Dad's Newsletter Guest Spot, reproduced in its entirety (This is actually shorter than most of my newsletters!)

This time you get a guest columnist, Amy’s dad Mike. She’s been out of touch for awhile because her stepmom Karen and I have been keeping her pretty busy showing off her adopted country. We’re not done yet, but are in Narok at Amy’s apartment for a couple of days and will report in; Amy will resume her duties as newsletter producer with the next issue. So much has happened that I’ll not try to include it all and try your patience.

August 9 – We actually left our Nevada home Saturday morning, the 7th. Reno to Seattle to Amsterdam to Nairobi, arriving just before 8 PM on Sunday the 8th. Adhering to Amy’s strict advisory to not even bother coming without two McDonald’s cheeseburgers from Amsterdam, we were fully prepared for a joyous reunion. Amy and her PCV friend Allison were behind the glass when we came into the baggage claim area, and it was with no small amount of chagrin that Amy had to admit that yes, the doofus wearing the fanny pack was her dad. To our delight, Amy seemed as happy to see us as she was the cheeseburgers. We checked into our lodging and caught a taxi for late evening cocoa at the Continental Hotel. There the outdoor café was jammed with PCV friends of Amy’s, a pattern that was to recur in our travels. This day was taken up with converting travelers checks to shillings, paying for safaris Amy had booked, and buying tickets for the night train to Mombasa. That done, we had time to see a bit of the Kenya Music Festival; our favorites were the Maasai dancers in full regalia. The train usually departs at 7 PM and arrives in Mombasa at 8:35 AM. We were told that it would run two hours late, so we were to show at 8 and the train would leave at 9. We did so, and at midnight were still twiddling our thumbs on the platform.

August 10 – After boarding, the train finally began to move at 1:30 AM. Our compartment had padded benches on each side, berths above, and a bowl-like lidded structure attached to the wall in the center under the windows. There were lights but electricity to illuminate them was not being provided. I dug out flashlights and we were mortified at the presence of this toilet that had apparently been placed in our midst. We did not hear passengers in adjoining compartments expressing the indignation we felt, so began to fear ours was the only one on the car. Were we expected to answer the urgent knocks at our door all night, and admit strangers to foul our temporary nest? What were we to say to them as we sat eye to eye, they perched on our appliance and we on our benches? We went to sleep pondering those disturbing questions. No knocks came, but none of us was anxious to mount the beast even in the presence of family. It was a test of wills, and Amy lost sometime in the early morning hours. She felt sure there must be a choo on the car and that she could hold out until daylight. But if there were none, she would be forced back to the compartment and the darkness would no longer be her ally.

The deed was done and morning came. Karen was first up and noted the track of a rivulet of urine stretching from beneath the bowl to the underside of our luggage on the floor. She went out and soon reported back that the choos were just around the corner. She and I left together, whereupon Amy lifted the lid to the leaky wash basin she had urinated in the night before. She had noticed a hard object (the faucet) against her butt, but had not considered the implications at the time.

The train pulled into Mombasa in the rain just after 5 PM. Since they had added cars (ours included) to accommodate all the passengers, ours did not reach the platform and we had to lug our bags along the track to reach it. We found a hotel (and Jacinta and Catherine, two of Amy’s volunteer friends from Narok in the lobby drinking Tuskers), checked in and had them join us for dinner. The hotel room had mosquito nets and louvered windows, but no glass or screens in them.

