Rich said today that one thing that he cannot get over on this trip is that so much happens in one day that it becomes easy to forget what happened in the morning, and where we stayed last night… so true. A huge amount happened today: I lost my sleeping bag somewhere along the road (huge hit!); we got utterly drenched from head to toe; we had the most unreal little lunch on a table that we moved outside the restaurant not two meters from the road; we spent the afternoon with our bikes giving them the much needed TLC after an epic day of cycling in slush; I cooked a pasta dinner on coals in the back of a makeshift restaurant with a wonderful young woman who didnt speak a word of English (yes indeed, Didi is becoming more domestic!); I drank a cup of coffee at the local café… and all this before 9:30 so that I can get to bed early so that we can wake at six for more chapatti and chai…
Today was the first day that we have actually dealt with solid rain. And when I say rain, it was so bad that what once was soft sand littered with rocks, was now deep slush that did its best to jam into every nook of our derailleurs and cassettes. Each revolution ground as more grit wore against the chain. And all this amidst heavy concentration in keeping on the bike, choosing the best line and then gunning it into the mud. I was cold, wet right through and a beautiful sight. But it was awesome fun! It felt a little like duck-diving with bikes and it becomes all about confidence – you lose confidence in this terrain and you’re gone before you know it… hold a line, back yourself and peddle right through. Ignore the fact that the road is fast becoming a river and that a puddle of gigantic proportions and monstrous depths is hurtling towards you… great fun! Awesome day! 80km under the belt and we are told it is an easy 80 down hill into Dodoma. I translate that to 110km of flat with a few small hills. It seems that the locals don’t have a cyclist’s eye for the terrain.
We are staying in a lovely spot which has kerosene lamps and cement floors, but it is comfortable and has a great feel to it. I have had a wonderful day.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
19 April - Kondoa
Today we did only 28km and it was awesome to get a little bit of a rest. That said, we did hike 18km this morning in order to see rock paintings in Kolo, and then it was a ridiculous 28 km on a sand road that made the concentration levels peak. It never seems to be that easy.
It was the most spectacular piece of cycling though – the road is lined with majestic baobabs that reign over the sunflowers set against the moody skies. Gorgeous.
We are staying in Kondoa tonight and have settled into some great accommodation that costs us R18 each for a decent room. Dinner was rice and veggie soup with beans – basic, but heavenly.
There was a classic moment in the street this evening as we stood outside the local corner store, although this is a one road town, with not much at all and it appears that this is more like the equivalent of the Engen pie shop at 2am in Claremont, Cape Town… the only place worth visiting and the only place that has everything you need. I digress… Gareth stood there with ear phones on having a little dance to Tanzanian music much to the amusement of the owner of the earphones and to the horror of the four year old who clearly had never seen Mzungu, much less dancing Mzungu. Rich and Matt stood at the counter beyond the throngs of locals whilst they bartered down our price of tomorrow’s dinner down to R20 a head… on the front step a woman sat frying Kasava chips (a staple diet vegetable that tastes a little like a sweet potato) and her friend sat next to her frying small fish… in between them was a heap of newspaper to wrap the sales in. Fish and Chips Tanzanian style!
It’s off to bed now – we have 170km to go to Dodoma, two days of hardcore dirt roads and if the last few days are anything to go by, this is unlikely to be too much fun. But with a new resolve of I am a happy person and this is the most awesome time of my life to date… bring on tomorrow! And I will do my best to drop the cheese… good night.
