Kenya : nature & nightlife
I owe Kenya a lot of great memories. I spent 4 months there between 1995 and 1996 backpacking throughout the country and exploring the urban nightlife. Nairobi held me enthralled for about 2 months while I spent the other two bumping around through other parts: west to Naivasha, Nakuru, Kitale, Kapenguria, the Cherangani Hills, and the Kakamega Forest; east to Mombasa & Malindi; and north to Isolo, Marsabit, and Moyale. Besides the traveling and the boogying, I read dozens of Kenyan novels while there, placing myself in the context of many of the stories. It was great to reinforce my experience with local literature, as it opened up my imagination to so much more than I could see personally. Some of the best times of my life were spent in Kenya.
Cherangani Hills - birdwatcher's paradise
Gotta be honest: I don't give a damn about safaris or The Big 5. I did my "obligatory safari" in Zimbabwe at Hwange National Park in '94. Good times, but not my cup of tea. However, I do appreciate nature and animals, so whenever there was an opportunity to see something different in Africa, I took it. (In Rwanda, I hiked into the mountains to the see the gorillas. In Madagascar, I saw lemurs while canoeing down the Tsiribihina River. In South Africa, I saw whales and penguins in Cape Town's False Bay. You get my drift.) But in Kenya, I decided to skip the lions and elephants and focus on the birds of the Rift Valley.
Indeed, the Cherangani Hills of western Kenya are special. These are the beautiful high-altitude rolling Rift Valley hills that produce the country's top long-distance runners. It is a very poor region but boasts some of the most spectacular views. It's also famed for its pleasant ornithological opportunities. I went there twice on week-long backpacking excursions. I didn't know anything about birds, but it was fun to spy on them while trekking from village to village.
Of course, the camera I had was too crappy to get decent bird shots, but at least I got some of the area. The main thing to notice is how lush and hilly it is. No wonder everyone there is thin and fit! I lost a ton of weight climbing those hills.
The excursions commenced at a small lodge in the hills. From there, a small group of us set off with a local guide who took us up and down the mountains, village-hopping through the glades and thickets. He knew his birds, so was able to spot them for us by sight and sound. He also introduced us to numerous families along the way who were hospitable and curious.
NOTE: One of the interesting things I noticed was that many of the older folks had big ornaments pierced just beneath their bottom lip. And when they spoke, I noticed that their two middle-bottom teeth were missing as well. I found out that this was an old practice to deal with lock-jaw. If a person got lock-jaw, then family members could still feed the person by removing the ornament from the lip and funneling liquids straight through the piercing, through the opening in the bottom teeth, and directly to the mouth. Totally ingenious! So practical, and yet beautiful.
Kakamega Forest - last little patch of rainforest
The Kakamega Forest is apparently the last patch of rainforest left in Kenya. Once a densely forested region, it has been cut back as human settlement expanded. When I visited Kakamega, it too was under threat because poor locals often went into the ancient forest to cut firewood.
But it's a beautiful reserve. It had its own weather system, raining almost every afternoon and evening, even if it was dry elsewhere. I went hiking with other backpackers deep into the forest to look at old trees, odd creatures, and interesting plant species. It was lush and gorgeous. I only spent 3 days there, but it was a lovely place to retreat into one's self.
The Nairobi & Mombasa Night Life - brrrrrring it on!
In Nairobi I stayed at the New Kenya Lodge Annex. Just off infamous River Road—a street lamented in many a novel—the Annex is the sister of the more famous backpacker haunt, the New Kenya Lodge, but cheaper. The Annex seemed to double as a brothel because a number of sex workers lived there, often with a brood of children. This caused for some rather loud nights. The cardboard-panel partitions that separated the rooms (ringed by chicken-wire along the ceiling) did nothing to dampen the raucous flesh-capades that went on at all hours.
In Nairobi, I got into something of a routine. Woke up late everyday. Walked around to different places in town, checking out the sites. It's a cool vibey downtown, so walking around is great. I hung out at the the university, chatting with students and profs about local literature. I'd bum around Eastleigh for Ethiopian food, or to arrange transport with the Borana truckers who go to Ethiopia. I'd raid all the bookshops, buying up all the Kenyan lit. Or I'd chill at friends' places, people I usually met at the nightclubs.
In the afternoons, I'd read local novels at the Thorn Tree Restaurant while eating a chicken-mayo croissant. (Nothing says "vagabond rebel stud" like a chicken-mayo croissant.) A wonderful musician, John C. Ojwang, would perform for the crowd, playing a string instrument with his fingers and toes while singing in a guttural voice. So evocative - I loved it. Then I'd treat myself to a movie at the local cinema (action, kung fu, spy rubbish) and enjoy a few more hours reading at the Trattoria Restaurant. After that, I was all business: I'd head straight to the Florida 2000 Disco and dance like a fiend from 10pm until 6am. Best time ever!