August 11 – We were near a mosque, Mombasa being a largely Muslim city. The call to prayer came loudly around 5 AM, awakening for good the multitudes of crows roosting nearby; the racket continued until daylight when they departed. We walked to Old Town Mombasa and visited a shop where Amy was immediately identified as Peace Corps by the shoulder bag she carried. It’s made at the Shanzu Transitional Workshop just up the coast. Disabled women are trained to be seamstresses and to handle their business affairs and become independent. They make very distinctive bags of various types, plus some clothes. Amy’s PCV friend Cheryl works with them, and many volunteers use their shoulder bags. The shop owner knew Cheryl, and gave us a good price on some items. A friendly young man latched onto us at this shop and led us through Old Town while chatting and carrying our purchases. The street became narrower and the shops and faces were soon all Muslim. The young man led us through alleyways and narrow passages I would not have thought to enter, but Amy seemed at ease and I trusted her judgment. I must admit, however, that when I saw “Long Live Saddam Hussein” painted on a wall I began to seriously consider how I planned to defend my women. We came out safely to a bustling street and said goodbye to take a lunch harbor cruise on the dhow docked at the Tamarind Hotel. It was expensive, but also not operating that afternoon. The dinner cruise, obscenely expensive, was available. The sting was lessened when Amy found she could get us resident rates, so we booked. Next we went to the Mombasa Beach Hotel for lunch overlooking the Indian Ocean. We walked briefly on the beach but were soon driven off by hawkers of cheap trinkets and boat rides out to the reef. We then visited the Shanzu Workshop and returned to the hotel with purchases after buying bus tickets for the morning. The Tamarind Dhow shuttle picked us up and we boarded at dark. We were seated at our table on the deck next to yet another of Amy’s PCV colleagues, Katrell, and his visiting brother and sister. It was all very showy and contrived, from the native-garbed waitstaff to the open firepit for cooking our vittles. There was a band as well, and their repertoire would have been nausea-inducing to those of less character. They were literally “Killing us Softly” (and loudly) with their songs, and the specter of “Feelings” had us on edge. We escaped that indignity, only to hear it emanating from the hotel lounge after we disembarked. Early in the cruise I was struck with Moi’s Revenge. I’ll spare you the details, but I did get to know the attendant at the head below on a first name basis, and it definitely detracted from the experience for me. On the drive home I was horrified to see the hundreds of people sleeping on the sidewalks. During the daytime the crowds are virtually impenetrable, but at night a good many don’t go home since they have none to go to. They are lined up in rows on the sidewalks next to the buildings; those who have blankets are covered. I suddenly felt ashamed at the money we had just wasted on a small memory. So many here have so little, and beggars abound. The problem can never be solved one-on-one, though, and we’re going to direct our resources to organizations that are honestly trying to make a difference. As I write this on the 17th, the salient lesson I’m taking away so far is that Amy is doing the right thing in being here. I’m still concerned for her safety, of course, but I am more proud than ever of her.

August 12 – We departed at 8 AM for the bus ride to Mtito Andei and our noon rendezvous with the safari crew. The ride was not uncomfortable, particularly after the road improved about 50 kilometers out of Mombasa. When we stopped in Voi to discharge and take on passengers the bus was besieged by hawkers, mostly selling food and drink. If you closed your window they would quickly open it again. Amy said one tried repeatedly to get my attention by shouting: “old man! old man!” in Kiswahili. That’s got to be one of the worst sales pitches I ever heard. We arrived in Mtito Andei a half-hour late and soon met our safari companions, Allison and two other PCV friends Tina and Debbie. For simplicity’s sake, we’ll just refer to our (now) four girls as the pretty one, the smart one, the funny one, and the profane one.

That’s actually BS written for their sake if they happen to read this; the fact is they are each all of those things and so much more. Another revelation that’s come to me during this trip is that the generation I’ve despaired of in the U.S. has indeed produced large numbers of quality individuals. They don’t get the media exposure of the mindless, instant gratification crowd, but quietly go about the business of making the world a better place.

The van from Primetime Safaris was late. Amy phoned and was told to get lunch for everyone. The driver would be there soon and would pick up the bill. He did not show, and Amy phoned the office several more times. About four hours late, he pulled in and we entered Tsavo West National Park through the nearby gate. We were supposed to have made camp and gone for an evening game drive, but the delay meant we only would see whatever was in view on the drive to camp. We did see elephant, ostrich, and pale chanting goshawk among other items. At the Chyulu Gate campsite there were several thatch-roof canopies in a clearing, flush toilets and hydrants. Three pup tents were pitched and our driver, Tony took off in the van to take care of some business. Several critical items of ours were still aboard; he did not return until 10:30 smelling of beer.

Peter, the cook told us Tony had gone to visit with his cousin and nephew at the gate. In his absence Karen and Tina pitched in to help Peter with dinner preparations. We had a campfire, dinner, and chai before retiring to our tents.

