Finally we are in Kenya. We have been looking forward to our safari ('journey' in Swahili) for weeks now- to not have to worry about details, kick back and watch the animals go by.

We are stuck for some time at the immigration desk. We have to pay $50 USD each to visit for ten days, a new- and unexpected- rule. A German man is yelling and throwing things (much to the amusement of the lineups); each reacts differently to surprises. Despite the unexpected pocket-emptying, the immigration officers are quite kind and do their work quickly. A Japanese man in my lineup grumbles that he has to pay $20 USD for 2 days in transit, not even his choice. You know it's bad when a Japanese person is complaining.

We meet our host and another man from the company, who have come to meet us at the airport. It's nice to have someone waiting for us; this time we don't have to pretend. In the car we realize that we haven't met our host, but the driver and the cook. That means we'll have three staff with us- with that kind of ratio we've gotta get good service!

Everything we heard about Nairobi (basically, petty theft is a full-time occupation for many) is reinforced by our hosts' actions. The driver guards the car while it is parked, and we don't go anywhere without the cook, especially when visiting a bank machine, which is completely out of the question at night. Might as well stab yourself and hand your money to those around you. The police here are more of a hinderance and you're almost guaranteed to end up giving them money too. Kenya's tourism industry is hurting because of all the chaos and corruption.

Nairobi has 1,500,000 people, lots of burned or trashed storefronts and broken glass. We are taken to the tour company's main office, where we meet our host, who doesn't smile. He's just finished another safari, and will be doing ours back to back, he explains. We talk finances, he wants more than we had talked about due to the specialized nature of our trip (he's going to try to hook us up with a Maasai wedding ceremony), or we could cut out one day, and leave the trip the same price.

We have decided to pay the extra money and stay for the full 10 days.

Our first day began with a drive out of town to a viewpoint of the Great Rift Valley. On the way we were shown the birthplace of our host, as well as the area that the movie, Out of Africa, was filmed. In less than an hour, we have travelled through 3 provinces. We got out of the van to have a look and take a photo of the great valley. When we turned to get back in the van, all 3 staff had disappeared. A salesperson from one of the tourist shops took advantage of the moment and invited us into his store. After a polite look around, we waited outside. They reappeared and without a word and got into the van.

In the late afternoon, we found our campsite just outside of Masai Mara National Reserve grounds. We went out for a drink at the local Maasai watering hole, a small wooden structure with metal bars protecting the counter and liquor bottles. Some of the villagers, tall, striking-looking men, swathed in red cloth with shaved heads and lots of beads, came out to meet us. Almost all of them were brandishing "clobbering sticks" (as Geoff likes to call them), all, of course, for sale. Almost all of them also had huge holes in their earlobes from years of ear pieces bigger than the year before. One man's were so large he could fit film canisters inside them. When we expressed interest in his jewellery, he popped the canister into his hand, took off the lid and offered us the contents- snuff. The ones who were jewellery-less simply looped their long lobes over the top of their ears so they wouldn't flap annoyingly in the wind.

Dinner was excellent, thanks to our talented cook. Our host told us to be ready for a 9:00am departure for our safari tomorrow morning. I suggested a dawn start since that's when the animals are most active, but the suggestion is declined. We made a compromise instead: 7:30.

From my sleeping bag I heard 2 of them leaving in the van. I was woken around 2am when they returned, drunk and loud. A new light was shed on their reluctance for an early departure.

The next day was fantastic, having spotted lions lazing in the sun, elephants grazing in the distance, Thompson's gazelles, ostrich, buffalo and a spotted hyena (rare).

Today we leave the reserve, drive into a Maasai village, and wait until our host has finished negotiating with the leader. In the meantime, children, young and old, stare at us patiently while we wait in the car and try to entertain

them. In Thailand, it was considered very rude to touch childrens' heads, but here children approach us with their heads lowered for us to touch, as a sign of respect. Our host returns and says that we can go out on a walking safari to see the animals up close but we have to pay a large amount of Shillings. He says he has bargained hard for us, though, and the price we have to pay is one third of the original bill.

Because we saw no animals yesterday, we are going on another walking safari today. We set off, already in the middle of nowhere, until we can see only land and sky around us. To be raised in this kind of place, to know direction where we can see none, amazes me. We are headed towards a Maasai village where a wedding is being held.

There are all kinds of animals on the horizon; zebras, ostrich, wildebeest, a lion's den, gazelle, vultures, hawks, eagles. We walk for a few hours, and then suddenly a small cluster of houses appears. The Junior Elder slows down and requests money from us, again, even though our host told us there would be no charge. Again. Since it is a once-in-a-lifetime-type situation, we give in after some bargaining. We ask our host if there will be any other unexpected costs on our trip. He says no.

We are introduced to the family amidst their hundreds of goats. Two younger men, one the groom, are wearing elaborate skin robes with silver beadwork and have red ochre and animal fat in their hair. We are invited to have some tea in their home, a small clay building a hundred meters away. Crouching to get into the low doorway, our lungs are immediately stung by the smoke and our eyes blind from going into absolute darkness after big sun. A hand leads us to sit on the edge of a bed. When our eyes become more accustomed, we can see the outline of the voice we have been talking to. We sip our tea, and ask when the wedding will begin. The silhouette says, "the wedding was yesterday."

