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Landrover
Marsabit->Isiolo roadWe leave early the following morning, the hotel security guard clearly sniffing around for an unwarranted "tip". It's more than a thousand metres above sea level here, and I have to wear my fleece until the sun rises, at which point the temperature rockets and I'm soon sweating. The road is possibly even worse than before. Patrik has seemed an independent, self-sufficient, type, and has said that this trans-Africa crossing has been a dream of his for a while, but I decide to offer to share the driving just for manners' sake. I'm surprised when he immediately accepts. I haven't done much driving for years, and certainly not in a Landrover locked in 4WD on a bumpy, skiddy surface, which becomes apparent just seconds into my stint when an overenthusiastic burst of acceleration sends us slewing laterally across the road. Patrik hides his alarm behind a commendably restrained "Whoa!"
Despite this early sign that I could potentially do great harm to his car, just minutes later I see in the rear view mirror that he has dozed off in the back seat. It doesn't take me long to realise why. The driving conditions are intense, with an enormous amount of
Landscape
Marsabit->Isiolo road energy - both physical and mental - being needed to keep up an average speed of just 30km/h. I'm now even more impressed/appalled at how the locals can be zooming along at the speeds that they are. Patrik has warned that I should avoiding stalling, as the engine will refuse to start again if it's hot. Plus there's something wrong with third gear that means it threatens to stall at speeds where second gear is racing, so the lesser of two evils is to trundle along to the sound of over-revving, gulping fuel even faster than this fixed-4WD would anyway. I find this situation stressful, and am glad when a police roadblock appears in the distance and Patrik agrees that he should get back behind the wheel just in case there are any documentation checks.
This is the region of the Sambura tribe, all dressed in traditional clothing and jewellery. They carry spears and look like warriors. Far away from any tourist show, this is the reality of an African tribal life little changed by modernity.
We stop a couple of times for cold drinks, and immediately the Landrover is surrounded. It's already been clear that more people
speak good English here than in Ethiopia, but disappointingly we are still regarded just as sources of money. The children approach with hands outstretched, the adults either with items to sell or a request for us to give them "souvenirs".
Unfortunately, on one particularly bumpy stretch of road, the engine cuts out and refuses to start again. Patrik says we will have to wait for it to cool down. He decides he will investigate just why the starter is behaving like this and also why third gear has been so problematic. I know as much about car engines as I do about Bulgarian throat singing, so I wander impotently in the surrounding scrub while he tinkers under the bonnet. The six months' worth of Saturdays that he has spent in his mechanic friend's garage turn out to be a sound investment, as he spots - and fixes - a problem with the distributor cap. The engine produces a healthy roar at the first time of asking, and third gear now behaves correctly. The GPS shows that we are making forward progress again. The vehicles passing in the opposite direction seem to have a remarkable number of foreigners in them,
Landrover
Marsabit->Isiolo road but we don't know why.
We average just under 28km/h for the entire haul to Isiolo, and it is a blessed relief to get there in daylight, with the last couple of kilometres being on tarmac. This is where we part company, as Patrik's girlfriend has texted him to say she is now in Eldoret with friends, which is far west of Isiolo and he wants to make a small dent in that distance before nightfall. First he tries to get fuel but both filling stations in the centre of town have run out - he says that only 1 in 5 of Ethiopian garages ever had any fuel, so this is not an unfamiliar situation for him. There seem to be too many people in Isiolo, and too many of them are taking an interest in the car. I feel exposed as I put on my backpack and say my goodbyes to Patrik, with a background of people trying to sell me swords or find me a taxi or find me a hotel. Though it has taken longer to get to Isiolo than if I'd gone by truck, I've no doubt that it was infinitely more comfortable and
Landscape
Marsabit->Isiolo road it's been enlightening to discuss the countries that we've both travelled through this year. A cold beer together would have been a fitting finale but not this time.
I see one of the hotels recommended in the WLP and figure it will be simplest to just take a room there rather than plod around with my attachment of unwanted helpers. I buy a ticket to Nairobi for the following morning - the bus has allocated seating, which bodes well - then pick up a few snacks. I see no other whities. The room is stuffy and hot but I shower then lie on the bed, looking forward to finally making it to Nairobi.
Dull but possibly useful info i. I stayed at the Jamhuri Guesthouse, paying KSh300 for a room with two single beds and shared bathroom. It was rather stuffy but bearable for one night.
ii. It's probably best to buy your bus ticket to Nairobi in advance.
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