can hear them
talking loudly- ‘eh, eh’ (Masai affirmative…).
Mountain Morning 3, and Majel has
had an interrupted night due to our dorm mates - the mice- one felt the need to
squeak in her ear… I sleep pretty badly
too, maybe it’s the thin air. 6am brings a spectacular sunrise and I go out in
the freezing air to ‘make photo photo’. Kamiro is melting the oil (solidified)
to make the pancakes, and we have weetabix with hot milk. I am still wearing
all my clothes, and washing doesn’t really feel like an option – the water is
FRESH, to say the least (even my suncream has frozen). What an incredible blue sky!! We do a morning acclimatization
walk to two turquoise lakes. During the afternoon the rain sets in and some
more weary clients arrive with their group of porters – 2 of them are crying
and sick from the altitude - how strange, as none of us 3 are feeling anything.
Patrick renames me ‘Magicko’ – meaning tall… The other group of porters let us
share their jiko (stove) for warmth, it is really very cold.
(Funny old life as a porter –
slogging up and down, carrying massive loads, to arrive and spend all your time
freezing and cooking all the food you have carried for your clients (it is
obviously somewhat of a competition to present your offerings as elaborately as
possible) - endless plates of popcorn, ‘bisquits’, hot chocolate, fruit - while you eat plain ugali and a cut off the
beef hunk, when they have gone to bed…..)
I sleep deeply until 2am, when a
mouse runs across the neck of my sleeping bag… 2.30 am is chai and bisquit time
(sadly the milk has run out, and the hot chocolate…) and we leave at 3 for a
headtorch ascent of Lenana – so exciting!- ‘pole pole’ (‘slowly slowly’) in
step behind Cyrus, crunching on the frozen ground. Our headtorch beams pick out
the shadowy forms of giant lobelias, groundsel and frozen glittery succulents,
and the sky is FULL of stars. We reach the scree slope and climb steadily for 2
hours, it is very steep. Break at the
snowline (feeling a little bit sick!) – still pitch black and extremely cold, and it is just possible
to make out the dark forms of Nelion and Batian high above. (Another summit
group is some way below us – you can see their headtorch beams flicking
around - stupidly this makes me feel
rather competitive…) From here it is just one more hour and Cyrus times our
arrival perfectly as the sun breaks the horizon at 6 o’clock – WOW!! What an
incredible view. A huge ridge hung in cloud curves downwards towards Naro Moru,
a sea of cloud conceals the peak of Kilimanjoro behind, and Batian lies in
front, with a huge horizon and the many other snow-topped peaks lit up in
orange by the sun. The Kenyan flag is flying at the summit, 4895m. Flipping
awesome.
It is absolutely freezing (about
minus 12, plus wind chill), and poor Majel finally succumbs to the inevitable and
starts throwing up – the sun has finished arriving and it’s time to leave. Quite
scary seeing what we came up with our eyes closed! The perfect sunrise turns
into a perfect morning, not a cloud to be seen – Cyrus hasn’t had a run of
weather like this for a long time – and we arrive at Shipton by 8am, an hour
ahead of schedule. I wash for the first time since Blueline, and risk removal
of the thermal leggings. More hot weetabix and pancakes on offer, though Majel’s
in no mood to eat (she has been sick several times since), and Ann and I feel a
bit weird, too…but it is genuinely ‘warm ’in the sun, and a family of hyraxes
come out to sunbathe. The other group of porters are still waiting for their
group to arrive and set up a breakfast table outside, complete with masai shuka tablecloth (they think they are
winning the secret competition). Make the long step back to Old Moses in the sun - life is good and the bags are light! Patrick lets me make the chapattis, this is amusing, apparently...
Last Mountain Morning - we leave for the gate leisurely and arrive ‘pole pole’ after 11am - soldiers from the ‘Kenyan Wildlife Services’ (they
are hunting poachers) give us a lift to the tarmac in their 4x4, where Kioni
and Oti are waiting for us. Back in Blueline at Naro Moru, I am very sad to say goodbye to Daniel,
Patrick and Kamiro and more tired than I realized. And in great need of a hot
shower (this is not immediately forthcoming, TIA). PYJAMAS, soap, oh boy.