19 April - All credit to the boys!
For the last couple of days we have had an American woman, Tracy, join us cycling – she has been working in Arusha on the Rwandan Genocide tribunal as a court reporter, and it was great to have an outsider join the team for a couple of days. She made the comment the other day, “you’re a brave girl” and I acknowledged her comment in my enduring male company for an extended period. One of the boys was a little put out because he had thought that my admitting that its tough being the only girl on the team is a poor reflection on their character…
I am not going to lie, it has been difficult having to live with guys only for the last couple of months, and to know that the next three months will be the same. It is three more months of football and crude jokes, being treated like a guy and dreaming of the days that I can have a glass of wine with the girls… but this is no reflection on the guys whatsoever. They are absolute heroes and a seriously quality bunch of A-class dudes who do their utmost to look out for the rest of the team, feel strongly about our cause, are positive about Africa, and look for the fun out of any situation - sometimes humour is needed more than anything else out here! They are wonderful. I have stepped into a man’s world, and I am trying to keep a positive, happy state of mind… I do miss the girls. But if anyone was going to buy a bike and cycle across Africa with a herd of buggers, I wouldn’t think they could pick such top class dudes.
And no, they do not read this blog!
I am not going to lie, it has been difficult having to live with guys only for the last couple of months, and to know that the next three months will be the same. It is three more months of football and crude jokes, being treated like a guy and dreaming of the days that I can have a glass of wine with the girls… but this is no reflection on the guys whatsoever. They are absolute heroes and a seriously quality bunch of A-class dudes who do their utmost to look out for the rest of the team, feel strongly about our cause, are positive about Africa, and look for the fun out of any situation - sometimes humour is needed more than anything else out here! They are wonderful. I have stepped into a man’s world, and I am trying to keep a positive, happy state of mind… I do miss the girls. But if anyone was going to buy a bike and cycle across Africa with a herd of buggers, I wouldn’t think they could pick such top class dudes.
And no, they do not read this blog!
16 April.. Half time is over. Kolo.
It has been three very hard days on the bike. We have basically just done three Argus’s (100km) in three days and two of them have been on seriously bad dirt roads. And who said that Tanzania was flat?! Hills on rocky roads are not fun: granny gear up the hills and loose arms, standing, weight backwards and flying on the down hills… your knees become top quality shock absorbers. I had a moment of being completely airborne this afternoon. I felt like I was in a BMX documentary. Sheer brilliance. Completely unintentional. I hit a rocky ledge at pace while flying down a hill… I was at the back. The boys were not in sight. And no vehicles had passed me within the last four hours… I couldn’t help thinking that if I came pipe, it would be me and my bike. Alone. Not fun. But pretty classic!
The day is done now and we are safe and sound. We are staying in a fairly dodgy guest house in a town that makes the map because it has some rock paintings… but for no other reason at all. Kolo. The shops stock tea, sugar, and cellular phone top-up. Priorities seem to be a little different here. There is a pool table. And the men and children lounge in the streets, seemingly doing nothing, seemingly living on a diet of chapatti and chapatti… (pancake like flour and oil). But they have cellphone credit. There doesn’t seem to be too much work and the comments of Africans being lazy flits through the conversation… but I don’t know if I would work if I had nowhere to go and nothing more to live for. These people seem to be content. But we honestly couldnt get any food for lunch. What do these people eat?!
Back to the guesthouse… or more importantly the bug life here. The toilet is your average pit loo, something that we have become accustomed to. What I am not familiar with is the velvet walls created by a zillion mosquitoes. It’s dangerous! No really, as you open the door they swarm out at you, in a sinister attempt to beat all the odds and give you malaria.
We paid R10 for the accommodation and R16 for the food… chicken and rice. Which is yet to grace us with its presence… although I did hear a chicken squawking in a horrific way not too long ago… Dinner is on its way and then bed and then… we get on the bikes again. We have decided to do only 27km tomorrow morning and then rest up a little, so I can manage. Just gotta get thru this, just gotta get thru this… Good night. Bring on that DeepHeat!
The day is done now and we are safe and sound. We are staying in a fairly dodgy guest house in a town that makes the map because it has some rock paintings… but for no other reason at all. Kolo. The shops stock tea, sugar, and cellular phone top-up. Priorities seem to be a little different here. There is a pool table. And the men and children lounge in the streets, seemingly doing nothing, seemingly living on a diet of chapatti and chapatti… (pancake like flour and oil). But they have cellphone credit. There doesn’t seem to be too much work and the comments of Africans being lazy flits through the conversation… but I don’t know if I would work if I had nowhere to go and nothing more to live for. These people seem to be content. But we honestly couldnt get any food for lunch. What do these people eat?!
