There and Back Again

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Where to begin… The last two days have been pretty exciting as we have traveled through some quickly descending terrain in vehicles ill suited for the task. We started the days with cool showers and damp towels, cool and damp resonating with the atmosphere here in winterish Kenya. We are generally getting up early (not necessarily brightly) at 6am trying, mostly in vain, to get some hot water for showers. Priscilla and I have gotten the short end of the stick on that front, but as we are going to leave Brakenhurst tomorrow, we finally figured out that we need to have the hot water heater turned on to get such a circumstance. Breakfast is served at 7am, generally consisting of cereals, fresh fruit, a hot food (pancakes were very good) and lots of very strong instant coffee.

We generally were off to our various destinations by 9am or so, usually in busses that hold around 21 people, with three in the jump seats. One of the cousin’s Sarah had to sit in the jump seats traveling to and from Elsamere, around two hours over violent, bumpy terrain. Not that the people themselves were violent, but the roads, if you could call them such, were bad enough at one point that we had to literally crawl in first gear for several miles until we had enough black top not to rattle our kidneys into oblivion. Amazingly enough we made our destination, Elsamere conservatory, the former home of Joy Adamson and George Adamson, pioneers in the study of Lion and large prey cat behavior. Absolutely stunning in the breaking sunshine, consequently the first sun we had seen since London, the grounds crawled with brightly colored birds of large and small size, some with beaks much like Toucans in the Amazon. The highlight of the trip there was the waterside views across Lake Naivasha, supposedly home to Hippos, though we didn’t see any. At lunch the Colobus monkeys came down from their high perches to show off for the tourists, flashing their rambunctious attitudes and fine black and white fur. There was a bin of potatoes set out to coax them out of hiding, but they were after the attention and food the Westerners could provide despite the rampant signs declaring otherwise. Elsamere was more than worth the sore back I suffered to travel there and back, and I highly suggest to anyone even remotely considering a journey to Kenya to make a special point to stop here.

From Elsamere we were off to the RVA, Rift Valley Academy, where Phyllis’ Aunt Mary and Oma went to school. This was actually the sight of Oma’s birth, and she is one of the only students to have actually undertaken and completed all of her pre-collegic schooling. As she completed her studies while Kenya was still under British rule, her stories of hiking the hills and encountering the wilds of a land that to her has changed immeasurably over the past sixty some years were not only entertaining, but educational and rather fascinating. The night before, Allan and Christine made their way to the school while Priscilla, Phyllis, and myself all stayed behind to catch up on some sleep. On their return trip, Allan’s bus broke down so he and a couple of other gentlemen had to push the bus up the very steep and pothole ridden road until they could use the completely worn out clutch on the main highway. Needless to say, on our return trip we made sure we were among the first in line to the busses so we could have the pick of the litter. We did make it home safely and without event that night.

The school itself is set back against the peaks of the Rift River Valley in central-eastern Kenya, a beautiful backdrop to not only find one’s self, but to discover the lessons a life of adventure could provide for a fortified life in the future. The first night was simply a meet and greet, but the second night there were special services that were lined up especially for alumni, specifically organized by class. We stayed for dinner and then had one of the craziest drives ever on the way back after dark. These incredibly narrow roads provide for many heart stopping passes and blind curve tomfoolery, and as the RVA is a Christian private school, I couldn’t help but think that there were higher powers watching over our little caravan that night. In the morning, we went back for Sunday services, also geared toward the alumni, who told stories, sang hymns and generally reminisced about the past. Truly entertaining stuff as they had plenty of tales of stealing butter for food, duping their classmates into acts of stupidity and praise for the school that showed them so much of themselves at such a young age. Rather inspiring. Afterward we all went on a walking tour of the grounds including the hospital, gravesite of Oma and Mary’s grandmother and brother, the bible school, the library, the gym (which was frickin huge!!!), with just enough time to watch some of the younger alumni practice soccer with the current students for the match on Monday.

The trip back was phenomenal. We drove the old road that the elder alumni remembered hiking as pupils, overlooking grand vistas of the Rift River Valley at nearly every turn. The magnificence of the place that is constructed by tectonic activity was not lost on any of us as we snapped pictures quickly and often. Even shrouded in mist and unusual gloom the valley was a monolithic landmark to the grace and majesty that we had longed to see from Africa.

As of now, we are off to watch the finale of the World Cup, so go France! Hope every one is great… we certainly are here!

SG

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