The South Rift Valley, Bomet, Narok, Masai Mara, more.. and Naivasha (4)

The sun rising from behind the hill in the distance still shrouded in grey in the dull light of the dawn was the view that greeted me early the following morning when I partly pulled open the curtains of the window in the room at the guest house. Peter's slow, long steady breaths from under the covers in his bed in this double room we had shared indicated that he was still fast asleep, curled up in the foetal position. Neither of us had had much sleep the night before - there had been so many things to say to each other, to do together; so many things to laugh at and be joyful about; things to express sadness about, that the entire night had been barely enough to get through all of it. So not wanting to disturb him, I pulled the curtains close and stepped out on to the balcony gently shutting the door behind me.

Birdsong together with the fresh still cool highland morning air came as an absolute delight, highlighting for me why the early morning is my favourite time of day. From my vantage point on the upper floor of the building we were in, the views were stunning. I caught a glimpse of the Nyangores River glistening in the early morning light tumbling across the rocky terrain as it made its way towards the Mara River, of which the Nyangores is a tributary. The Mara is the major river in the region hence the famous Masai Mara Reserve. I had read somewhere that "mara" is the Maasai word for "spotted" or "mottled", a reference to the patchy covering of trees and shrubs that cover the landscape.

I was in the Rift Valley and Peter was only a few feet away. The feeling was one of sheer contentment and I couldn't help thinking how far away from the frustrations of job searching in London all of this seemed. If heaven exists, I thought, it must feel something like this. It was a moment in time that will remain with me for a long time.

Breakfast at the guest house was full-English. Toast, bacon, sausage, eggs, baked beans, cereal, coffee, tea, the works. It was the second time I was seated across a table from Peter over a meal, but this time, unlike the excited chatter over our late lunch the previous afternoon, we sat and ate in silent contemplation, staring at each other as we did so.

Perhaps he too was like me, marvelling at just how fortunate we were to be physically present with each other on this day, given that our association had begun when we were each located on different continents, separated by seas and deserts, by forests and mountains and plains, and by thousands and thousands of miles.

The journey from Bomet to Kaboson was done by each of us riding pillion on two separate motorcycle taxis known locally as boda boda, my rucksack strapped to Peter's back as we rode along. The riders manoeuvred the motorbikes down this unsurfaced road that meandered through brushland, farmland, villages composed of traditional homesteads made up of those uniquely beautiful Kalenjin huts, more brushland, up and down and around hills, with a hint of the odour of dung always faintly present in the background. And then there were the cattle, everywhere. Cattle, I was told are a very important aspect of the lives of the Kalenjin people, the native people of this place. Every man, including Peter, owns cattle.

As we climbed off the motorbikes upon our arrival at the family homestead there was a sense of homecoming that I found hard to explain, even though I was quite certain that no person born in Nigeria, as I was, had ever set foot in this place in Kenya that I was arriving at for the first time. The surroundings were unfamiliar, the language was one I did not know, but I felt at home nonetheless. Perhaps it was because I had been born and raised in Africa myself, (even if not in a rural setting such as this), but I was easily able to identify with everything I saw. Things were unfamiliar, but they were not strange. I must admit also that the fact that it was Peter's home made it that much easier.

As is typical anywhere in Africa I was warmly greeted  by those whom we met. I was welcomed and treated with the great respect that is customarilly accorded to visiting strangers. I too am African and the showing of respect and consideration for others, which is customary, came naturally to me also. I was pleased to see that all those decades of living in Europe had not robbed me of nor eroded that respectful nature intrinsic to all who have been raised in an African setting. True, I did not know their language, but they themselves were aware of this, acknowledged it, and spoke only in English whenever they spoke to me or addressed me.

It was easy to fall into the welcoming embrace of these gentle people and enjoy their warm hospitality. I felt almost as if I was one of them, a new member of their family.

We were in one of the several scattered homesteads that surround the small town of Kaboson. We had driven straight to the homestead so I had not seen Kaboson itself. Tomorrow, Peter said, he would show me around his farm (he insisted on calling it a shamba) and we would go and see Kaboson. And of course the Masai Mara  too. The evening  meal was ugali and vegetables with roasted goat meat.

Peter and I settled in for the evening, his room illuminated by the solar powered lamp standing on a small table in the corner. Outside, the evening air had become quite cool, but in here it was warm. And it was very cosy. And it was peaceful. And then we slept. And in this room I felt truly at home.

