Another "shortcut"; Hippo Habits in Lake Naivasha

On the way from Thika to Lake Naivasha on the back roads, the locals sent me on the "shortcut", thinking I wouldn't want to ride on any unpaved road. It didn't match up with what my map said, but what could I do when 20 villagers are practically pushing my bike down the road? So I ended up in the middle of nowhere (a beautiful one by the way, among tea fields planted on slopes so steep I wondered how one could harvest the young, tender, leaves standing at a 45 degree angle) with no way to get near a town before dark. Fortunately, an American couple (also not on the road they thought they were on), rolled by in their land rover and gave me a ride to Naivasha. They were an amazing pair of missionaries who had spent 30 years among the Pekot tribe in northern Kenya. They had recently "retired" to Naivasha but were just coming home from a two week stay in Isiolo drilling wells for the locals.

Naivasha is home to a huge lake, banked by flower farms. Flower farming is big business in Kenya and much of the coffee has been replaced by huge net greenhouses that grow roses. I had the opportunity to tour one near Thika and it was pretty amazing! They use drip irrigation and hydroponic gardening to grow the roses and any unused water is recycled and used again. I was told that much of Naivasha is employed in the rose business and the pay is quite competitive.

Got the lowdown about hippos in Lake Naivasha from one of the boat drivers. There were a few near shore, hunkered down in the water. They sleep there all day and at night feed on who knows what plants. Can you imagine how much green stuff they have to consume to fill that huge body? They live in small pods with only one male per group. That male claims his "territory". When a baby male is born, the mother has to hide it or the father will kill it. She sneaks around to breastfeed her son and then returns to the harem. When the male grows up, he will fight his father or other male for the territory, inheriting the women I suppose. Hmmm. Maybe we should start a Female Hippo Rights support group.

Somali boys at track meet; Plowing rice in Mwea; Cure for everything

Kim selling rice in Mwea

Coming and Going

I arrived in Nairobi about a week ago and getting restless to be on the road again. I admit, exploring city life is as fascinating as small town life. I invited myself to the YMCA school in Kibera, the second largest "unstructured settlement" in the world (or so I am told). Another word for "unstructured settlement" is slum, which you may be more familiar with. There are a couple of women staying here at the YMCA who told me about the research they are doing in Kibera and how it "works". They tell me that 95% of the structures, made from metal sheets and other cheap materials, are rented. The owners? Recent and past political leaders, wealthy Kenyans, and entrepreneurial citizens who have gotten rich from the poor. The rent is high (about $25 a month) and in addition, one has to pay for electricity and security. Going to the toilet is a seperate charge since there is only one latrine for every 100 people. It may not seem like a lot of money to an American, but to a poor Kenyan who typically survives on $1 - $2 a day, it is a lot, especially since one person is probably supporting many others. I haven't spent much time in Kibera, but met a few people who live there who are happy to show me a bit of their life. I'll learn a bit of Sheng, the street language of Kibera, and teach you a few words! I've also spent a lot of time in Eastleigh, the home of many Somali and Oromo refugees. It reminds me of Merkato in Addis Ababa and one of the only places in Kenya to get good, cheap, Ethiopian injera and coffee. I didn't realize how much I missed Ethiopian food until I took that first bite if tibs, grilled meat with barbare, hot chili powder.

Family around Embu countryside. Preschool teacher and farmer with kids.

Toto drinking camel's milk

Rice farming in Kenya

Just a few miles out of Embu, I stopped to take pictures of a woman harvesting rice. |I had never actually seen rice being grown or harvested except in Asian movies. I also chatted with a rice farmer and stopped at a mill. SO here it is: Rice is not grown in many places in Kenya. The best soil conditions and the sweetest rice come from an area around a town called Mwea, where I spent the night on a mattress so hard that my back hurt for 2 days. But beside that unpleasant night of no sleep, Mwea was an experience. The fields are first plow by tractor, which most farmers hire for their 2-4 acres. After that, a pair of oxen plow it again to mix the nutrients into the rich soil. Rice seedling, which are started in a nursery, are planted. Once the rice is mature, it is cut with a scythe. The women then use baskets to winnow the rice. When they throw it up in the air, the rice kernels separate from the stalks.After the rice is dried in the sun, it is taken to the mill which separates the husk from the rice. The husks and the stalks from the rice are made into animal feed. The rice is bagged and sold. In Mwea, there are dozens of people with small stalls selling rice. When I asked how they could all make a profit with so much competition, I was told that many of the merchants stay out all night, where they do a brisk business with the truck drivers passing by on the main road. Biking beside the rice paddies gave me a peaceful feeling. The paddies are dotted with white egrets, farmers plowing, women planting and harvesting. Unfortunately, the rice paddies only went for about a 10 mile stretch. In a short distance from Mwea, I reached a small,dry town where it had not rained in two years!

Meru woman selling "uji", traditional Kikuyu porridge

Going solo

Traveling alone has not been difficult, as long as I am the one to make the effort to greet people, preferably in their mother tongue. A smile goes a long way but a few words goes much farther. Most Kenyans speak English, but they seem unsure of me. Who is this crazy mzungu traveling alone on a bicycle? Once the ice is broken, we speak in a mixture of English and Kiswahili. People are actually more open to me now and raised prices I feared has not happened much. People must have thought I hired Toto as my personal bodyguard so they viewed me in a totally different way. For the past few days I have been biking uphill at a 45 degree angle in the foothills of Mount Kenya. From Meru to Embu, I was greeted with banana and papaya trees in the valleys and tea fields on the steep slopes. I've entered the Embu tribal area, so now I greet villagers with "Ni mweega!" instead of "Muga muno!". I decided to take a rest from the sleazy places I usually sleep at after I discovered the Boy Scout Training Center. Rooms are only $4.00 and no worries about drunk men and all night loud music. I can even watch Nigerian soap operas in the cafeteria. As I leave the shadow of Mt. Kenya, the road drops into rice paddies, which I'll be looking forward to on tomorrow's ride.