August 13 – We left just before 7 AM for a morning game drive. The terrain is hilly and brushy as Col. Patterson described in his book, The Man-Eaters of Tsavo. That makes spotting game, and predators in particular, more difficult than in more open country. There was a large freshly-burned area and Tony said the fire was less than a week ago, caused by an unattended campfire. We saw many new bird species in addition to giraffe, Cape buffalo, spotted hyena, and other assorted critters. At Mzima Springs we were escorted by an armed, camo uniform-wearing wildlife ranger to see the many hippos. Returning to camp, we heard Peter’s tale of robbery by a troop of some 50 baboons. You cannot leave a camp unattended here, and the safari companies do not help matters by throwing leftover food into the bushes. Peter was overmatched and as he chased one group off another got all our bananas and a pot of rice. Peter is 48, half Maasai and hails from the Aberdares, where we’ll visit later on. He is a fine man, and is friendly, informative and inquisitive. Tony is younger and not at all communicative. He knows his species but volunteers little. He will drive right past some interesting species without a word. When you ask him to stop he can tell you what it was without turning around; he saw it but it didn’t occur to him that we (who had paid all that money for the safari) would want it pointed out. Tony drove us over to the Kilaguni Lodge nearby at midday where we could swim in the pool for a price. Instead, we had drinks on their huge veranda overlooking bird feeding stations and artificial waterholes that are illuminated at night. The evening game drive lasted only two hours, we saw little of consequence, and were back in camp just when the viewing should have been best; Tony likes to make as quick a getaway as possible and he did so again. At least this time we got all our gear.

August 14 – We were up at 5:45 as Peter had directed for a 6:30 morning game drive departure. He was running late, however, and it was obvious we would not get breakfast in time to leave at that optimum hour. When I suggested that I’d rather see animals now and wait to eat until our return, he played what I call The Osama Gambit. He asked how come we hadn’t gotten Osama yet and when we might. “He is a very bad man!” Amy had prepared two handwritten guides for our visit. One contained useful phrases and the other the actual meaning of what a Kenyan might say to us in English. Although this was not covered in the latter, I am savvy enough to know that what Peter meant was: “I know your breakfast is late and you want to go. But I am your friend and ally in the war on terrorism, so cut me some slack!” He prevailed on us to wait until the sausages were deep fried in lard, wrap them in bread slices, and take them along. The morning game drive was better. We crossed the Tsavo River and saw new bird and animal species, returned to camp and soon left for Nairobi. The road was quite appallingly bad, but we made it to the Stanley Hotel downtown. Karen and I checked in and all six of us (the girls were staying nearby at Primetime’s barracks) cleaned up. Amy had arranged for Tony to transport us to Carnivore for dinner and for Primetime to pay 1,200 KS apiece for our dinner as compensation for the missed evening game drive. Carnivore is supposed to be one of the world’s top 50 restaurants, and one of Amy’s PCV friends had seen Johnny Carson there just before we arrived. They roast pedestrian and exotic meats on long skewers over an open pit, and native-garbed waiters carve them onto your plate until you lower your flag and “surrender”.

August 15 – We departed for the Maasai Mara at about 10:30, stopping at Amy’s town (Narok) for a late lunch. The road approaching Narok was almost as bad as Amy had described; some recent road work had mitigated conditions on one stretch. We approached the Mara in driving rain and saw lightning ahead, but the storm had abated by the time we entered the gate. We went directly into the preserve and soon approached a cluster of vehicles surrounding a large copse of high bushes. The majority of vehicles are like ours, a white van with lots of seats and a hard roof canopy that elevates so you can stand and look out. Well inside the copse were a male and female lion and two cubs reclining comfortably. We joined the queue and awaited our glimpse. On the way back towards the gate we saw a few vans up a hill to the south and a lion nearby. Tony was headed for the barn, but Karen asked if we could go up there. When we arrived, there were at least 10 lions in the track. We took a few photos and then one of the other vans drove down the track right into the lions, moving them off. Tony quickly exited, saying we were not supposed to be there. Camp was a semicircle of walled tents with some pup tents in the middle. Ours were the former and had wood frame beds with slats as a base for thin foam mattresses. The tents were under thatched canopies, and there was a similar large open dining area and adjoining cookshack. Dinner was the usual rice with ground beef stew mixture and was tepidly received by our crew. The young and rowdy international group of campers sharing the facility was more enthusiastic. Karen and I, easily the oldest folks present, retired soon afterward. The moment we laid down on the beds our course was clear; we dragged the bed frames out of the tent and slept on the pads alone.