To be continued 

Tea crop

Nyangores River

Kalenjin hut

Author's note: Although some of the photos in this section are not mine, they are in fact a true depiction of the scenes that I have attempted to describe and are indeed photos of the very same places that I was describing. I experienced some difficulty in keeping my phone/camera well charged while I was in that area, and was unable to take as many photos of my own as I would have wished to. My sincere apologies to those whose photos these are. I did not know how to go about seeking permission to use the photos. But I've only used them to help tell my story.

The South Rift Valley, Bomet, Narok, Masai Mara, more.. and Naivasha (3)

An hour after leaving Narok we descended a hillside as the road wound its way steeply down into a broad valley. Down below in the valley ahead of us was the sprawl that was Bomet. I knew this because a few minutes previously, the young man seated next to me had in response to my query informed me that we didn't have much further to go. Approaching Bomet, we pulled up at a police checkpoint where a stern faced policeman clutching his rifle, paced down the side of the vehicle peering through the windows, strangely staring down towards the feet of the passengers, probably searching with his eyes for some contraband that may be concealed beneath a seat. But this didn't interest me as much as the conversation that was taking place up front between the driver, still seated in his cab, and a policewoman, who, also armed, had sidled up to him. I observed the driver hand to her for inspection a small bundle of documents, which I presumed to contain his driving licence and other official documents for this commercial vehicle.

The policewoman shuffled through the documents, seeming to closely scrutinise one or two of the papers. Then a currency note suddenly slipped out from the bundle and dropped to the ground. It was clear that the driver had placed some money among the documents to be discreetly extracted by whomever it was who was police officer who asked to inspect them. This policewoman seeing that her treasure had dropped, moved her foot gently to step on the currency note, moving her leg as little as possible. A fairly strong breeze was blowing so I understood why she would have been determined to keep the money firmly pinned down with her foot until we had driven off. Seeing this, I chuckled involuntarily, and I saw that some of the other passengers too had noticed what had happened, given that the man seated behind me had gone very quiet. He had since the commencement of this journey been talking ceaselessly into his phone, but now with stretched neck, he too was silently watching through his window to see what this policewoman would do next. 

And then, as if to get us out of the way, the policewoman quickly handed the papers back to the driver, and with a wave of her hand signalled that we were free to go.

So we drove on further into this valley, surrounded on all sides by hills splendidly covered with neat farm terraces that made for some spectacularly beautiful scenery. I was somewhat annoyed that by this time the battery power on my Blackberry, which had so far doubled faithfully as a camera, was so low that recording these lovely scenes in pictures was no longer possible.

Shortly afterwards, finally, we entered into the quaint little town of Bomet, the capital and largest town of Bomet County. This seemed a smaller town than Narok, but it exuded an aura that accords with its importance as an administrative capital. Just a few hundred metres down the one main road in the town and the bus turned left into the crowded bus station. We had arrived at last, this was where I would be getting off the bus before it continued on its journey to Litein and then onwards to Kericho. And Peter would be here somewhere close by, awaiting my arrival.

Except that he wasn't.

It was only after a nervous 30 minute wait seated on a bench outside a cobbler's stall by the dusty roadside that I spotted Peter in the distance approaching. He had seen me before I saw him, I could tell this from his intent stare in my direction. The battery on my phone was now completely flat, and it had been impossible for me to inform him of my arrival, and of my location. In truth he had arrived at the bus station even before I did, but he had been waiting at the opposite end of the bus station from the end at which I was seated. He had been waiting at the exit, while I was seated by the entrance, across the bus station from where he was.

We were meeting for the first time, but it felt more like meeting a long-lost old friend. The handshake was firm, the smiles were warm, the glint in the eyes was exciting and told of many exciting experiences ahead to be shared. But first things first.

I had omitted to make a certain payment at the hotel in Nairobi before I left, and had received notification of this by text message during the journey. I was to make this payment by M-Pesa, the mobile-phone based money transfer service pioneered in Kenya with which I was unfamiliar. It fell to Bernard to put me through my paces, so the first thing we did together was to cross the road and enter into the Bomet branch of the Agricultural Finance Corporation, the government credit institution in Kenya that provides credit solely for the purpose of developing agriculture. They are also a M-Pesa agent. Having successfully carried out the transfer, there was the opportunity for me to have what turned out to be a very informative chat with the official who had attended to me. In our conversation he gave me some real insights into the work that they do financing local small-scale farmers. It was a predominantly agricultural community, he explained, and I left  his office with a greater understanding of the agricultural scenes that I had observed on my journey here.

