We’re talking about Ngong

Okay, let me start with a justification of the following.

According to the Rough Guide, ‘the number of attacks and robberies of walkers has discouraged people… …and the north side [of the Ngong Hills] is considered especially dangerous’.

The Lonely Planet - ‘take an organised tour or an escort…’

Destination East Africa (the new and brilliant tourist magazine) ‘…hire an askari (guard)’.

Right, now to the story.

We have finally made it to the Ngong (pronounced Gong, sorry Meryl) Hills, after much viewing from afar and ‘shall we, shan’t we’ discussions. You see the hills have a fearsome reputation, and we were not sure that the rewards did not over come the risks. But then we saw an article in the new Destination East Africa magazine, and decided that, yes, we should go – especially as we could hire a guard. So with Maggie, Tristan and the Right Rev James ‘Burgers’ May Jr. we set off for a picnic – shortly arriving at the Rangers Station.  Here we attempted to hire the guard who would protect us from hordes of panga wielding thugs.

   Swiftly we learnt, to our consternation, that the situation was such that we needed not one, but two gun totting guards. Apparently, the ‘thugs’ were getting bolder, and one machine gun no longer acts as a deterrent! Oh yeah, and ‘it’s the law.’ The situation was made to sound so bad that a swift retreat home to the football was considered. Unfortunately they wouldn’t budge, and so two guards were hired.

And what a colossal waste of money they turned out to be. Instead of making us feel safe, they made us feel ridiculous (thanks ‘el pedant’ for the spelling). Basically, the hills were swarming with both tourists and Kenyans, with not another guard in sight. Well done Lonely Planet, well done.

But nevertheless, we had an excellent day. The views from the hills were great – the rift valley to the East, and Nairobi and the plains to the West. The guards, thankfully, kept their distance allowing us to pretend we didn’t know who they were –although we did get a bit of amusement from them. When we settled down for lunch (the kids needed recharging), a suggestion was made that thugs had recently been seen scampering into the bushes and so the guns were made ready. Unfortunately I wimped and told them that it was a joke before they went charging into the bush to massacre some random collecting firewood. But most of the time they chatted on their phones or to buddies they met along the way, far enough away that it if we had been robbed they would have been as likely to shoot us as our antagonists.

We did have a brief discussion with the guards about corruption – they agreed that it was bad and should be stopped. They than pocketed the fee (this, apparently was a ‘private hire’). This was not exactly the actions that we had hoped to promote with our diatribes. Oh well… At least we lived through our walk on the Ngong hills, the most dangerous place on Earth.

Why corruption is just… great

One of the things that we have learnt since coming to Kenya is that the various infractions and misdemeanours of our august politicians are mere peccadilloes. Another difference is we in the UK expect justice. The Kenyans despair of it.

The corruption and lack of accountability is one reason the new constitution is likely to pass as it provides for some recourse when corruption is encountered, although there are unfortunately flaws. And why is a new  constitution required, what is the driving force behind it? Look at http://www.warshooter.com/en/content/kenya-post-election-violence-0 if you dare, although it is not for children. This is a bit(!) of a simplification, the violence was caused by multiple reasons, just as the constitution shall not be the only cure for Kenya’s ills.

And I hate to say it, now that we have encountered the corruption for the first time (you may call it bureaucracy, but hey, you say potato, I say potato) it has become more angry making than amusing. I attempted to register the Kenyan equivalent of a charity and ran straight into a brick wall. Having sent the office lackey to drop off the papers, I was surprised when he returned the same day with a problem. This seemed incredible efficiency – almost shocking. Looking at the papers within a month! Amazing.

But then he told me the problems. The title wasn’t bold enough!?! Oh, and the whole thing was wrong and had to be rewritten.

This was a problem. It was clear that I should go myself, but the chances of me not getting cross were vanishingly small. And if you think that anything would then get done, ever, you are too stupid to be reading this. I would have been stuck with a guy who would not process my application - not only because I wouldn’t pay him to pass it on, but because I had shouted at him. There could be no appeal to higher powers as they really don’t care.

