The drivers 5 o'clock alarm wakes us and we're kicked out onto the streets of Nairobi, deserted and much colder than expected. We wonder around aimlessly for about thirty minutes waiting for the rest of the city to wake up, our lack of warm clothes beginning to take its toll.
As usual, the best English speakers are either hobos, madmen, drunks or all three and so after each consulting, or several of them, we come together and see which pieces of information gathered were most common. From today's drunken ramblings it seems we require a taxi to Isiolo where we will find further transport to the border.
A kind 'piki-piki' (motorcycle-taxi) driver helps us find our minibus where a huge fight breaks out for our bums (to be places on seats I mean). Each tries to convince us their taxi is best and leaving soonest. It ends with a hostile "**** you" to which the insulted replies "you know are so so stupid". We go with him, his answer convincing us of his authenticity. As soon as we've made our decisions everyone is back to best buds and the game of trying to 'win' your customer is over.
We feel good about our choice as everyone has their own seat and it looks like we won't have to fight for space. The welcome leg room of the aisle between myself and Jordan is, however, short lived as a wooden plank is stretched across the gap and a little girl, nervously smiling, is placed between us. Other than this, all is well and I ambitiously buy some yoghurt which in turn gets donated to the street kids begging for "European coin". Their frantic yet joyous sharing is a clear indication that they're unperturbed by it's sourness, unlike it's previous owner.
At Isiolo, transport is not the only thing that changes; the environment is completely different too. Christian prayer meetings, with all the drivers joining hands in a big circle, asking for God's safety before the morning journeys get underway are replaced by sounds of "Allahu akbar" blaring over Mosque speakers. It's dry and windy and everyone is suddenly more 'Arab' looking. It's clearly a poorer area and the environment seems strangely unforgiving.
Sitting in the dry wind, my lips quickly becoming chapped, I watch the bags as Jords and Robdog inquire about the next leg of the journey across the Chalbi desert to the Moyale border. We learn it will take three days and can only be done by 4x4, lorry, or a bus that comes straight from Nairobi, which we've clearly missed. Apparently the first and third leg are done at night to avoid the heat of the desert and the second is done during the day as it crosses and area that is bad for bandits. A police block stops anyone from even attempting to drive through there at night.
I am taken back to the three of us sitting on comfortable couches in Charl and Este's crispy clean white flat in Dar looking at our 'Map of Africa' plotting potential routes. As you go North the roads slowly deteriorate down the hierarchy from Highways to Main Roads to Secondary Roads to 4x4 tracks to "tracks" in Sudan, whatever that means.
The sense of excitement is evident on our faces as we sense the journey is entering a new phase. The adventure of a wilder Africa is beginning and we hurry off to find a lorry that would be leaving sometime tonight.
As usual, the best English speakers are either hobos, madmen, drunks or all three and so after each consulting, or several of them, we come together and see which pieces of information gathered were most common. From today's drunken ramblings it seems we require a taxi to Isiolo where we will find further transport to the border.
A kind 'piki-piki' (motorcycle-taxi) driver helps us find our minibus where a huge fight breaks out for our bums (to be places on seats I mean). Each tries to convince us their taxi is best and leaving soonest. It ends with a hostile "**** you" to which the insulted replies "you know are so so stupid". We go with him, his answer convincing us of his authenticity. As soon as we've made our decisions everyone is back to best buds and the game of trying to 'win' your customer is over.
We feel good about our choice as everyone has their own seat and it looks like we won't have to fight for space. The welcome leg room of the aisle between myself and Jordan is, however, short lived as a wooden plank is stretched across the gap and a little girl, nervously smiling, is placed between us. Other than this, all is well and I ambitiously buy some yoghurt which in turn gets donated to the street kids begging for "European coin". Their frantic yet joyous sharing is a clear indication that they're unperturbed by it's sourness, unlike it's previous owner.
At Isiolo, transport is not the only thing that changes; the environment is completely different too. Christian prayer meetings, with all the drivers joining hands in a big circle, asking for God's safety before the morning journeys get underway are replaced by sounds of "Allahu akbar" blaring over Mosque speakers. It's dry and windy and everyone is suddenly more 'Arab' looking. It's clearly a poorer area and the environment seems strangely unforgiving.
Sitting in the dry wind, my lips quickly becoming chapped, I watch the bags as Jords and Robdog inquire about the next leg of the journey across the Chalbi desert to the Moyale border. We learn it will take three days and can only be done by 4x4, lorry, or a bus that comes straight from Nairobi, which we've clearly missed. Apparently the first and third leg are done at night to avoid the heat of the desert and the second is done during the day as it crosses and area that is bad for bandits. A police block stops anyone from even attempting to drive through there at night.
I am taken back to the three of us sitting on comfortable couches in Charl and Este's crispy clean white flat in Dar looking at our 'Map of Africa' plotting potential routes. As you go North the roads slowly deteriorate down the hierarchy from Highways to Main Roads to Secondary Roads to 4x4 tracks to "tracks" in Sudan, whatever that means.
The sense of excitement is evident on our faces as we sense the journey is entering a new phase. The adventure of a wilder Africa is beginning and we hurry off to find a lorry that would be leaving sometime tonight.
No comments:
Post a Comment