Back to the guesthouse… or more importantly the bug life here. The toilet is your average pit loo, something that we have become accustomed to. What I am not familiar with is the velvet walls created by a zillion mosquitoes. It’s dangerous! No really, as you open the door they swarm out at you, in a sinister attempt to beat all the odds and give you malaria.
We paid R10 for the accommodation and R16 for the food… chicken and rice. Which is yet to grace us with its presence… although I did hear a chicken squawking in a horrific way not too long ago… Dinner is on its way and then bed and then… we get on the bikes again. We have decided to do only 27km tomorrow morning and then rest up a little, so I can manage. Just gotta get thru this, just gotta get thru this… Good night. Bring on that DeepHeat!
9 April - Mbola!
Mbola – a word that regularly frequents our discussions, a place much talked about and much anticipated, and a project with high hopes and solid expectations resting on its shoulders. We are raising funds for this Millennium Promise village cluster called Mbola. Mbola is 35 km outside Tabora, which is itself a good couple of hundred kilometres from anything else…That is to say that Mbola well and truly is in the middle of nowhere.
We have been speaking of this place to everyone for a long time now, but no amount of reading and preparation can really accurately inform one of what is going on the ground. We are cycling across Africa and investing large amounts of time and effort into funding this project and so it was with a fair level of trepidation that we drove into Mbola. What if we found a disappointment? I had prepared myself for any other community development project that I have seen, which may be doing awesome work, but whose effects are difficult to discern… I was deeply concerned that I would be disheartened by what we saw. But we drove out of there incredibly positive about what was going on. It is a project that has tangible results and is substantially improving the lives of many people.
We congregated at the Millennium Promise offices for a brief introduction – Gerson, the Mbola project leader, introduced the project and gave some background. The project had initially started as a deforestation project and they applied to Millennium Promise explaining why it would be a good area to support within the program. The project is now only halfway through its second year and supports a cluster of communities totalling 33 000 people. The Millennium Promise team is 40 strong with 10 fulltime and 10 part-time government employees, and currently one American doctor as an intern.
The first stop was a primary school. There were 80 students per class and they were mostly sitting on the floor. Millennium Promise is in the process of building more classrooms to support the ever increasing attendance. Attendance has rocketed due to the introduction of a school feeding program, which basically ensures the children get at least one meal a day. They were so excited to see us, screaming “Mzungu!” and clambering at the windows to wave at us. I keep wondering what they think when they see these random white people walking through their village and disrupting their school. Are we very wealthy? Are we famous? Are we strange or mad or … are we just white? Are we being screamed at simply because we look so different? On the whole, the school seemed to be doing very well.
The project is only a year and a half old and as the program takes a holistic approach and tries to deal with all the areas of the Millennium Development goals simultaneously, there are clear areas where they are ahead of targets and exceeding expectations, and there are areas where they are struggling. The two areas that I was most impressed with were the agricultural and small business development areas.
Mbola is an area that has suffered from severe deforestation, more inconsistent rainfalls and large crop failure. For a community whose entire population depends on farming, this was fast approaching a crisis. Millennium Promise has created a scheme which teaches the use of fertiliser, allows farmers to organise themselves into farming groups for access to market, has created a learning program so that farmers understand the need to diversify their crops etc. I am not much of a farmer, but when you see the crops of those farmers within the program alongside the crops of those not yet within it, its pretty easy to see the successes that the project has. These farmers are able to improve their lot through reinvestment and saving...
The small business development is a program that is allowing women within the community to be taught the skills of bottling and making jams. We chatted to one of the women from within Mbola who is leading the project, and she explained the level of travelling she had been doing in order to exhibit her produce and take the collective produce to market. It is a fascinating project that again is all about aiding individuals to take another step up the poverty ladder.
It was an impressive visit and writing about it here simply doesnt do it justice. It will be fascinating to go back in a couple of years and see the developments. Who knows, by that time, Millennium Promise jam and preserves could be in our supermarkets.