Monday, 14 May 2012
A few days in Nairobi
I catch a matatu into the depths
of Kibera, fascinating. Home to 200, 000, this is Kenya’s biggest slum. Humongous
rubbish piles, thousands of corrugated iron houses stretching for miles, crowds
of people (especially as today is church day); plus endless stalls – fruits,
hot chapos, boiled eggs and mandazi, butchers selling choma meat with hanging carcasses, h air
salons and kinyozis (barbers). Very
dangerous here at night, and even in the day… Ushirika clinic is a 24/7 medical
centre built by Moving Mountains in 2003 – it offers medical consultations,
drugs and maternal services at a cut-off price of 1000Ksh. During the morning
we see many cases of malaria (the mossies DO seem pretty hungry round here…),
and one guy who was properly beaten up last night by thugs – probable broken
wrist – injected with morphine and sent to Kenyatta hospital…
‘Carnivores’
for lunch, with Hannah and Charlotta! This is Kenya’s most famous place to eat nyama choma, and has also been voted one
of the world’s 50 best restaurants. ‘A beast of a feast’…literally. We sit
among banana leaves and cacti, at a table set with gourds, banana leaf mats and
zebra seats (although the serving of game meat is no longer allowed here). At
the entrance is a huge smoking BBQ pit (all lit up in red; like something out
of ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’), and the meat is basted on real Masai swords. The
waiters (dressed fetchingly in zebra aprons and boaters) appear constantly at
your shoulder with the next sword of roasted delicacy – you just have to keep
saying ‘no’ to keep up (alternatively you can knock over the flag on the table
for a break, or remove it for complete surrender). Before the meat is brought
you are given maize, soup and bread, and ‘Dr Dawa’ appears with his ‘medicine’
(‘Dawa’ in Swahili), which is a cocktail of vodka, lime and sugar, stirred with
a bamboo stick twisted in honey… We have a multi-storey tower of sauces to
accompany each meat (the waiter reminds us which each time) – fruit (for
ostrich), wild berry, garlic, marsala, chilli, mint… plus matoke (mashed green
bananas), sukuma, salads… The iron plates are sizzling hot, and are filled
constantly with crocodile (a sweet, fishy chicken flavor!), ostrich (my
favourite), oxen balls, chicken gizzards; plus perfectly cooked lamb, beef,
pork,chicken, turkey, you name it… (*Ahem*, veggie must be officially set aside,
for one day only; besides, this stuff is *so* dead already…). Trick is to try a
little, then move on, for digestion’s sake - we eat from 1 – 3.30pm. Just as
you surrender, icecream and Kenyan coffee is served. Next door is the equally
famous ‘Simba Saloon’, which hosts amazing live Jazz nights – all of Kenya’s
biggest musicians come to play here. All in all, a once-in-a-lifetime culinary
experience, and I have never been so full in my life…
At night
in the guest house kitchen – the rustle of cockroaches, plus GIANT spiders.
Also, bed bugs DO bite…
Today I
am a tourist (‘you will see many mzungus’, Oti informs me). We drive out to
Langata and Karen districts, past the Nairobi National Park where baboons
swagger along the roadside looking for unsuspecting picnickers. First is the
David Sheldrick Conservation Trust, which raises orphaned elephants (from
poachers, or victims of wells, mostly) and also black rhinos – with the aim of
reintroducing them to the wild in Tsavo National Park. They come sprinting from
the park for their milk (they spend the full day there and only meet humans for
an hour at 11am) , very cute - they are weaned on 4 tins of SMA Gold per day,
specially imported from England (one can’t help but think of the babies in Embu…)
and grab the giant bottles with their trunks. The tiniest are swaddled tightly
in masai blankets, tied with a rope belt. The keepers are with them 24 hours
each day, and one sleeps in the straw with each individual each night
(important, as they are their surrogate mother, and elephants really do die ‘from
heartbreak’). Such funny, smiling, furry beasts with their comedy black-tipped
spiky tails; v happy rolling, farting, pinching the keeper’s spade, trunk
swingin…
Next;
the Rothschild Giraffe Centre, where you can stand on a raised wooden platform
to feed the residents at eye level (apparently they are on a ‘diet’ of 2 pellet
handfuls per visitor…yeah right; anyway, ‘no food, no friend’, or even a horn-butt..