This problem permeates Kenyan society, with everyone from politicians to police, and bureaucrats to bishops in on the act. Charities set up by well meaning westerners which support nothing but air - actually, that’s not true. They support lavish lifestyles. Police making arbitrary complaints in the hope of receiving a bribe (we had ‘your car windows are too dirty’ once. With the roads in Kenya, are you kidding?). Politicians and religious leaders protecting people who have committed the worst kinds of crimes; and not only protecting them, but rewarding them!

One can do nothing about this, because a complaint just exposes corruption at the next level. And if you do finally get to court you have to buy the judge, and how do you know that your opponent doesn’t have deeper pockets?

So yeah, new constitution. Actually, new anything – as long as it brings hope. Let us pray that it is not twisted by the same politicians it is intended to curb.

But at the same time, corruption rules – if you know the right people. Having related my problem to a friend, he said that he could help and so we set off into town. Meeting with a couple of guys (‘they are from my tribe'), it looks like we shall have a society within a month and not the usual 120 days. I shall not say much more because I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but one of the guys didn’t want to be seen with a white man in case his boss found out. As a result I had to stand on the other side of the pavement separated from my friend and his fellow tribesman by an extremely infrequent flow of pedestrians, whilst papers were passed back and forth between the three of us. A weird situation - but strangely brilliant.

Off to the beach… again

But first some tragic and sad news. A small part of me died when Joanna decided it was high time my hair was cut, thus ending my attempt to emulate Bjorn Andersson (or the other bloke in ABBA, I can never remember his name… Or indeed tell them apart).

And what, I hear you ask, made losing so much hair worthwhile? A trip to a beach, just South of Mombasa named Diani with the right reverend James E May Jr and two of his kids, Maggie and Tristan.

The trip down was uneventful (just wait until the trip back home…), an eight hour car journey, the only excitements being loomy stops, catching a glimpse of Kilimanjaro and getting stuck in traffic in Mombasa.

I am not actually being quite fair. The best (quickest?) way to the beach is by ferry over a small river. It was quite an experience, but I am afraid I took no photos, too scared - but the following links should give you an idea of the ferry, a death trap if ever I saw one with the ramps dangling in the water. 
http://nairobichronicle.wordpress.com/2009/01/22/impending-disaster-at-likoni-ferry/ ,
http://www.standardmedia.co.ke/travel/InsidePage.php?id=2000001402&cid=453&story=Traffic%20nightmare%20at%20Likoni%20ferry

Fortunately brand spanking new ferries arrived yesterday, just too late for us.

Nonetheless we eventually made it across and found our way to our cottage. Time now for a quick geography lesson. The road between Mombasa and Dar-es-salaam travels parallel to the coast. Parallel to this is a small road which serves the beach. As we are finding, the best place to start a charity is somewhere nice and Diani is no exception, with the Colobus Trust set up to help monkeys. They have set up ladders over the beach road so that monkeys can cross with impunity. This road is very quiet (maybe because it is low season).  The only danger for the monkeys (and anyone anywhere near the road) being James driving at 120k in an attempt to get back before the ice cream completely melted. And yes, I did bang my head on the windscreen when he belatedly saw a speed bump. On the road to Dar, the busy road… Nothing. The monkeys have to take their chances. Well done Colobus Trust. Lets be honest though, if I worked there I would be spending my time on the beach too.

A fun time was had, swimming in our own private pool (and boy did we behave badly), camel rides and snorkelling in the sea – not to mention being pampered by having our own cook and maid. Edd did disgrace himself however, by cheating in the shoulder ride fight. Maggie was not impressed. And for once, the coast wasn’t too hot – it being rainy season and all. This meant that it was also tourist free. Bliss (but not for the lobster, crab and snapper that we enjoyed). Plus we almost had the whole  white sandy beach to ourselves.

But the highlight must be the trip back, when we went back country to avoid the ferry. James, of course, drove far too fast – hitting one bump hard enough to set off the car alarm! Comical story of the week – two chaps washing their motorbike in the middle of a ford when James drove past. One of them fled on our approach, but the other got very wet. Much to our, and his friends satisfaction. But the country inland of the cast was beautiful and the road a lot of fun to drive really, really fast on.