We have been speaking of this place to everyone for a long time now, but no amount of reading and preparation can really accurately inform one of what is going on the ground. We are cycling across Africa and investing large amounts of time and effort into funding this project and so it was with a fair level of trepidation that we drove into Mbola. What if we found a disappointment? I had prepared myself for any other community development project that I have seen, which may be doing awesome work, but whose effects are difficult to discern… I was deeply concerned that I would be disheartened by what we saw. But we drove out of there incredibly positive about what was going on. It is a project that has tangible results and is substantially improving the lives of many people.
We congregated at the Millennium Promise offices for a brief introduction – Gerson, the Mbola project leader, introduced the project and gave some background. The project had initially started as a deforestation project and they applied to Millennium Promise explaining why it would be a good area to support within the program. The project is now only halfway through its second year and supports a cluster of communities totalling 33 000 people. The Millennium Promise team is 40 strong with 10 fulltime and 10 part-time government employees, and currently one American doctor as an intern.
The first stop was a primary school. There were 80 students per class and they were mostly sitting on the floor. Millennium Promise is in the process of building more classrooms to support the ever increasing attendance. Attendance has rocketed due to the introduction of a school feeding program, which basically ensures the children get at least one meal a day. They were so excited to see us, screaming “Mzungu!” and clambering at the windows to wave at us. I keep wondering what they think when they see these random white people walking through their village and disrupting their school. Are we very wealthy? Are we famous? Are we strange or mad or … are we just white? Are we being screamed at simply because we look so different? On the whole, the school seemed to be doing very well.
The project is only a year and a half old and as the program takes a holistic approach and tries to deal with all the areas of the Millennium Development goals simultaneously, there are clear areas where they are ahead of targets and exceeding expectations, and there are areas where they are struggling. The two areas that I was most impressed with were the agricultural and small business development areas.
Mbola is an area that has suffered from severe deforestation, more inconsistent rainfalls and large crop failure. For a community whose entire population depends on farming, this was fast approaching a crisis. Millennium Promise has created a scheme which teaches the use of fertiliser, allows farmers to organise themselves into farming groups for access to market, has created a learning program so that farmers understand the need to diversify their crops etc. I am not much of a farmer, but when you see the crops of those farmers within the program alongside the crops of those not yet within it, its pretty easy to see the successes that the project has. These farmers are able to improve their lot through reinvestment and saving...
The small business development is a program that is allowing women within the community to be taught the skills of bottling and making jams. We chatted to one of the women from within Mbola who is leading the project, and she explained the level of travelling she had been doing in order to exhibit her produce and take the collective produce to market. It is a fascinating project that again is all about aiding individuals to take another step up the poverty ladder.
It was an impressive visit and writing about it here simply doesnt do it justice. It will be fascinating to go back in a couple of years and see the developments. Who knows, by that time, Millennium Promise jam and preserves could be in our supermarkets.
8 April 2008 - Private transport in Africa.. and we're paying for this?!
The village we are raising money for is Mbola. 35km outside of Tabora. Tabora is in the middle of nowhere. If we had known exactly how difficult it would be to visit Mbola, who knows, we may have chosen another Millennium Promise village!!!
Arusha to Tabora is 700km. It took us 25 hours by car. How is that possible?! 25 hours in a twenty year old avocado landdrover with fibreglass interiors and suspension bad enough for me to know the difference…
I have been in many crazy African vehicles and endured some fascinating trips… but nothing quite amounts to this. 25 hours, a dead donkey, 5 flat tyres, a couple of hours driving with no headlights on a road that was more pothole than tarmac, 10 people in a nine seater landdrover (you do the maths!) and a vehicle that didn’t know what suspension was, over a road that needed a serious makeover. Frikkin ridiculous.
