Monday, November 19, 2007

We're back in New Jersey from Kenya today. We got back very late last night, around midnight. It was a long, long journey from Nairobi back to the United States. Our first leg to London was 8 hrs 45 minutes. Our flight from London to Kennedy airport was 6 hours and 57 minutes. It seemed like it took forever to get home, but thank God, we are back safely.

We had an excellent time during our last couple of days in Kenya. On Saturday, we traveled to the Great Rift Valley, known for its breathtaking views and rich, traditional Kenyan culture. Although the weather was not picture perfect (it was rainy, cold, and foggy), the ride to the vast land which produced Jomo Kenyatta (Kenya's first president) and Wangari Maathai (the first African woman and first environmentalist to win the Nobel Peace Prize) was scenic and amazing. This area of land is dominated by the largest tribe in Kenya, the Kikuyus, but is inhabited by many other tribes. Driving through the Central and West Province countryside, we saw a people and lifestyle you'd never see in the United States.

The Rift Valley is almost completely agrarian, and the land is very green and lush. The area is rural, with farmers and merchants living their daily lives. You see Kenyans, young and old, taking care of their land, digging, gardening, and herding sheep and cows. Young kids play in big, wide open fields. As you drive up to the highest points of the Rift Valley, you see men, women, and children on the side of the road, heading to various destinations – to small towns, the city of Nairobi, and other parts of the Rift Valley. Some are walking, some sit on two-wheeled carts pulled by donkeys, and others are waiting patiently for matatus (buses). Sheep and donkeys are anchored by rope tied around one leg as they graze on or near steep cliffs, their owners nearby, working. For the cattle who feed on grass and bushes on the very edges of sharp hills, I wonder how they manage without losing their balance and sliding down the jagged slopes.

Dark red soil, large plots of rich and fertile farm land, and beautiful, beautiful evergreen forests paint the landscape, filling your eyes. It's hard to capture all of this place in such a short time, and I know that pictures alone will never tell the whole story about life here. Vendors with makeshift shops line the side of the highway selling fruits, vegetables, meat, and sheep's skin. As you drive through this incredible terrain, you see large herds of cattle slowly traversing the large grassy plains off in the distance. Polycap, our driver, points out to us, amid the cattle, what Kenya and I cannot see on our own – the majestic Massai, wrapped in their traditional colorful garb, shepherding their animals with legendary Maasai sticks in hand. Noticing our amazement, he turns off of the highway to give us a closer glimpse at how the Massai people work and live. We drive deep into a Massai village, and meet three young Massai men. They come close to our van, smile and look at us as we smile and look back at them. We study each other, curiously. As I load a new roll of film, we get out of our van, Kenya first. We introduce ourselves to them, and shake their hands. They tell us their Christian names. They speak to us partly in English and partly in Swahilli to Polycap. Polycap translates, and tells us they say they've never seen black Americans, only white ones. We all laugh. The oldest one tells us he wants to come to the United States one day. We tell him we are so honored to be on his soil. Without asking, I snap the oldest Maasai's picture and he sharply asks, "who told you it's okay?" I apologize profusely and ask for his permission. He graciously allows me to take pictures of him and the younger boys, and then he suddenly darts off to manage his sheep. There are lots of sheep. There are also very small white tents where the young boys sleep at night. You cannot imagine a scene like this without seeing it firsthand.

After a short while, we get back into our van and head toward another village across bumpy dirt roads. You see dusty prickly cactii and men with huge bundles of firewood hung on their backs walking determinedly beneath huge swirls of dust. You see women with babies strapped to their backs, children walking at their side. A truck with produce and other cargo struggles to climb the sloping, difficult roadway. Polycap passes the truck on the right. The two drivers look at each other without saying a word.