Our host is outside, trying to light a cigarette he made in desperation out of borrowed tobacco and a receipt from Ethiopia I found in my pocket. He has no luck lighting it and seems grumpy as he tells us he'll talk to the Junior Elder. His attempt failed, we leave, the Junior Elder eventually following some distance behind.

After the long walk, we sit down back at our campsite. "He doesn't want to pay your money back," our host says. "He wants to keep at least some of it for our use of the campsite." We tell him that it's not our problem, and our host tells us that he will pay our money back.

We arrive at Lake Naivasha in the morning and after lunch waste no time renting some bikes and getting away on our own for a while. It feels amazing to be in control of our own destiny again. It's funny how much I'm learning about guiding from being on the other side. We've been warned to not venture further than the Kongoni police outpost and not to trespass as there have been some muggings. We assure everyone that we won't stray.

The views of Hippo Point are stunning as we ride and the road is dusted with black volcanic glass. We pass Elsamere, the home of the late Joy Adamson whose work with lions was the subject of the film Born Free.

I crane my neck to see over the roadside hills for wild animals. We round a corner and find 3 giraffe grazing the treetops beside the road. We stop our bikes and watch in awe as one eats a few metres from us. I feel like I could stay here and watch them all day.

Eventually they wander off and we resume our ride. After a few kilometres we come to the police check point. The road turns into sand and there's a row of shanties selling Fanta and chewing gum. We see busses gearing up to tackle the sand with people hanging off every available handhold. We ask a road guard about getting to the lakeside and he points us to a place just a few hundred metres past the check point. We sit by the lake for a while listening to the echoing hippo grunts and watching pelicans in the distance.

On the ride back my rear tire loses the faith and goes flat. Right at that moment an old security guard pedals up on his way to work with a pump in hand. The newly inflated tire gets me within a kilometres walk before giving out again. We make it back just before sunset.

We head to the campground next door which at the moment is packed with British soldiers, here on training. They're in Kenya's bad books at the moment because they've left some live shells kicking around after their war games. Farmers have been plowing them up and losing limbs. The campground's more permanent wildlife is a group of hippos that feed on the shore. Away from the main lodge and seperated from the camp sites by a low electric fence is a small section of wet grassy shoreline. Two hippos are crunching away on the grass when we get there. As we stand listening to the soft tearing and munching, I'm amazed at how small their legs are. They look like overgrown, top-heavy water pigs. After a while we thank the hippos and say goodnight.


May 7, 2001, Lake Nakuru

Again this morning we could have left earlier to catch more wildlife. Kiran and I are kicking ourselves for not pushing harder for our own schedule. Nakuru is a beautiful park and we keep our eyes peeled. We are not disappointed. We get to within a couple of metres of lion, zebra, giraffe, rhino and endless gazelles, buffalo and birds. This day has blown both our minds.

Kenya's natural beauty is trying to teach me about relationships but I'm not sure how to take it. Everywhere I see males fighting for mating rights and guarding their harems. The male weaver bird builds dozens of nests until a female likes one and decides to move in. Everytime I see a tree covered in the little straw-ball nests I'm grateful that Kiran isn't so demanding.

So here we are in a dusty little place at 11:00 in the morning. A young guy comes around and talks to our host, and then introduces himself as a guide, who will take us on a sunset tour around the lake to watch the hippos and crocodiles. It seems too good to be true. "What's our program for today?" I ask our host. Surprise! Nothing. Another 'free day'. I'm getting tired of the hassles, lack of planning and unwelcome surprises. Kenya has so much to offer but what could be amazing is squashed constantly by the disinterested approach of our lazy-ass host.

We meet a friendly local at a restaurant and go for a walk along the lakeshore. We meet again after dinner at a bar which plays his Lucky Dube cassette. Our host walks in and sits at the bar. He leaves some time later with a woman who makes money from bar visitors.

We had hoped for a sunrise boat ride over to the island. Even with our late start we manage to see hippo, crocodile and the African fish eagle. On the way our boat driver stops to buy fish from a man paddling a balsam boat. The fisherman propels his feather-light canoe by small paddle blades on his hands.

It has become obvious that our host has stretched a six day safari into a ten day one. He has nothing planned for us to do once we reach the island. We decide to go on a hike with the cook, the only personable person with us. While our host sleeps and complains of mosquito blisters on his feet, the cook and a local Njemp boy take us over the hills to see some sulphur springs. The Njemps who inhabit this island are related to the Maasai but are shunned because of their fishing lifestyle. They seem happy to remain shunned on their idyllic island.

So we have another day of flamingos, another lake and another day that's finished at lunchtime. We did get to see some geysers, though, which our host suggested we jump in if we wanted a shower.

We get back to our campsite and meet some other travellers- a Dutch and German who are on a Europe to South Africa bike tour, and an American who has just spent time on a kibbutz and is on his way to Ethiopia. After some refreshing cold drinks and conversation, we go to our tent, happy that tomorrow begins the next chapter of our journey.

The next day...

On the way to the airport we pass matatus (minibus taxis), each suitably named: "Cracked Memories", "Lost Boys", "Mistaken", "Survivor". One is crammed so full that there are faces and arms smushed against the windows from the inside, and nine people hanging out of the door and holding onto the outside.

I will never forget Kenya but hope to soon forget the disappointing tour. If you're planning to go on a Kenyan safari, contact us to find out which company you should not go with.