The dead donkey deserves some explanation: we are driving down a “tarred” highway that is long and flat and straight. Two hundred meters away a donkey is stationary in the middle of the road. We are travelling at somewhere approaching 120 km per hour. Like two objects in a state of inertia, the donkey remains where it is, and we remain on course until we collide. There was no veering to the left to miss it. There was no slowing down to ease the hit. There was no stopping after the hit. There was only a donkey with a broken back trying to move itself across the road, nine seriously appalled mzungus (white men) and two angered Masai – it takes a lot to anger these peaceful people. It was only a couple of kilometres down the road that we stopped and our driver got out to check on the state of the vehicle. More appalled mzungus.
Our driver, commonly referred to as Rhino, was an appropriately bulky man with a clumsy demeanour and a piece of his brain not quite right. This was scary stuff. We got there and home alright.. but wow, all jokes aside, we are incredibly lucky.
Arusha to Tabora is 700km. It took us 25 hours by car. How is that possible?! 25 hours in a twenty year old avocado landdrover with fibreglass interiors and suspension bad enough for me to know the difference…
I have been in many crazy African vehicles and endured some fascinating trips… but nothing quite amounts to this. 25 hours, a dead donkey, 5 flat tyres, a couple of hours driving with no headlights on a road that was more pothole than tarmac, 10 people in a nine seater landdrover (you do the maths!) and a vehicle that didn’t know what suspension was, over a road that needed a serious makeover. Frikkin ridiculous.
The dead donkey deserves some explanation: we are driving down a “tarred” highway that is long and flat and straight. Two hundred meters away a donkey is stationary in the middle of the road. We are travelling at somewhere approaching 120 km per hour. Like two objects in a state of inertia, the donkey remains where it is, and we remain on course until we collide. There was no veering to the left to miss it. There was no slowing down to ease the hit. There was no stopping after the hit. There was only a donkey with a broken back trying to move itself across the road, nine seriously appalled mzungus (white men) and two angered Masai – it takes a lot to anger these peaceful people. It was only a couple of kilometres down the road that we stopped and our driver got out to check on the state of the vehicle. More appalled mzungus.
Our driver, commonly referred to as Rhino, was an appropriately bulky man with a clumsy demeanour and a piece of his brain not quite right. This was scary stuff. We got there and home alright.. but wow, all jokes aside, we are incredibly lucky.
6 April 2008 - Another Tough Day in Africa..
It is a few days short of three months since we started this trip. It has been three months of epic highs and devastating lows. I have been spat out, spewed up and broken into tiny shards of shattered mirror… ok, not quite. But its been tough. I keep reminding myself of this while I stare out at an easy blue that makes a fibreglass pool look murky… calm waters, chalken sands, thatched bungalows and masai wandering down deserted beaches… Zanzibar!
It has been tough. I do deserve this. I do deserve this. And with a twinge of guilt, enough to make me go for a run in a tidy effort to chase away a slightly dulled head from the previous night’s antics, I sit pretty for six days. Six glorious days on a beach in Zanzibar! I had toyed with the idea of bringing my bike across from Dar… I am not afraid to admit a temporary lapse in sanity. We have a fairly twisted love-hate relationship, my bike and I, but I needed a break and I could never be happier than having an ocean between me and him. My word. So so happy. Rest, sleep, lie on a beach, drink Konyagi (very cheap booze), rest, swim, sleep… tough life.
Dar Es Salaam is a fascinating city. We stayed with Gill and Dave Legge and they looked after us in such a way that I felt like I was home. It is a special thing to reconnect with someone you last saw when you were not much more than four foot. They simply know things and people that mean the world to you – it was so great to stay with such wonderful, relaxed people and to cure a little bit of a latent desire to go home. It’s not that long now…
Back to Dar – a coastal city which has all the quirks of third world Africa – dilapidated buildings that ache to be bulldozed in order to uncover some opportunity for beautiful sea views; a cement factory on the distant horizon that inspired Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; a world where Arab and African worlds seem to coexist; where 30 000 expats seem to live a life of hard work intermingled with evenings of Russian music at the embassies, pizza evenings at the yacht club and coffee in the Lebanese café… it appears to be a solid existence – working for something you believe in in an international settting. Expats seem to work crazy hours and lead stressful lives where unpredictability is predicted and the beauracratic logic of the socialist past lingers…
It would be a tough world, but the idea of working in this environment for a couple of years, of gathering some understanding of how business actually works in Africa, and of leading an independent and international life that one could in Dar… I am going to look into that for some time down the road. Of African cities I have visited so far, I am most impressed by what it has to offer… I think it’s the sea that I love so much. I feel somehow that I can cope with the heat and the dust and the dirt and the chaos if I can wash it away by just looking at that great expanse - I’m waffling. Go there.