I)f you place a pellet between your teeth, a long purple tongue will delicately
extract it (you can see how they fish for ants in the thorn trees) – how Romantic
(although motives questionable) - up close and personal they really do have bizarrely
long snouts.
Opt for
the cheap lunch option, away from tourist prices – roadside ‘hotel’ (always
tempting digestive fate) – beans and chapo for me, sawa, but Oti’s matumbo
(tripe/intestine) is extremely well-‘plumbed’ and rather furry… Everywhere,
everywhere you go, the red-painted stalls are advertising ‘barudika na Cola
buridi’ (enjoy a cold coke) – in Kenya, there is always time.
Within
the Karen district lie’s Karen Blixen’s original Colonial house, set in the beautiful
grounds ‘at the foot of the Ngong hills’ (Ngong means ‘knuckle’ in Masai – the
peaks really are similar, all 4 of them!). Loved seeing it all for real (I finished
reading ‘Out of Africa’ last night!) – there are the lion and leopard fur rugs
she shot, the stone mills outside where she sat to grind flour with Kamante,
the oil lamps used to signal her mood to Denys Finch-Hatton… would have been
quite happy to wander but the tour guide is painfully slow as he goes through literally
every item of furniture, in each room, as ‘orrrrriginal’ or ‘not orrrrignal’… I
nod lots.
One of the last chapters in ‘Out of Africa’
is called ‘The Giraffes go to Hamburg’ – about 2 giraffes captured and sent
from the port of Mombasa to a travelling zoo in Hamburg’ – “gentle amblers of
the great plain; cantering side by side; crowds will laugh at the long slim
necks and the graceful, patient, smoky-eyed heads; little noble heads that are
now raised, surprised, against the blue sky of Mombasa…”)
Last is
the Nairobi Park Animal Orphanage – normally they feed here in the afternoons,
but today everyone’s full, and not chatting, either, ah well. Not much to see.
Patricia the warthog is sun-bathing though – unbelievably brown and ugly – I find
her far more funny than is fair…
Sunday, 13 May 2012
How time flies
Gilbert takes me to the Dallas
Dispensary for my first day – it is a 45 minute walk, and there is a trick to moving
without attracting too much attention. The clinic was built with money from
USAID and the Kenyan Government in 2007 (although it has been closed on and off
since due to local disputes over ownership), and is run totally by nurses.
Registration costs just 20 Ksh (still too much for some, though), and many of
the drugs are free or subsidized. It’s a very impressive service, and well-equipped
with a basic lab for microscopy (provided there is power!) and a pharmacy; services
include HIV testing and counseling, a TB clinic, general consultations, ante+post-natal
clinics and family planning, and child immunizations. I am the first intern who
has visited here – introduced as ‘Dr Joy’, as usual… There is always a queue
outside from 8am, but by 11 most people are at work so it is quiet. This
fortnight there is also a government
funded programme to give all children under the age of five Vitamin A (to
protect against ‘night blindness’); there is also a box placed outside the door
filled with small bags of maize and beans (‘together to fight
malnutrition’). The Dallas community is
a mixed population of local residents, plus some 20, 000 people living in the
slum (primarily a Muslim population) – lots of TB cases, also cholera and
typhoid due to the overcrowding.
