Meru making

The day after our trip to Kibwezi, we found that we were once again in a matatu, hired for the weekend, on the way to Meru, and the subject of 15 to 20 police checks on the trip up.

We dropped our bags at the Hotel Incredible (again, one of the plentiful misnomers in Kenya) before going to a small and very busy church in a small village for several baptisms. Here they demonstrated the awful reality of subsistence living, and stuffed us until we could barely move. We also met Jane Nkonge, an incorrigible and irrepressible church worker who had arranged our trip and was to be our guide.

In the evening, Jo was feeling unwell (suspected malaria), so James and I went to the pub (aren't I sympathetic) where we had our first encounter with the overly friendly deaf dumb barman. He took to us very quickly and started throwing sawdust on some prostitutes so that they would leave.

We also met a man who wanted us to take photos of his house (again one suspects miraa, which doesn't make one violent, but does make one wierd). Here he is with his wife and cow.

The next day we went to two churches. The plan was to visit the first for twenty minutes, before going to the second church. Best laid plans and all that...

When we arrived at the first church the matatu driver stated that he needed more money, or he wouldn't drive us anywhere. So we stayed for the service, whilst Jane tried to sort him out. This church was started in August. In this time they have built a building (no walls yet), and the congregation has grown to 103! Not bad huh.

Meanwhile the row over the matatu was getting more and more acrimonious. The driver called the police, and whilst we as white people would have been in the wrong, I got rather excited about the coming confrontation with the law. Unfortunately, Jane knew the policeman’s boss, and so nothing happened. Maybe later in our trip.

Then we went to another church in a banana plantation which was cool, but a long drive down a muddy and bumpy road. Due to the matatu dispute the service had finished, but everyone was patiently waiting for James to give his sermon. This was the third time for the sermon in two days, he was getting polished. Once again, they stuffed us, but fortunately it started raining, and we were told that we would have to get moving or we would get stuck. The upper road was already impassable, so we took the lower road.

It started to rain on the way back, but we were fine until we got to a hill. We slid our way up it, and at the top Jane said that we were past the worst bit and would be fine. At this point another hill hove into view, a hill we got stuck on. So out jumped the men (including Jane and Jo) to push in the pouring rain (I had hoped African culture would be more chauvinistic), and boy did we push, to no avail. Meanwhile, another matatu turned up, so we pushed some more. Eventually, our matatu rolled to the bottom of the hill, and we tried pushing from the bottom, only to get the matatu up with comparative ease.

The second matatu then had a go, and got stuck half way up. We pushed, and we pushed and we pushed again. Nothing happened. The suggestion that we start from the bottom was greeted with disdain (what do muzungos know about pushing matatus anyway), so we pushed and we pushed and we pushed. The tyres were totally bald, and were being left on the road as they span and sprayed all pushers with mud. Eventually, the Africans produced a rope. Once this had happened it was short work to get the matatu to the top, although we did have a conversation with an African who could not get his head around the fact that we were pushing a matatu and didn't want anything in return.

The next day we were due to return to Nairobi, but there was a matatu strike and so danger of violence.  As James would say, 'I wonder why they are being harassed; oh I know, because they drive death traps like dangerous lunatics, the morons'. So we stayed in Meru and ate a kilo of meat each. I also got hippo poo, ask Margaret for details.

We also went back to the pub, where the deaf and dumb barman (with eyes like polished eight balls from the miraa) decided to drink with us, stopped someone’s pool game so that we could play almost provoking a mass brawl, and provoking the banning of pool for the evening by the manager. He then spent the evening conversing with James by writing on my leg with his hand (which remained when he wasn’t writing!), decided we were army helicopter pilots (and started miming to people that we were soldiers and that they had better shut up or we would shoot them), and then demanded that we pay for his drinks, before passing out. We took a photo and scarpered.

The next day the matatu strike was still on, but we left anyway getting an army escort at one point (this was a bloke in an old golf, so unimpressive I didn’t even bother trying to take a photo), and arrived home safely, before watching ‘Cars’. Shrek is better.

Kippin' in Kibwezi

It has been a long time since we last wrote on the blog. This has to do with inability, inactivity, and laziness. Let me expound upon the reasons, and be dazzled by my soaring rhetoric. Alae jacta est and all that, here we go.