I loved the Florida 2000 Disco (as well as the New Florida Disco in Mombasa) because all types of people went there. Unlike in western cities, where each nightclub is defined by a particular audience or music (hip-hop, techno, country, R&B, gay, etc.), everyone went to the Florida clubs. There wasn't really a choice. So you had students, tourists, backpackers, local couples, prostitutes, gays, dirty old men, pervs, you name it. A vibey cosmopolitan mix.
FUNNY ENOUGH, even in that mixed up atmosphere, I became something of a character. Not only did I go there every night to boogie, but I brought a book along as well. People couldn't believe it! So every night at 1am, when the DJ played sock-hop music, I'd get my book from the DJ (along with a pen so I could make notes in it) and retreat to the snack-bar to read for an hour. I'd eat some samoosas, drink a Coke, read my book, then go back to dance at 2am. The prostitutes at the club thought I was a freak. One asked me straight, "What the fuck are you doing?!" Then she walked away before I could utter my feeble response. (Oh the tragedy of being misunderstood. Why, God, whyyyyyy?!)
The Nocturne - a naive boy meets some very experienced girls
Because I went the club every night and was a friendly sort, I befriended a bunch of the regulars. Some Somali, Ethiopian, and local prostitutes were intrigued by my presence, so they chatted with me when they were bored.
OK WAIT - I gotta be candid: I was a little naive at the time. (A little? Yah right!) Even though these girls were sidling up to different men every night, it took me a long time to catch on that they were pros. Perhaps it was because I grew up in a lily-white middle-class neighborhood going to church on Sundays, or because I had only seen prostitution on TV before, not in person. I don't know. All I can say is that I never automatically assumed these girls were pros. I thought "bar fly" before I thought "whore."
But since I got to know some of the girls personally—hearing their sad tales of escape from Somalia and Ethiopia, watching them care for their kids, listening to them pray before eating—I don't think I wanted to deal with the reality that they were sex workers. I wouldn't have known how to reconcile it with my feelings for them as friends. But they never treated me like a client anyway. And I looked at them as youngsters like me, out for some giggles. So we developed a camaraderie of sorts, one that I later understood as being based on a mutual silence. They never spoke about their work and I never asked. It was peculiar, but perhaps necessary, given my immaturity. (As my travels continued, I wised up a bit. But only long after the trip did I realize how desperate the circumstances were of many of the people I met in Africa. It's been humbling to reflect on that over the years.)
So my cultural exposure was admittedly limited in Nairobi and Mombasa. Heck, I didn't even bother with places like museums. They didn't attract me. But I did meet a lot of interesting folks in and out of the nightclubs, people from all over East Africa. AND C'MON DEAR READER, I was only 22 & 23 years old! My Africa trip couldn't be all about culture and wildlife, could it? It had to express my youthful freedom too, right? (Remember your twenties? I'm sure you were crazier than I was!) So, without a doubt, dancing at the Florida 2000 was way more important to me in those days than getting dusty on a safari. More fun too.
Departures - hell-trips through the desert to Ethiopia
I went in and out of Kenya a few times. But twice I made my way up to Ethiopia from Nairobi. And both times I went by road. TOTALLY STUPID!
In those days, there was no proper road from Nairobi to Ethiopia because the route went through the Chalbi Desert, an arid inhospitable lunar landscape fit for only the hardiest of nomads. But twice a week or so, a pride of Borana truckers would take a cargo convoy from Eastleigh (Nairobi) up to Isolo, then to Marsabit, then finally to Moyale, the border town. It was a 3-day trip in rugged conditions: hot, bright, dusty, bumpy and dangerous. We even had soldiers escort us to fight off Somali bandits who regularly raided the convoys. (Lovely.)
The first trip I paid $20 to sit on a pile of lumber in the back of a 12-wheel truck for 3 days. I sat under a tarp with some Borana traders who were accompanying their goods. It was a bone-jarring ride across the rutted tracks of the scorched desert. But the others seemed content, chewing away on their khat (a mild amphetamine popular in the area). Considering that it was still another 3 days to Addis Abeba by bus from the border, that week-long trip almost destroyed me. So the second time I went (why didn't I just FLY?!), I paid an extra $5 to sit up front with the driver. So much better.
Along the way, we'd sometimes see lone Rendille nomads wearing their bright red garments far off on the horizon. They'd be strolling through the featureless landscape to a destination of which they only knew. I often wondered what their lives were like. Thankfully for the rest of us, the oasis towns of Isolo and Marsabit broke up the monotony of the journey. There we'd stumble in around midnight, grab a few hours of sleep, then set off again in the pre-dawn hours. Relentless.
But for me, despite the unnecessary hardships I put myself through traveling, I loved the VAGABOND'S LIFE. Even though I could have flown to Addis in 3 hours for only $100, I always took the cheapest and least efficient transport possible. That was my CODE: only the cheapest transport and lodging were good enough for me. And so, after 6 days of punishing travel between Nairobi and Addis, I'd stagger into a rat-infested flea-bag "hotel," peel off my crusty clothes, take a freezing shower (in winter, 'cuz that's all they had), then crash for a full-24.
Makes me nostalgic just thinking about it. Well...almost.