I sit in with the HIV counselor Joyce
(she swears I am 16) who explains the tests to me – there are 2 (instead of the
original 3 which created a ‘tie-breaker’ situation), same day antibody tests. It’s
a 15 minute wait for the strip card to register, a bit like a pregnancy test –
scary. There is a government campaign to encourage people to ‘know their
status’ (‘Gjue hali yako ya HIV’) so testing is very important. The risk of MCT
(‘mother-to-child-transmission) when exclusively breastfeeding is 60% (only 50%
if ARVs can be used); however today we see a positive mother with, her baby who
at 9 months is officially negative – what a relief! (Children testing positive
at 6 weeks are retested at 9 months in case of false positives due to the
mother’s conferred immunity). This centre advertises the importance of the strict
use of condoms and there are free dispensers around (they are empty, but a nice
thought!) – there are also free condoms supplied by the Japanese for several
support groups which meet here – including one for HIV positive patients, and a
commercial sex worker’s group. (Another statistic - 45% of women in Kenya are
pregnant or are already mothers by the age of 19!) Male circumcision is done
here (much safer than in the traditional ceremony which is done without pain
relief – boys usually spend the morning in the river to numb the pain…); and
interestingly this could be a moderately effective AIDs ‘vaccine’, reducing the
risk of transmission by over 60% , and allegedly
preventing over 3 million deaths in 20 years.
Today is the TB clinic, with
Dorothy the nurse. Each patient who comes has a named box of (free) drugs to
cover both the intensive and continuation phases of treatment. All patients are
followed up regularly, as this is a communicable disease (as in the UK). So
many people!
I visit the Dallas slum with
Regina who is one of 50 Community Health Workers trained by the clinic– each
are assigned a number of households within the slum - roles include the mobilization of patients
to attend clinic, taking HIV drugs and
food in for the sick, and addressing issues with sanitation etc. There are two
‘swamps’ within the slum (which seems endless) – these lie very close to the
houses which is a problem - (when water supplies dry up they are used as a
water source, which is obviously dangerous.) There are many people digging on
the roadside – they are laying pipes here to create access to clean water which
is great news (although it’s very muddy now -
‘sorry sorry’ – the Kenyan response for anything which goes wrong,
regardless of whether of not it is that person’s fault!). Sanitation is a
massive problem here, especially during the rainy season when the piles of
rubbish cannot be burnt (they are well grazed by cows and goats though).
I go back to visit the interns on
ward 10 – it’s still ‘peak’ pead season and very busy! A nutritionist friend explains
the new feeding programme for HIV-positive mothers - since a month ago, an NGO
organization has undertaken to provide funding to supply all the mothers here
with a 9 month supply of ‘AFASS’ Nestle milk (‘affordable, feasible,
acceptable, safe, sustainable ….’), a water filter and thermos flask to prepare
the solutions. (The milk comes in tins, each costs around 900ksh and will last
only for several days – so each mother will need about 80 tins (she should pay
for the last 3 months herself, until the baby is 1 year old)). This fulfils the
recommendation by the WHO, and so far has been extremely well received by the
mothers here as a replacement to exclusive breast feeding (which obviously
carries a risk of MCT). (A baby has just been born on 13 – Veronika the sister
comes to tell me that it has been called ‘Joy’!). Also visit the medical superintendent
Dr Muli to finish my placement - his secretary always seems to find me one big
joke which is becoming a bit disconcerting (doesn’t do much for one’s confidence
when ALWAYs being smirked at - it will be nice to go around unrecognized, I do
think…!)
I visit ‘St Monica’s Special School
for the Mentally Handicapped’. It is really a lovely school – very positive and
caring (despite the problems with national stigma – children with special needs
are sometimes hidden within the house for shame), and the children are encouraged
to be as independent as possible. There are 120 kids, aged from 4 to 30 years,
and most board full-time. I am shown the farm, the shamba, and the classrooms
for woodwork, jewellery and needlework too (I come away with an new apron!).