Boxing day saw us, along with countless others, dreaming a dream. In this dream there was hope, hope which soars like eagles into a better world. Hope which changes, change we can believe in... (yawn).

Then the alarm went off, because the Rev'd Samwel Atunga had organised a trip to see the people in Kibwezi, three or four hours away and we had to be there in time for church. Weirdly, upon emerging from our troglodyte den, we found that many Kenyans were up and about already, it could have been any usual day (but we knew different, because of the dream).

Off into town we went (on a matatu no less, we have changed, change you can believe in), before getting into another matatu! and heading to Kibwezi.

Kibwezi is a very poor area of Kenya, with no industry to speak of. The town consists of a few streets with stalls along either side, and unsold vegetables rotting in the street.  We stayed in a small guesthouse run by pentacostals, where they made the best ugali we have ever tasted. Comfortingly, they also had a Tesco so we didn't get homesick.

The surroundings are populated by subsistence farmers who are from the Kamba tribe and who have been moved from their homes to make room for the national parks. The problem that they have is that there is not enough rain. They have had a three year drought and all their animals have died. The village we were in, called Kibarani, had no running water and no wells, except to get salty water (therefore all the children have brown teeth). They also have no electricity, so as a result the place is beautifully peaceful. Although they are some of the poorest people in Kenya they definately have something that the rich in the west don't have and that is a fantastic community to live in.

Despite how little they had they were incredibly welcoming, and looked after us very well, feeding us more than necessary and way more than Jo could eat. Fortunately it rained just before we went and so their crops were growing (very fast). Before it was just a dust bowl.  In fact they hardly have anything except land to grow their crops. Here we ate our first baobab fruit (tastes like sweets, quite uncanny), learned that mangos do not need to be peeled to be eaten, and met many orphans and their parents. We were also an unusal sight. Children either cried when they saw us or screamed 'Muzungu' and giggled a lot. It was amazing to think that some children here have never seen a white person in their lives. Sadly they do not have the money to send their children to school, as whilst it is free, they have to buy uniforms and books, a task that is well beyond them, especailly considering that they have not had a good havest in three years.  If anyone wants to sponsor a child, it would cost less than Compassion...

We also spent time with Atungas family, a charming bunch. Rather wonderfully, we hired a matatu to take us to Tsavo East Park. Having managed to get into the park on residents rates (they trusted that Atunga as a priest would not mislead them), we proceeded at 80 kilometres per hour into the heart of the park, mowing down birds as we went (we saw their bodies on the way back). Not much wildlife was seen, partly because the road was bumpy and the constituent parts of the matatu vibrated in different directions, loudly. Having said that, Tsavo park is beautiful, and we did see some lava flows and a very large spring, complete with hippos and crocodiles.  On the way back we ran over a snake. Still no lions or elephants.

Another day we spent swimming and relaxing with not much to report, baring the trip back.   I had their 3 year old Juma on my lap in the matatu (it was rather crowded), when a bloke gets in chewing sticks.  This turned out to be the drug miraa (qat). When he told us this Juma slapped him in the face. I, of course was greatly amused by this, as was the driver. Ahhh, kids.

We spent a couple more days in Kibwezi, visiting the congregation at Kabarani, wondering around there homesteads and learning more about their way of life. (Edd secretly suspects they hide Ferraris in their mud huts.) We saw another Baptism and then return to Nairbo but this time not by Matatu but in a Toyota estate. All 10 of us crammed in.

Then we were home for an evening, with just enough time to check our e-mail, before not bothering to reply and going to bed. Then off to Meru, near Mount Kenya for an eventful few days...

Merry Christmas

Just a quick note to all our readers to wish you all a very Happy Christmas. We have had a fantastic day, although very busy. It started with a cooked breakfast followed by church. We then relaxed in the glorious sunshine on the compound eating all the food that Santa (aka Margo) provided.

Carine was invited to a Congolese party so we headed off to the Catholic Univeristy not realising that we were very limited for time. The party was short and sweet, they were very hospitable, but the excitement of the day was definately the journey home. It was the first time we had used the public transport. The trip to the party was uneventful, but on the way back we had to wait 20 minutes for a matatu and then they squeezed 26 people in. A matatu is only meant to carry 14 people!

Next was Christmas dinner, Finnish style, with a English twist. They provided a big ham and we provided the christmas crackers. The evening was finished off with a sauna and tusker beer. Merry Christmas.