We arrived in Nairobi after the “twenty-four” bus took us a
casual thirty-two hours, a lot better than the bus we passed coming in the
opposite direction who were forty-nine hours in and only half way. Counting our
blessings we set off for Karen district to meet our hosts, the Warren family,
who we had been put in contact with via the grape vine. It was great to be part
of a family again whilst waiting for our Visa’s to be processed, enjoying good
food and good company.
It’s funny
how on long, ‘hard’ trips like these your standards drop so significantly that
even the smallest of comforts feel like a heavenly experience. Something like a
bucket bath after a long dusty journey feels like you’re in some crystal clear
pool and if you’re lucky enough to get a shower head, you feel like you’ve hit
an absolute jackpot, as if you’re now standing in a crystal pool with a
waterfall. Thus, staying in a beautiful house with hot water, hot meals and
warm beds felt like we were kings in a castle; a total contrast to our last two
weeks of travel.
Kings and
castles aside, it seems like everywhere we go drama follows us, although I suppose
that’s more Africa itself than anything else. Though we weren’t actually right
in the thick of it, there were huge riots in the city centre about MP’s pay
rises on top of already ridiculous salaries. The strikes were labelled ‘Occupy
Parliament’ and pigs were brought in, one of which was slaughtered and its
blood used to paint names of officials on the other pigs. What added to the
shock factor (whether intended or unintended) was the savage cannibalism which
the pigs displayed as they veraciously devoured their fallen comrade on the
steps of parliament… truly symbolic?
Listening to
the radio in a taxi on our way out of Nairobi the next morning was an absolute
treat, comical to say the least, and I was left rather bummed and disappointed
when the drive ended. The DJ kept saying, in his deep, gruff and typically East
African accented voice, “now we know that the strikes were necessary, and I am
in support of the strikes, but was the manner, and that is the question we are
discussing, was the manner in which they were conducted distasteful? We are
talking about the manner in which the strikes were conducted.”
As for the responses,
they were absolutely delightful. A young lady called in first, disgusted. Then another,
her more worried about animal cruelty. After this a man with a big voice called
in, and I must say his response was my favourite, he simply said, chuffed as
ever, “Ah! Ah! Ah! it was classic, brilliant!”. Next a Doctor ‘so and so’ decided
to give a very educated and psychological response about the symbolism and how
it was scary as people were saying they are ready to kill over such matters.
Upon jumping
off and collecting our passports we began talking to the policeman on guard at
the embassy; an ex professional boxer who had been in South Africa in ’93 and
also to five European countries for tournaments. He was a proud yet humble man,
not boasting in his achievements or glory days but rather happy he could share
in once being in our country as we were now in his. I will never forget his
huge hand as he raised it in his gesturing of “five countries” and how my
fingers couldn’t even reach around his hand
as he shook mine goodbye.
And so we
left, somewhat glad for our return to Kenya, ready for round three of our
Moyale nightmare, this time wiser and more prepared. We booked seats sixteen,
seventeen and eighteen, close to the front and on the side were wind blew the
dust away rather than directly into the window. In our bus the back row was
left empty and we laughed as we thought of our ‘growth’ as travellers and
decided how if we saw any tourists on their way down Africa, we would definitely
recommend the back seats which, we would tell them, they set aside especially
for tourists.
The End
Hectic guys. I despise backtracking so much sympathy with the 3-way journey and rough ride.
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