August 16 – The morning came and we were refreshed. So were Allison and Tina, who shared a tent. They had also removed the bed frames from their tent. Amy and Debbie had suffered through the night (Amy in particular) attempting to sleep on the bed of torture. That’s my little rocket scientist. As my dad used to say of her, “That girl is smart, but she’s got no common sense.” Breakfast was late, as was our departure for a full day game drive. The early part was spent traversing some of the same area as the previous evening, and little was seen. The landscape was stunning, but it wasn’t until we headed towards the Mara River that we began to see the wonders of the place. Wildebeest in the hundreds of thousands migrate up from the Serengeti to the Mara and are present now in their largest numbers. Their predators are in full attendance as well. We saw lion and cheetah and most of the many denizens of the place. Tony tried to ford a stream at one point and the van stalled out in the water. He called for help on the radio and several vehicles quickly converged. A strap was attached and we were towed to the edge of the stream before the towing vehicle bogged down. An enthusiastic Brit directed efforts as we pulled and pushed the van up the hill, while the Brit hurled insults at the weenies who remained in their vans watching and filming the work taking place. The Brit nicknamed our driver “Tony the Boatman” and the gathering quickly dispersed. At the Mara River another armed ranger showed us lots of hippos and huge crocodiles. And then we headed back early, as usual. When it became apparent Tony was shooting for his quickest getaway yet, I turned him around and we showed him on a map the route we wanted him to take to use the remaining daylight. Our stand was rewarded when on that route we happened upon two females and a male lion that had killed a wildebeest not 10 minutes earlier. We observed and photographed the carnage from 20 feet away and our presence was barely acknowledged. At dark we disembarked at the Mara Sopa Lodge for a night of decadence. The cottages were strung out along a long walkway and after dark guests are escorted by armed staff.

August 17 – Our game drive began at 6:30 and we instructed Tony to take us back along the road we’d traversed the previous evening. Amy had spoken with others about Primetime and it seems their drivers are not trained guides and are just expected to take you on the roads where you can see game. In that light we began to see that the information we did pry out of Tony was a bonus. The only quarrel we have with his performance at this point is his habit of cheating us out of prime viewing time to shorten his workday. The morning drive was short (but productive), as we had to return to the lodge for breakfast at 9:15. We saw many lions, and even observed lion love at close quarters three times in rapid succession. She was insatiable! After breakfast we returned to Narok, where Amy, Debbie, Karen and I departed and broke the circle. Debbie caught a matatu to her site, and the Yates family visited Maasai Education Discovery. Being nonviolent by nature, we purchased a frozen chicken and other items for dinner and retired to Amy’s flat.

August 18 – After breakfast and laundry, we walked to one of Amy’s schools nearby and painted the background for Amy’s world map project on one of the entryway walls. We were surrounded by fascinated children the whole time, and it was difficult keeping them out of the paint. While Amy and I laid out the background for painting, Karen sat in the office and chatted with the headmistress. Before I knew it the office was full of teachers and Karen was expounding on America and our lives. In the afternoon we visited MED again, then made the rounds through town for dinner items. Once electricity came on in the evening I completed this narrative. Tomorrow we leave for Naivasha to visit with Amy’s homestay family, then return to Nairobi. From there our next safari will take us to the Aberdares and Nakuru. We’ll finally get to be more active and do some hiking, and rhinos and new excellent birds are in our future. We depart on the evening of the 27th, and Amy moves on to the Mara Challenge.

Bits and pieces: The two guides Amy made especially for our visit are Dad and Karen’s Kiswahili Survival Guide and the Kenyan English Survival Guide. The former, besides useful everyday phrases, allows us to say such things as “I don’t want to have sex with you” and “I have to whiz like a donkey!” The latter explains that when an older man says to me in English “Give me head”, he means “I am an elder, so bow your head to me in the traditional Maasai fashion.” Several statements, such as “Me, I think America is even more beautiful than Kenya” and “Even me, I would like to go there some day” all mean “Get me a visa”.

Kenya is a land of contrasts; there is extraordinary beauty and unfathomable (to most Americans) filth. There are vast tracts of unpopulated, unspoiled land and concentrated masses of humanity that must be seen to be believed. Most have nothing, a few have much. The people are mostly excellent and worth knowing and helping. I agree with most all of Amy’s newsletter observations. I know to me, at least, she sometimes sounds a bit jaded. After being here, that is an inevitable state of mind that she cannot avoid from time to time. She has adapted to the life and the culture. She lives a spare life on a tight budget, knows how to get around and deal with people, and never pays a shilling more for anything than it’s worth. In the meantime, she works desperately trying to improve the lives of those around her and continually has to hurdle roadblocks placed in her way by ignorance and bureaucracy. She will prevail without a doubt. I feel so fortunate to have been able to share a small part of her experience. My only regret is that her brother Jeff and family, and her sister Jessica could not have been here with us. As a father, I have always loved her intensely. It is also my great pleasure to say that I admire her in equal measure.

Note from Amy: The train story – lies I tell you. All lies. And any one of you would have done the same!