Every East Africa tour book I’ve seen has a variation of this line from Rough Guide: “A safari is of course de rigueur, whether it’s a shared minibus, a self-drive adventure, or being pampered in luxurious wildlife lodges.” Although ‘safari’ is simply Swahili for ‘journey,’ what the travel specialists mean is an excursion into the wilds to see wild animals. But, guess what, Julia, Danielle and I journeyed across Kenya and through a part of Tanzania without that kind of safari.
We skipped a safari-safari mainly because my companions had been traveling throughout Southern Africa for three months (plus their two years in Namibia) and had already seen as much wildlife as they cared to see, especially since national park entrance fees are quite high and you can’t do even a barebones, low-budget ‘safari’ for less than about $150 a day. We were all interested in stretching our travel dollars as far as possible, and I consoled myself that both the Serengeti and Masai Mara are near enough to Uganda that I can probably have another chance at that experience. (And, who knows, maybe I’ll win the lottery and be able to see the Big 5 and the wildebeest migration from a hot air balloon!)
From Mombasa we took a bus to Nairobi. We skimmed the edge of Tsavo National Park and with eyes peeled I spotted two zebras and a couple of primates. All the other wildlife I thought I was seeing turned out to be cows or goats! Panoramic views were very Kenya-esque, flat with sparse vegetation, an occasional acacia tree. Looking toward Tanzania, I could imagine it was Kilimanjaro I was viewing right across the border but I suspect it was some other look-alike peak.
Arriving late afternoon, we were welcomed to Nairobi by one of the notorious traffic snarls that plague the East African cities I’ve seen so far. Creeping our way from the outskirts of town to the bus depot took an hour and a half. So, there we were in a bad section of Nai-robbery at almost dark, thinking of all the horror stories we had heard about the dangers. Caution kept us from trusting any of the alleged taxi-drivers who rushed, competitively grabbing at our bags. When we phoned the guest house where we were planning to stay to confirm their address and ask advice, they offered to send a trusted taxi for us. Taking a real taxi was a rare treat for us, accustomed as we were to either walking or taking shared mini-van “taxis” that travel a set route. We sat on our luggage on a street corner, ate freshly-roasted ears of maize from a street vendor, and waited until the driver arrived.
From the safer suburban setting of our guest house we planned our one day in Nairobi. We managed to fit in quite a lot. A city bus (with a sign inside reading “No Smoking, No Preaching) took us to central Nairobi where we found a mini-van that could drop us off somewhere “not too far” from our first destination, the elephant orphanage. The “not too far” turned into quite a long walk and we barely arrived in time for the one-hour-only daily feeding and viewing of their thirty or so rescued elephants. Most were orphaned at the hands of ivory poachers or fell victim to man-made dangers such as wells or pipes in which they had become trapped. The survival rate is disturbingly low, even with the expertise and care of the animal trust organization. It has been operating for almost 30 years and has successfully raised more than 80 elephants, about half of which have been returned to the wild. The process is complicated, as emotional needs as well as physical needs must be met if the elephant is to develop in such a way that it will be accepted by a wild herd. Infant elephants cannot be weaned until about two years of age, so special formula is imported from Europe and the babies are fed from three-liter baby bottles, as often as they ‘demand’ it. They also sleep with their human caretakers because they need that kind of closeness; however they rotate the keepers so the baby elephants do not get overly-attached to only one substitute parent during their five-year infancy. I found it all fascinating; maybe you would like to read more or “adopt” a baby elephant as a sponsor. http://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/html/raiseorphan.htm
The giraffe sanctuary was our next stop – after another long walk during which we snacked on some unknown but delicious tropical fruit picked from bushes along our path – my best guess was loquats, but loquats are not native to East Africa. This educational facility charged a hefty entry fee and relied on a series of wall exhibits to teach school kids and other visitors a few facts about these awkwardly-elegant, long-limbed, long-necked creatures and about wildlife conservation. The highlight was getting to feed a giraffe out of our hands (we were on a platform to get us up to treetop height), and then getting a big smooch by holding food pellets between our teeth. I must tell my human friends that my giraffe friend’s tongue was very rough!
The animal sanctuaries as well as our next destination, the Karen Blixen home and museum, were in the luxurious suburb named in her honor. Another bus ride (and another long walk) took us through Karen, past many beautiful estates with colorfully lush gardens and eventually got us to the former coffee plantation and home of the “Out of Africa” author. As a fan of the book and movie, nostalgia overtook me upon seeing the house where the exterior movie scenes were shot, especially its old-fashioned front porch where Meryl Streep as Karen danced with that handsome rogue lover played by Robert Redford to the scratchy strains of “Let the Rest of the World Go By” coming from that old, cranked phonograph he had just brought to her. Remember?
Nairobi has an impressive city center. Broad boulevards, lots of green foliage and bright flowers, and modern skyscrapers – it’s unfortunate that its reputation for high crime is enough to keep many potential visitors from going, or from enjoying their stay. We kept our visit short, partly because of the safety issue; we didn’t want to be added to the statistics. By the next day we were heading west toward Uganda, this time crammed into a matatu with about 15 other people; it was a 12-seater mini-van.