Back on the highway, we pass through several villages, and small towns. The towns are built up and modern in comparison to the small Maasai village. They look like old southern U.S. towns, with shops, restaurants, and gas stations. It looks like what I dreamed the rural south to look like when, as a young boy, my father told me to close my eyes and imagine black people on both sides of southern highways, working the fields from sun up 'till sundown. I am overwhelmed. It feels like a journey back through time. The shops and businesses look aged, and are as basic as you can imagine. But the town has life. People gather, laugh, walk, talk, exchange goods, and sell things. This is life in the Rift Valley. It is indeed, the simple life. We take it all in. I take pictures whenever it doesn't seem intrusive or offensive.

It is still early in the day, and Polycap tells Kenya and I that we have time for a boat ride before lunch. He assures us that we will see lots of animals and birds we didn't see when we visited the Nairobi National Game Reserve on Wednesday. He stops the van at the mouth of Lake Naivasha, and we enter a small office with a man inside, sitting at a desk. The man tells us the price for the one hour boat safari is 8,000 shilling, but I tell him we are only willing to pay 6,000. We go back and forth, negotiating, but he agrees with my price, begrudgingly. After we pay, the rain begins to fall harder and harder and Kenya and I are not sure if we should get onto the boat or not. White tourists return from their boat tour, covering their heads in the rain. Polycap tells us that we will be fine with umbrellas and assures us that we will love the tour. Kenya and I talk about it for a minute and decide to go for it. The driver of the boat approaches us, hands us wide yellow umbrellas, orange life vests, and leads us to our boat. His name is Hassan and he is a nice, warm, richly dark-brown man. He is around 60 years old, but maybe younger. Before we get into the boat, he dries off the wet seats with a towel and helps us climb in. It is a small narrow vessel. I ask him how long he has been a driver, and he tells me 30 years. He starts the engine, and we ride on Lake Naivasha, in the rain. It is absolutely beautiful. Lake Naivasha is peaceful and serene. Colorful exotic birds flutter in and around the trees rooted in the shallow lake. Pelicans appear to stand on water, looking for food. Kenyan men slowly walk, looking downward, hunting for Talapia. Then, Kenya taps me excitedly and says, "look!!" I turn my head quickly and see Hippos, five of them – a family – lazily lounging in the water. They are clustered together. One is resting his big head on the back of another. I snap pictures as Hassan brings us as close as possible, without making them angry. We stop, float, and stare. Beautiful. Next we travel upstream and see a huge water Buck with her newborn following behind her. The infant Buck is shivering in the water and is on unsteady legs. Hassan tells us she was born earlier that morning, and by the end of the day, she will stand fully erect. The mother Buck looks at us, intently. I take photos, and we marvel at all of the beautiful animals seemingly living in perfect harmony.

Further up the lake we see more Hippos, this time on dry land. Tiny birds stand on the Hippos' backs, feeding on ticks and insects. The resting Hippos don't seem to mind at all. There is peace here. Everything – the plant life, the birds, the animals, and the Kenyan men hunting Talapia make this lake feel so tranquil. We are having such a nice encounter with nature.

After a while, Hassan takes us back to where we started, lodges the front of the boat into the soil, and helps us out. We walk and talk to Hassan, and he tells us he only does one, maybe two boat tours per day, depending on the season. He explains to us that his is a hard life, and says, "but what else am I going to do? I must work." I ask him what tribe he belongs to, and he tells me that he is a Maassai, but wears western clothes for the job. We ask him to tell us about Maasai life. He shares with us his life and the life of his ancestors. Kenya tells him she respects the fact that they have maintained their culture and way of life despite the fact that British colonialists tried to beat it out of them. He smiles. "But," he tells us, "Maasai life is not all good." He says he wants his children to get an education, and to embrace modern ways. He says the old ways are very important, but not the only way.

Polycap takes pictures of me, Hassan, and Kenya. We tell him how much we appreciate his tour and his beautiful spirit. He tells us that it is an honor to meet black people from America. He seems so sincere, so heartfelt. We feel the same way and hate that we have to leave so soon.

The End.

More reflections about our trip to Kenya to come.