I am invited to Lillian’s house
for tea. She lives on the other side of Embu, near the Dallas community. There
is a small shamba at the bottom of the garden, with 2 goats, 5 rabbits &
chickens (and a new chick!). She is a great church-goer and the living room
walls are lined with bible verses and prayers. We have tea and bread and sweet
bananas and eggs. Erin her daughter is there (and brings her friends over too).
It is dark by the time we leave and walk back towards town – so many children
come to shake my hand, everyone is staring and laughing… Such a busy,
interesting place – all the streets are full of people, music playing, dancing,
many butchers and milk ‘bars’ (selling maziwa lala – ‘lala’ means the milk has ‘slept’…),
people selling chargrilled maize and tilapia (twisted up in newspaper with
salt). Back in town there has been an accident and no taxis are going –
Lillian’s ex-neighbour comes to take me home on the back of his bike – there is
a full moon and it’s a wicked ride!
Jenny from the kisok plaits my hair early before
church. I only want the front bit done, but this takes some explaining… I sit
outside her house – one room only but it’s separated by curtains; there are
lots of pictures of ballet dancers. Next door the neighbor is beating her child
with a large spoon, oh dear. It hurts, a lot!-my scalp has never had such an
attack…but cool to try (although it falls out by the end of the day – my hair
is just not the right consistency, as I am constantly reminded…)
I spend the afternoon at the
Rescue Centre. This week the schools go back (lots of singing when you walk
past! And counting – 1-10 is Moja mbili
tatu nne tano sita saba nane tisa
kumi), and so it is fee-nightmare when all the children
sponsored through the charity have to have the costs met and the term’s
shopping done. Today there is lots of
tell-tale left-over githeri – many of the usual customers have been chased home
this morning as they attended without the required sum. Intense scrabble match
(no threats from my side, though); there is one chess set too. I bump into Summi
in town (the son of Joy, the patient with a SSC of the cheek) – nice to see him,
but his mother is no better.
Sunday Black Cat home match
against Dallas team – we win 4-2, no worries (tricky playing conditions as the
pitch is pretty wet today, and there a big clumps of grass; still lots of them
play bare foot!). By great luck and a bit of insider knowledge I have managed
to acquire Embu’s very last ‘Harmabee Star’ (the Kenyan National Football team)
shirt – the kit factory has gone bust so it’s a big deal. Poa poa. (The
national motto is ‘Harambee’, which means ‘together’ - this is written on the
flag; which is black (for the people), red (for the blood spilt in the world
wars), green (for nature) and white (for peace); there is also a shield and
crossed spears to show power and defense. I go to football training (strictly on
best performance as under scrutiny of the boys plus the mass of spectators at
the stadium) – a long run which is fine, then a match – 3vs3. Not so skilful,
not gonna lie…
The guava
season is upon us. Officially mangos are over now, but small sweet ones can
still be brought in the market – about 10 for 25p (also yellow passion fruits, similar
to their brown cousin but much less crunchy)! Mama Whyela has taken it upon
herself to feed me – ‘you want to take githeri’ (a cup for 20 bob), baked sweet
potatoes (SO sweet!), hot chappatis and milk, uji... I have discovered African
honey, which is very dark and sweet, with a definite hint of BBQ flavor (and
can be eaten with avocados – wow).
We run out of gas; then the power
goes off. Somewhat limiting; plus I only have dried beans. One of the WORST
noises I know is the whine of an approaching mosquito, especially when you
can’t see it coming - yuck! In other news, I have been mistaking the local
chipmunks here for squirrels, which are much more interesting.