It took the better part of the day to reach Naivasha, the end of the line for that matatu, and to find another one going from town past Carmelly’s Campground on Lake Naivasha. It was a beautiful place – I must say probably the most spacious, quiet campground I had ever seen – with huge trees and green lawns leading down to the edge of the lake. We were not there for the lake as much as for nearby Hell’s Gate National Park where we spent the next day. Anne and Geoff, a delightful older British couple touring Africa in their Land Rover, gave us a lift to the park, so that this time the walking could be done inside the park rather than getting to it. Being allowed to safely walk or bicycle through this park is one thing that makes it unique; it felt natural to see giraffes and zebras strolling around without the separation of being in a vehicle.
Hell’s Gate is named, partially, for the deep gorge created there millions of years ago when Mother Nature shook up Africa from Ethiopia to Mozambique, leaving The Rift Valley. We hired a guide (as you’re not allowed to go without one) and went for the three-hour hike through the Lower Gorge. It involved more climbing than I would have thought I could do, up steep, slippery cliffs with barely a foothold, but with the expertise and hand of the guide and a bunch of hands at the bottom to catch me if I slipped, all was well. (In fact, I took pride in finding it easier to do than Anne did, and she’s younger than I.)
To end the day, I left Julia and Danielle to explore Hell’s Gate further on foot and on bicycle while I rode with Anne and Geoff past several geothermal power plants that are also part of the park and another reason for the name Hell’s Gate. Impressive clouds of hot, smoky steam were rising into the blue sky while the plants piped usable power into town. We were headed for afternoon tea at the Elsamere museum and guest house. Maybe a few readers are old enough to recall Joy Adamson and her fame as the “Born Free” lady. This had been her home, overlooking the lake; we found the spread of high tea goodies very satisfying after a day of climbing, and the memorabilia in the museum interesting as well as a showing of an old, streaky documentary about her work as an animal protector and how she raised Elsa, a lion cub orphaned at three days old, and gradually returned her to the wild after two years.
We were back on a bus the next day, still heading west. Before we even left the Naivasha station, I was entertained by the marching band that took up a position in the bus parking lot. The marchers were clad in white uniforms, playing drums and singing, and I concluded they were a Kenyan-style Salvation Army troupe, ready to preach the gospel right there in the bus park.
As soon as the bus pulled away, a smartly-suited man stood up in the aisle and for a half hour or so he lectured to the passengers in a tribal language. I thought at first he was preaching, but then decided he must be a politician or activist trying to rouse them to a cause. Nope, must be an educator – maybe warning about HIV/AIDS. Eventually, he pulled some pill bottles out of a pocket and I realized he was indeed talking about health. Finally, I decided he wasn’t really trying to sell the products as much as getting people into a multilevel sales down-line. Only a guess, but I have heard that multilevel business is big in East Africa. I guess I’ll never know the real story.
At the first stop, Nakuru, vendors piled onto the already crowded bus. Usually, they have to stand outside the bus and try to sell passengers food, drink, and sundries through the windows. But this was a virtual made-in-China department store and local market all in one. I could have purchased any of the following … to name a few options that were paraded up and down the narrow aisles: peanuts, cookies, cakes, bread rolls, flashlights, shoes, jewelry, yogurt, soda, water toys, cell phones –real and toy, wallets, sunglasses, regular glasses, miniature lanterns, batteries, watches, hairbrushes, a Swahili dictionary, booklets in English (I was their main target for this one), Obama pens and pencils, handbags, and – back to food again – crispy Samosas. I wondered if the bus company gets a commission or if they thought of this as a customer service.
The scenery was diverse and kept me from falling asleep. Rolling hills and distant mountains gave way to grazing land (savannah?) dotted by acacia trees, and then rich farm land interspersed with new forest growth (reportedly only 1.7 percent of Kenya’s native forest remains, but there are numerous reforestation projects). Nearing the town of Kericho, my eyes were delighted by the chartreuse green of the tidy and orderly-looking tea plantations. We then wound around and climbed to reach the town of Kakamega; from there we traveled by matatu over bumpy, dusty roads to our destination – KEEP Retreat, a part of the Kakamega Environmental Education Program run by local people in the Isecheno community. Our thatch-roof banda was charming, the setting in a forest clearing quite picturesque and calm, and the electricity non-existent. But there were toilets and showers not too far away. KEEP provided us with lanterns and we were tired enough to fall asleep rather early.
Walking at the edge of the forest surrounding the bandas in the early morning, I was as delighted as a child to spot something black and white and black and white moving in the trees. Swinging around up there in the canopy were families of black and white thumbless Colobus monkeys -- and we would see more of them before the day was over. I must admit, though, that never were we close enough for me to confirm that they were thumbless; the guide book gave me that fact. They were cute, though!
Kakamega forest reserve is said to be Kenya’s only surviving virgin rainforest. We engaged a guide and went out on what was supposed to be a five-hour hike but turned out to be six (possibly because I walked pretty slowly for the last hour). We walked through dense areas with strangler figs as well as some sections that had been replanted 20 years ago and some areas from which inhabitants had been forced to move to allow the government to reclaim and protect the forest. We ate a picnic lunch on the banks of a river and then began the climb back uphill toward our camp. In one stretch guava trees were growing wild, remnants of a guava plantation that had existed there.
Lots of colorful primates were spotted. Along with more black and white Colobus, we saw blue monkeys, and red-tailed monkeys. It was a peaceful, though tiring walk. Thankfully there were no steep hills to climb on this segment.
I opted out of the planned sunrise climb to a high viewing point the next morning, but alas it was cloudy and misty so Danielle and Julia missed it also. We were not far from the Ugandan border so a few hours later we were crossing at Buscia and spending our last Kenyan shillings on fruit for the rest of the trip to Jinja on the Nile.
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