When this was all sorted out it remained for us to find a place to retire for the remainder of the day. The plan was for us to spend the next several hours in town here.  Tomorrow, we would relocate to his home in a small community off the main road about  43 kilometres from Bomet, close to the Masai Mara Nature Reserve. So we checked into a guest house in town that Peter had recced beforehand, but found to my mild annoyance that on arriving at the room we had been allocated, the cleaning lady was still in the process of completing her task. Proceedings, therefore, were to be postponed until later, so we put down my rucksack and set out to find lunch.

Saruni Camp Masai Mara

(To be continued)

The South Rift Valley, Bomet, Narok, Masai Mara, more.. and Naivasha (2)

As I said before, the most striking thing about the countryside in this part of Kenya is the prevalence of agriculture activity, presumably because of the rich volcanic soils. The scenes that I encountered were reminiscent of sights that I had previously seen only in England, farm after farm, after farm, with human dwellings dotted here and there; although in Kenya, unlike in Europe, these dwellings were not just the single farmhouse with the odd barn or two. Here the dwellings were more of a small cluster of several homes perched on the edge of a vast expanse of communal farmland; fields that were covered with this season's maize and wheat crop and with evidence of the employment of agricultural machinery at some point in the recent past.

These clusters of homes were scattered right across the countryside as far as the eye could see all along the entire route, save for the occasional stretch of acacia brushland, or rocky terrain, where it was evident that farming was not viable. But even on that land that was not cultivated one saw large herds of cattle and goats herded by Masai herdsmen and boys, often in traditional Masai attire, the animals sometimes gathering at waterholes to drink. And all of this was presented to my eyes through the window of the bus and from the fairly busy highway on which we were travelling. I found it quite magical.

There was also to be seen the occasional European-style farmstead, but these were far outnumbered by those farms that clearly were owned and run by the indigenous people.

The land was not flat, this was after all the Rift Valley. It undulated significantly, seemingly endlessly, with large hills and massive rock outcrops. And the farms extended up the sides of the hills too, because the farmers use the terracing technique as well; neat orderly terraces, which, all put together, made for a scenic beauty that was hard not to gasp in astonishment over.

A few hours of this and then we reached the outskirts of the town of Narok, a mostly Masai town that is a major staging point for trips to the famous Masai Mara National Reserve and the Ngorongoro Crater which is across the border in neighbouring Tanzania. Narok, with a population (I later learned) of about 40,000, is not a big town in the sense that I am accustomed being a large city dweller myself for all of my life. But it is a lively town. And busy. There was a lot going on, commerce, trade, wheeling and dealing, money to be made from the eager, naive tourist aplenty. I liked it, this was my kind of place, but alas I would not be staying here for anything more than a brief rest-stop. I was after all on a journey of a different sort, a journey to Bomet to meet with Peter.

Narok

Part (3) coming up soon. 

The South Rift Valley, Bomet, Narok, Masai Mara, more.. and Naivasha (1)

When I departed Kenya that night in October 2013 after an eventful four-week holiday, (during which, among other things, the Westgate shopping mall terrorist tragedy happened, and only a few hundred metres from the location in Westlands, Nairobi that I had been visiting on the morning of the incident), I had no inkling that in a matter of months I would be back in this lively city. Yet here I was in the third week of April 2014, in Nairobi, lying in the same bed, in the same room, at the same hotel that I had stayed on my last visit. 

The wonderful staff at the hotel seemed pleased to have me back as a guest. They even joked that they had reserved this very room specially for me, knowing that I would turn up again soon. And while it was nice to receive such a welcome and be treated as some kind of special customer, my stay at the hotel would be for just a few hours, because this time I had arrived in Kenya with a decidedly and altogether more intrepid mindset.

The journey to Nairobi had itself not been without its difficulties, what with a sleepless twelve-hour layover at Amsterdam's Schiphol airport. But I thought of this only as a minor discomfort, for in my mind I was undertaking a voyage of discovery. The hope was that an annoyance such as this would be more than made up for in the end.