So…, my
time in Embu comes to an end. Mad! SO strange to be leaving, and not coming back. And
so many goodbyes!! :(
Saturday, 5 May 2012
It's a hard knock life
My first day of Obstetrics. Ward
round and checks for breech presentations etc - baby monitoring is done using a
fetoscope (a cone with an earpiece) – no fancy stuff here. Sometimes the
mothers don’t know their delivery date, so clinically estimating the
gestational age is important. An emergency admission with an impending uterine
rupture comes in for a C-section – these are all done by the interns (but not
me, hopefully!) There are also two mothers waiting to go into the labour room -
the contractions are pretty terrifying but there’s very little support or
sympathy which is hard to see. Mercy is 20 years old and this is her first
baby. The delivery room is a frightening place, with a frightening sister –
there are 4 beds (no sheets or nufin) and zero privacy, but thankfully today
she has the room to herself. Not a whiff of oxygen or encouragement (as
childbirth is considered a ‘natural’ pain), and the episiotomy is brutal (the
nurse assures me she feels nothing but I can’t quite believe that from the
noise she’s making) All pretty harrowing for her, and me. I get to deliver her
baby boy (3.5 kg) and cut the cord – all is well and we wrap him up in a kanga by
the heater, but poor Mercy still has to be sewn up…before being pointed to a
cold shower and a cup of uji. Tough old world. The second mother staggers in as
they are swilling the floor (and the token curtain) – think I’ve had enough for
one day and carry Mercy’s baby for her to the post-natal ward (much to
everyone’s amusement), as she has to carry all her belongings, bent half
double…there is a bed for her but it’s half occupied with another baby – a
shame as she can’t really sit down. TIA.
Braving the labour room again. There is a miserable girl who delivered
prematurely early this morning – her baby is now in the neonatal unit, but she
is still lying on the couch with a retained placenta. Sparing the details, the
removal is not pleasant, and requires the ingenious use of a third pair of
gloves fashioned into arm protectors. I am offered to learn how to suture (by
same frightening sister, she is called Veronika), but make my excuses… Also see
a few amniocentesis procedures – there are a finite number of clean gloves today,
for some reason, and also laboratory sample bottles, so the fluid is placed in
normal glass jars. Two more emergency C-sections which I scrub in for (we are
delayed as the theatre bed is broken, but a welder is summoned who zaps it up
pronto in the corridor) - this hospital still uses the midline sub-umbilical
incision (old-fashioned, even by Kenyan standards, but its consultant’s choice)
– quick and simple, at least! All a bit different to home where layers of
bright new surgical drapes cover the patient from head to toe – the scrubs are
stained and have holes in – they are bundled up with masking tape into the
sterile sets. Baby No.1 isn’t breathing but is resuscitated fine (he has a VERY
long head which explains the obstructed labour!). There are two power cuts
during the ops, but the generator kicks in fine. This procedure will leave the
mother with an impressively large scar – I wince as the stitches are covered
over with a few large bits of the usual plaster tape – will hurt to come off… I
visit ‘my’ mother and baby from Monday’s birth on ward 14 – she looks very well
and her baby boy is called ‘Mathugai’ – it’s
very nice to see them!
I visit the Embu-Mbeere hospice
with Judy (the palliative care nurse) – it’s about 10km from town, in the middle of
nowhere, and is still very much under construction - it should be a really impressive centre though
when it’s completed in 2014. There are currently very few hospices in Kenya
(all out-patient based, otherwise allegedly people would bring patients to the
door and leave them…), and as yet, no recognized paediatric programme at all.
Today the team goes through the new assessment form (detailed history including
tribe, chief, etc), and drink tea, tea, tea…! (Fast gossiping in Kiswahili –
the equivalent of ‘errmmm’ here is ‘nini’; I miss the rest of the conversation
though).
I arrange to visit the paediatric
occupation therapy department to see what’s occurring – lots of cases of
cerebral palsy (from birth trauma, ah yes) and also delayed milestones
secondary to rickets (again the reason for this strangely high prevalence in
the Central lands is unknown– a recent study by Kenyatta University suggests it
might have something to do with uncooked cereals in uji (most flours are a
mixture of grains, some even have powdered omena!- and the high levels of
phytates inhibit the absorption of calcium, even when the child is adequately
fed)). APDK – The Association for the Physically Disabled of Kenya are due to visit
here on the 31st May which is pretty exciting – a group of surgeons
will consult from very early ‘til late, assessing kids with cleft palates, club
feet, spina bifida etc and referring them to centers for corrective surgery.
