The African Soul of Kenya. A Travel Journal

Welcome to Africa!

I ended up walking down a long, dusty road passing several Coke Cola outlets at the side of the road. Then a bakkie (van) stopped along side of me and a white Kenyan said “Fancy coming to the races”. Well, I could either walk down this probable road to nowhere or have drinks and fun at the races. So I hopped into the back of the bakkie, I know, never jump into a stranger’s car but I did and had a gut feeling to trust them.

It wasn’t Ascot or the Melbourne Cup but it held its own prestige. I soon became to learn the lifestyles and social circles of the ex-pat community and the white Kenyans. I thoroughly enjoyed my unexpected day and after my few small bets, it was time to return to my budget lifestyle. The locals who had picked me up were continuing to get very drunk, so my friend and I eventually found which bus we should get back to the hostel. We made it!

Having launched myself off the top bunk, I decided that today was the day to move on. One week in Nairobi was enough; it was a city after all. I started chatting to a Canadian girl at breakfast and she wanted to travel north that day to Nakuru, so I asked if I could go with. Cup of tea, piece of toast, make a friend and travel on, normally how it works! We went to the main bus station in the city and after queuing for ages we managed to purchase our tickets.

Then came the big wait! Waiting for transport to depart in Africa, I soon realised, was a whole different ball game. Buses do not move unless they are packed, but if you manage to get a seat you certainly do not want to move, otherwise it will be taken within seconds, and the prospect of standing for 5 hours next to chickens or on top of a maize sack was not appealing. At times like these you also wish your rucksack would just disappear, giving you that extra leg room.

I spent most of the journey chatting to a young boy who was travelling back home to see his family. Then the question was asked, “Here is my address will you write to me?” Little did I know that I would be asked this question many more times throughout my African journey. My standard answer in the end was that I had no permanent address in England, this seemed to satisfy them.

Having said goodbye to the young boy, I sat for the rest of the journey looking at the beautiful scenery and wondering when we would arrive at our destination. As the day went on, it got hotter and hotter and sticking your head out the window was to no avail, dust and warm air. There are of course no road signs, the locals just know by various landmarks when it is their stop, a small bush or a rock.

So to the Canadian girl and I had no chance of knowing where we were supposed to disembark, so we tried to communicate to the driver that we needed to be dropped off at this lodge. He nodded and continued driving.

Two hours later we stopped in the middle of nowhere and he turned round and pointed to us to get off. We dubiously said thank you, dragged our bags off and stood at the side of the road. It was hot; we were hungry and couldn’t see a lodge for miles. Great! Then we hear the patter of tiny feet behind us and turn around to see some children running towards us. They grabbed our hands and lead us down the road. Then the lodge appeared, nestled behind some trees with a river nearby.

I’ve never been so glad to see something in all my life. We thanked the children, unfortunately we had no pens or sweets to give them but they seemed content at just being able to help us, I am sure we were not the first and certainly won’t be the last.

The lodge was basic but perfect for two or three nights. We were greeted by the owners and settled in to our room/barn that we shared with two Danish people. Evening came and dinner was served, rice and beans and a luke warm beer. Everyone went to bed very early, well, there isn’t much to do at night and no electricity but the two Danish people and I stayed up chatting and swapping travelling stories. As soon as we got the typical questions out the way, “How long have you been travelling?” “Where are you going?” etc, then it was fine.

One thing travellers like to say is that they have been travelling for a long time and to pass on their knowledge to the novice traveller. After much spraying of “Doom” and slapping of the legs it was time to crawl under the mosquito net and go to sleep.

The next day I went for a walk with a young boy from the lodge. We travelled up hill, down dale and across bush, by this time I had gained a few more blisters and was wondering how long this walk was going to be. To the young boy it was just another day and a few more miles, they after all walk this every day just to get wood and water. He was laughing at me, smiled and said that we were nearly home.

I saw a river at the bottom of the hill and raced towards it, happy to see water so I could cool down; walking in the midday sun wasn’t such a great idea. As I looked up I saw a herd of cows coming towards me, so I sat on a little island in the river and waited for them to pass, they were in a better condition than I had expected.