The trip was paid for with the few pennies I had been putting aside. I had left my last job a few months before, currently had no income, and had been busy for weeks searching furiously for a replacement employment. My bank account wasn't exactly bulging, but I managed to convince myself that notwithstanding, this short break would be well worth it even if the only way to justify it was to see it as a break from the stresses and frustrations of job searching.

I set out on the journey full of yearning and a desire for something different; in need of a diversion; something to take me and my mind to places we had never been. It had to be Kenya - there was a nagging feeling that I had previously only had a glimpse of the place; a nagging feeling that there was unfinished business that needed to be seen to; a feeling that translated into something like a magnetic attraction towards the place. So there was considerable anticipation and expectation. Nairobi, clearly, would not on this occasion be enough. I wanted more.

So the next morning after the night of my arrival in Nairobi, leaving my heavy travel bag behind for safekeeping in the back office of the hotel's reception, and armed with only a rucksack, I set out of town on a bus from the bus station at Mfangano Street, headed towards the town of Kericho, in the area known at the South Rift Valley. I had taken a ten-day break from my routine in London and this was one break I was determined to wring every drop of excitement and education out of.

My plan was to hop off the bus at Bomet, the county headquarters of Bomet County, meet up with my online friend Peter in town and then later make my way with him to his home on his farm, or "shamba". Shamba is the word for 'farm' in the Swahili language. And this is exactly what happened.

Meeting Peter in person for the first time was good, but spending quality time alone with him thereafter was much, much better. Instinctively, almost telepathically, each of us seemed to know what the other was thinking, and then we would exchange a knowing look. And I suspect too that his thoughts towards me were similar. But, erm, I digress.

The aim here is to attempt to discuss, as closely as I can, the way that I spent those ten days. So let me step backwards in time a little bit and describe my impressions and observations of that bus trip from Nairobi to the South Rift Valley. 

As soon as the bus turned left off the A104, a road that runs northeastwards from Nairobi via Naivasha, the first striking observation was of the preponderance of agriculture activity wherever I looked or turned. A few kilometres beyond Maai Mahiu the town located at the junction where the bus turned off the A104, we came upon what I considered must be the Rift Valley itself. It revealed itself to me as a very steep precipice immediately to the left of the road that we were driving on, a precipice that was little too close to the tyres of the bus, (I thought to myself) and there was no protective barrier. It seemed almost as if the road had been constructed on top of a cliff and on the cliff's very edge. The cliff itself sloped downwards sharply, almost vertically for hundreds of metres at least. And while I do not consider myself to suffer from an irrational fear of heights, I'm not a mountaineer either. Neither am I a bird. 

On the other side of the road to the right, another cliff, but this one rising vertically upwards such that the road appeared to have been constructed at the cliff's bottom or base. The road was clearly on the side of a mountain, winding its way around the mountain's side in sharp, tight bends and turns, the driver of the bus being careful to avoid oncoming traffic. I was later to learn that this geographical physical feature is known as The Escarpment. 

I soon noticed that I was the only person on the bus who appeared to be nervous. The others seemed calm, nonplussed, those who weren't dozing happily were biting into their sugar cane or chewing on their roasted maize purchased from vendors who, when the bus stopped briefly at Maai Mahiu, had thrust their hands through the open windows holding cobs of maize and sticks of sugar cane.

And the bus continued on its way down this road located at the top of one cliff and at the bottom of another cliff on the opposite side of the road. But soon enough we descended from this mountainside on to a vast dry dusty plain that looked distinctly more arid than any other landscapes I had seen thus far on this bus trip, with dust-devils blowing everywhere. The dust-devils were even visible in the distance.. as far as the eye could see.

It was cultural heaven.

Add caption

Author's Note: I'm working on the second instalment. Hope to get it done soon..  :)

When we legalise discrimination..

When a law such as the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Law recently passed in Nigeria is met with the kind of widespread support within Nigeria that we have seen, we know for sure that Nigeria is in deep, deep trouble. This is a country now firmly on it's slide down the slippery slope of repression and discrimination against a segment of its own citizens. 

As a diversionary tactic, this law has been an unmitigated success so far. It has diverted the minds of long-suffering Nigerians from the real issues; the poor quality of life for its citizens which the country's successive governments have made sure to maintain for decades, the lack of security, the lack of basic services and amenities that are taken for granted by the populations of most of the other top-50 largest economies of the world, of which Nigeria is one. (Nigeria is the country with the 37th largest GDP in the world, according to the United Nations, The World Bank, the IMF and the CIA Fact Book, all authoritative sources.) It is also the only country, which, although clearly regarded as a wealthy country, has nearly 85 percent of its population living on less than $2 per day and classed as a Low Human Development country in the UNDP's Human Development Index, lower even than the Republic of Congo and Tanzania. (See the 2013 HDI Report here). 