Lots of swings and standing frames, and a small back area with a sink which
serves jointly as a rehab centre for ‘ADLs’ and as a DIY mould-making room.
Today is ‘Labour Day’, a public
holiday, and I go tilapia fishing with Nyambora and Ndwega in the lake behind
Isaaks- technically this is trespassing and we are guiltily crossing the banana
plantation when we are overtaken by a group of small boys who evidently have
the same plan for their day off. Lucky they are here as they catch our bait for
us - crickets (which are massive and rather off-putting; plus it is too hot to
be running around...). Incredible, the tilapia bite for them like nothing else!
- even in the shallows they nibble the line (despite the noise coming from the boys
next to us who are swimming with a mosquito net to catch the ‘fingerling’
babies) –annoyingly they are remarkably good at removing the poor insect and
spitting out the hook. I do catch one, though! -it is pink and silver…immediately
feel sorry for it and donate it to the boy’s collection (strung on a stick).
Would have been too small for fish marsala, anyway. The lake is beautiful, with
enormous red and blue dragonflies all about.
It is hard to be a chicken here.
There are so many shops advertising ‘day-old chicks’, which are raised to
become ‘broilers’ – boiled and deep-fried kuku, v popular. Lucky birds reaching
more senior stages are tied by their feet and carried about upside-down in
bunches, they are remarkably docile about it, no flapping. The streets of Embu
are wicked in the early evening – shoeshine huts, maize sellers grilling the
cobs in roadside pits, women shredding sukuma, smoky charcoal fires. There are
a few roadside ‘garden centres’ on the main road out of town where you can buy
anything – mango trees, cacti, and bizarre trees with spread-out layers of
leaves, like an inverse-Christmas tree. Massive sisal plants grow (I thought
they were aloe vera at first) which are made into rope. Shop names are hand-
painted and make me laugh – ‘nice and lovely’, ‘jolly precious fish + chips’,
‘victory snacks’, ‘lord’s super butchery’ (and ‘the roastful butchery’, too). An alternative medicine clinic: ‘we treat, God
cures’…
Lizard in the bath, slim and
brown, a friend of the gecko. Horribly wriggly to get out. Massive storms at
the moment, with lightening forks across the whole sky and TORRENTIAL rain –
this means the power sometimes stays off for almost 24 hours which is
frustrating! BUT after a heavy rain Mt Kenya can be seen incredibly clearly
from the hill, snow topped peaks and all.
I buy a fab wooden spoon (actually
it’s more like an oar, although not as big as Lillian’s which is the
next-oar-up) at the market for making my own ugali. Ugali is essentially a
large white polenta cake, but is surprisingly difficult to make properly – when
done you should be able to turn it out as one big mass, leaving a thick hard
crust on the pan which never comes off… Also barter hard for some small ebony
carved animals – exhausting - the seller is at pains to prove to me the
quality, ‘sister’ (real ebony secretes oil when you scratch it). Best purchase
though is my first ever cocoa pod! – green-brown and furry on the outside, and
rattles when you shake it. Inside is a sweet white pulp surrounding the cocoa
beans (this can be eaten, or fermented and used in uji) - separated by string
fibers into segments. (Chocolate though is a long way off – the beans have to
be sweated, fermented and dried for many days…ah well).
Fav foods at the moment: avocado
(which can be brought for 10 bob - about 7p - from Mama Whyela and are as big
as 4 normal ones – the trees are LADEN with them at the moment), mazala lala
(fermented milk), the oranges, and boiled arrowroot (or sweet potato, or left
over ugali, for that matter). I also cook Kunde – this the name of the dish and
also of the African black-eyed ‘cow peas’, which are stewed with onions and
tomatoes (the base of every recipe here!), peanut butter and sukuma.
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