Tea fields on the slopes of Mount Kenya

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A Messianic "synagogue" in Isiolo...or is it a church?

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I'm missing Isiolo like I'm missing home

There was a knot in my stomach the day we had to leave Isiolo. Toto boarded a bus headed for Nairobi where he had swimming lessons to teach. I was nervous about traveling alone. Not for my personal safety, but for the prices I might be charged. When you are a Mzungu (white person) in Kenya, the prices automatically go up. I know the price of almost everything by now and have learned a few words of Kiswahili, so that helps. Leaving Isiolo was like leaving home. I felt so at ease there because I was surrounded by Afaan Oromo speakers, women wearing hijabs, mosques dotting the landscape, the smell of sambusa(samosa)and Somali restaurants. The hotels owned by Muslims there always have an open courtyard, built as a space for the men to say their daily prayers. However, the large, open area beckens people to sit communally whether it is to chew khat, drink tea, or talk. I have not seen the open courtyards in any other hotel I stayed at so far. Since I teach at a Somali school in St. Paul and many of my friends are Oromo, Isiolo was as close as it gets to home. Now I am in Meru, a small city in the Meru tribal area. Traveling alone has been easy so far. I found my $5.00 "hotel" (brothel) which was quite noisy all night but I felt safe there as long as I didn't venture out of my room after 9 p.m. I met Naitore, one of the maids, who invited me for dinner to meet her daughters. Yesterday I spent in the countryside, talking to the farmers, practicing my Kiswahili, watching old men play Mankala, and reading a novel.

Somali truck drivers chewing khat during their break

Toto drinking camel's milk

Gabra, Borana, and Samburu bring their camles wherever there is food

In Isiolo, miraa (khat), is sold on every corner

Bodaboda drivers carry people and goods into countryside

Isiolo: Desert, camels, and Afaan Oromo

Toto and I reached Isiolo yesterday, after 8 days of cycling. When stayed in a small town named Timau, about 40 miles from Isiolo. If you can believe it, it was the rainy season there and we got drenched in a torrential rainstorm that left the town with 6 inches of mud. The next day, we rode into Isiolo, where it hasn't rained in 4 years (or so claimed one farmer). It is because of Mount Kenya that there is such a drastic change in climate in such a short distance.

FINALLY, after 8 days of not speaking the local language, I can converse with the local Borana (Oromo) tribe, which includes a large percentage of the town. Noone tries to raise the price or refuses to serve me, at least those who speak Afaan Oromo. We found our $4 a night hotel, owned by a Borana man, but spent most of our time with Abdi, a Gabra Oromo (same language, different clan). Abdi's sister owns a small hotel and he manages it. Yesterday, Abdi took Toto and I to see some of the camel herds in the area. We only saw the moms and babies because the males like to move faster and were grazing far away. The camels are herded by Borana, Somali, Meru, or Simburu tribes which are all present in this cosmopolitan town. We tasted fresh camel milk, which was much tastier than I thought it would be. The pastoralists told us that the milk is taken to Nairobi and sold in Eastleigh, home of thousands of Somalis who love to drink it for its nutrition, taste, and reminder of home.

Tomorrow, Toto and I will separate. I'll bicycle back to Nairobi alone (about 8-10 days) and he will take his bike on the bus and be back home within 5 hours! So Biking for Books is officially over, but I will continue to make posts to you and upload photos on the blog. Donations are still welcome.

It's a small world!

On the road from Nanyuki to Isiolo, we entered into the Meru tribal lands. That means we had to learn a few words in Meru. Meru is a Bantu language, so it is similar to Kikuyu. The Meru have 6 or 7 clans. There is a Council of Elders with representatives from each clan. They all live in the same location so that the villagers can come to them if there are any problems. These problems inclde anything from domestic disputes to stealing cattle. The power of the Elders is great, but if the matter is not resolved, there is always civil court. Some of the Meru clans like to chew khat (a mild stimulant) and others do not. But khat (also known as chat or mira), referred to as "green gold", is grown on Meru land. The khat is so valuable, that when a truck full of khat is going to Nairobi, two trucks are always present. One truck carries the khat and the other one is empty. If the khat truck breaks down, they simply load their "green gold" onto the empty truck and
go on their way. Since most of the drivers are probably high on the stuff, they drive even crazier than matatu (minivan drivers). We clear the way when we see them coming.

On the outskirts of Isiolo, we happened upon two Somalis who were relaxing, chewing khat. Of course, I stopped and said a few words in Somali to them and showed them pictures of my students from Dugsi Academy where I teach in the U.S. I asked Osman where he was from and he answered that his family was in Kajiado, southern Kenya. I told him that I stayed in Kajiado last year on my way to Tanzania and asked him if he knew about Sizzlers Cafe. Aga and I ate several meals there last year and made friends with the owner, Fadumo. Osman brightened up and replied that Fadumo was his auntie. Since the Somalis are spread far and wide, it's common for them to have relatives in every part of the world. Osman even has relatives in Minneapolis! Small world.