Respecting the law is not what Nigerians are known for, (it would be hard to disagree with me on this). The presumption, therefore, that this law is likely to be badly abused is not unfounded. If anything, this is a highly likely outcome, and more so given that the law's application extends to non-homosexuals who are alleged to be associated with suspected homosexual persons. I foresee widespread abuse. I predict situations where scores are settled between adversaries with allegations relating to homosexuality being wildly slung about and the myriad consequences of such, of the sort that we cannot now even begin to imagine. In short, this is a very bad law. It is a law that allows for Nigerians to be arrested on the streets on the mere suspicion that they may have homosexual associations. I personally, feel nothing but shame at this point in time, for I am connected with a country that promotes and upholds such hate, ignorance, intolerance, bigotry and prejudice. 

I will conclude with this very apt posting by someone on Facebook:

"For 50 years, Nigeria has been undermined by violence and rampant graft. Their solution? Bash harmless gay people.
Barely a day after they started their anti-gay witch hunt, Boko Haram launches a major bomb attack. Glad the Nigerian regime is focusing on the real danger, the gays!" - Brian Farenell

I came across the following in today's Premium Times, a progressive Nigerian publication. 

"We, the undersigned, wish to ally ourselves with these voices of reason. We unreservedly condemn the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Law and urge civil society and human rights groups to start a campaign that we hope will soon result in its abolition.
We also urge the eminent personages across the world who have condemned the so-called law to go beyond diplomatic gestures and put pressures on the Nigerian government wherever they can. Specifically, the United States and the United Kingdom should, forthwith, impose diplomatic sanctions (e.g., denial of visas) on all Nigerian functionaries, including journalists, the clergy, and policymakers associated with the passing of the law.
There are many reasons why every right-thinking person should oppose this law.
First, it is based on a spurious, uninformed and one-dimensional reading of ‘African culture.’ Second, it criminalizes a section of Nigerians for nothing other than their natural sexual inclination.Third, it ignores the fruits of many decades of scientific research which proves decisively that homosexuality is as natural as heterosexuality. Fourth, the law threatens to reverse the gains made by programs aimed at fighting the HIV-AIDS epidemic in the country.Fifth, it is absurd in terms of the jail time it stipulates for those who associate with LGBT people. Sixth, it casts Nigeria in a bad light for no good reason, putting it in the vulgar company of other countries where homosexuality is criminalized.Seventh, it gives law enforcement agents an open check to go after innocent Nigerians in the name of upholding the law. Finally, the law impinges on Nigerians’ freedom of speech and association, and expressly violates the rights of minorities in a free and democratic society.
It is not the business of any state, let alone the Nigerian state, to interpose itself in the private affairs of two consenting adults. Any human act or practice that does not infringe on the freedom of others cannot and should not be criminalized. Homosexuality does not harm us as a society and people. It is the hypocrisy, venality, and corruption that pervade our society that are the source of our problems.
Signed:
Ebenezer Obadare, Lawrence, Kansas, USA; Akin Adesokan, Bloomington, Indiana, USA; Wale Adebanwi, Davis, California, USA; Lola Shoneyin, Abeokuta, Nigeria; Jude Dibia, Lagos, Nigeria; Jeremy Weate, Abuja, Nigeria; Chido Onumah, Abuja, Nigeria; Amatoritsero Ede, Ottawa, Canada; Mojubaolu Olufunke Okome, Brooklyn, New York, USA; Olufemi Taiwo, Ithaca, New York, USA; Tejumola Olaniyan, Madison, Wisconsin, USA; Ike Anya, London, UK; Kunle Ajibade, Lagos, Nigeria,; Moradewun Adejunmobi, California, USA; Sean Jacobs, Brooklyn, York, USA; Adeleke Adeeko, Ilorin, Nigeria; Olakunle George, Providence, Rhode Island, USA; Wendy Willems, London, UK; Ikhide R. Ikheloa, Maryland, USA; Rudolf Okonkwo, New York, USA; Jide Wintoki, Lawrence, Kansas, USA"