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Published: June 16th 2009
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in the matatu
At the matatu station. You can see the back end of another matatu through the window. Not a very good shot but I did not feel like popping out and taking a picture of the scene. Too many odd looks to contend with. Despite several tear-streaming coughing fits due to major dryness from my sore throat, my airplane journeys went just fine. By the time I finally landed in Nairobi, my sore throat had devolved into a head cold, but my bag arrived in time and my pre-arranged taxi driver was there to meet me. So I really can’t complain. Especially since, on the way to the Mennonite Guest House, I not only arranged with the driver, Patrick, to drop me off at the “bus” station the next day but also to help me arrange a ride with the right matatu (vans seating anywhere from seven to ten people that are invariably weathered inside and out by constant use and abuse). After artlessly confessing that I was doing this traveling by myself for the first time, I felt relieved to hear Patrick immediately say he would “take care of me.” (Note: This was not my genius idea. Truman, my advisor, had been the one to suggest getting the same taxi driver to help me out with matatus.)
We pulled up to the gates of the Mennonite Guest House and I was instantly bewildered. Turns out that though I have heard my labmates and
beat-up matatu and boot
Need to patch those boots...The matatu is beyond repair I'm afraid. Truman speak of this place multiple times, this was NOT the place I had stayed at before two years ago. It was not a problem since my name was on the guard’s list and I was definitely in the right spot, but it was jarring to have my vivid mental image of my hotel room, the lobby, etc. decidedly not match up to reality. That threw me for a loop for a while and then, traveling alone lost what little glamour it had ever held for me. I so wanted someone to talk to and laugh about this mistake with. Instead I just felt very solitary and isolated. But I showered, wrote in my journal and put myself to bed.
The next morning I remembered Nairobi. The traffic jams, the cars so close together that side mirrors are in constant danger, suits crossing the street along with ratty brown sweaters, women in suit-jacket tops and tubular calf-length skirts, jagged broken concrete, dirt sidewalks, adverts everywhere, store names painted directly onto the walls in simple, capital block letters. Patrick drove me to where the matatus waited to be filled. There is no schedule for the “buses;” they leave when they
Nairobi
The outskirts of Nairobi. Doesn't catch the whole wild mess of the heart of the city. fill up. That means that the drivers and their helpers are constantly hawking and trying to convince you that their matutu is the best and will get you there the fastest. Which to me is actually NOT a selling point. I have no need for speed on Kenyan roads. I think the only time that Kenyans like to move fast is when they’re behind the wheel.
On the way to Nanyuki, the landscape slowly changes from sparsely planted maize fields in the midst of lush palm-fronded plants, splashes of fuchsia bougainvillea, and tall, slender trees to the highlands with goat and cattle herders moving their animals across flattish acacia savannahs. There’s almost constant sign of human habitation along the roads with rickety wooden stands selling piles of mangoes, store fronts sporting flowery Coca Cola ads, and narrow dirt paths leading off to small sustenance farms.
My labmate Corinna met me at the Boulangerie in Nanyuki, a restaurant I remember fondly because of its cool, shaded interior and excellent fries. I smiled to myself when I sat down because all of the customers at that time all had blonde hair (the first I’d seen that day) and spoke various
farmland
On the drive to Nanyuki, south of Mt. Kenya. Lush vegetation constantly dotted with small farms growing mostly maize. shades of English. Definitely a place that caters to a specific clientele.
I first
knew I was in Africa when an antelope passed in front of the taxi on the journey between the airport and my Nairobi hotel. My second moment of “yep, I’m here again” was when I had to make a sudden, undignified scramble for a bathroom in Nanyuki because my stomach was acting up. I’m crossing my fingers and hoping that was just Kenya giving me a hearty, teasing hello and not Kenya constantly reminding me that I am on a totally different continent as it did two years ago for six weeks.
Now I’m at Mpala again and it’s been amazing how many things I remember about the place and the people. I’m remembering Swahili words and phrases without hesitation and I actually remember people’s names which is a rare occurrence with me. And what’s more is people, both researchers and staff, recognize and remember me! And I was here for just six weeks two years ago. I can’t say I’ve slipped back into the groove of things but I definitely do not feel lost as I did when I first came, oh so
Coke ad
The Coke ads in Kenya are like none I've seen before with the brilliantly colored flowers and birds spraying out over the billboards. I think they're gorgeous actually. :) long ago. AND on my first night here I got to go on a game drive and saw an aardwolf! Never seen one before. A very auspicious start methinks.
Sightings
(These are all the Kenyan animal sightings, not just the ones that are new to me this time around. I want to give y'all a flavor of what's out here!)
Plains zebra
Grant's gazelle
Thompson's gazelle (aka Tommy's)
Giraffe
Elephant
Oryx
Hartebeest
Hippo
Lesser kudu
(The following I've seen only at night)
Waterbuck
Bushbaby
Aardwolf
baby hippo out of water
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