It has been tough. I do deserve this. I do deserve this. And with a twinge of guilt, enough to make me go for a run in a tidy effort to chase away a slightly dulled head from the previous night’s antics, I sit pretty for six days. Six glorious days on a beach in Zanzibar! I had toyed with the idea of bringing my bike across from Dar… I am not afraid to admit a temporary lapse in sanity. We have a fairly twisted love-hate relationship, my bike and I, but I needed a break and I could never be happier than having an ocean between me and him. My word. So so happy. Rest, sleep, lie on a beach, drink Konyagi (very cheap booze), rest, swim, sleep… tough life.
Dar Es Salaam is a fascinating city. We stayed with Gill and Dave Legge and they looked after us in such a way that I felt like I was home. It is a special thing to reconnect with someone you last saw when you were not much more than four foot. They simply know things and people that mean the world to you – it was so great to stay with such wonderful, relaxed people and to cure a little bit of a latent desire to go home. It’s not that long now…
Back to Dar – a coastal city which has all the quirks of third world Africa – dilapidated buildings that ache to be bulldozed in order to uncover some opportunity for beautiful sea views; a cement factory on the distant horizon that inspired Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; a world where Arab and African worlds seem to coexist; where 30 000 expats seem to live a life of hard work intermingled with evenings of Russian music at the embassies, pizza evenings at the yacht club and coffee in the Lebanese café… it appears to be a solid existence – working for something you believe in in an international settting. Expats seem to work crazy hours and lead stressful lives where unpredictability is predicted and the beauracratic logic of the socialist past lingers…
It would be a tough world, but the idea of working in this environment for a couple of years, of gathering some understanding of how business actually works in Africa, and of leading an independent and international life that one could in Dar… I am going to look into that for some time down the road. Of African cities I have visited so far, I am most impressed by what it has to offer… I think it’s the sea that I love so much. I feel somehow that I can cope with the heat and the dust and the dirt and the chaos if I can wash it away by just looking at that great expanse - I’m waffling. Go there.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
18 March - Climate change in Marsabit
Marsabit National Park is pretty spectacular. We had been told on arrival in Marsabit that it was pretty dry and that there weren’t too many animals around – but now, sitting on a deck overlooking a “lake” I begin to understand just how dry. There is no water in sight. The pan is framed by thick, natural bush and it is absolutely gorgeous.
Our guide, Duba, took us up to Lake Paradise – a world-renowned lake that has been heavily documented since the 1940’s. Animals amass to drink at the beautiful crater lake. Not so. Duba has been working at Marsabit as a guide for the last 35 years and has never seen it dry before. It is a sad moment. The lake is a dry crust with no animal in sight. It is a deep concern for the future of the park and a town that is dependent on its tourism. 38 000 people live in Marsabit – a town circled by desert. There is a massive water shortage and Duba explained that the desert was growing inwards and farmers were struggling. Everyone in Marsabit relies on food stamps and NGO support – it is a devastating tale. The animals? Duba thinks that they move further afield, down south to where they can find water. The only animals we saw there were an elephant and a buffalo with their calves… They cannot go too far with their young.
Duba puts all this down to changing weather patterns, hotter weather and less rains. There was a poignant moment captured on camera where he asked the questions did scientists know why the weather was changing, and were they doing something? Looking over the physical effects of climate change was a sobering moment, and it struck me that the livelihoods of those who are the least to blame are the most at risk. These wonderful men who cannot understand why someone would need more than one TV in a house will suffer at the result of our lives of excess. No-one is teaching them water conservation techniques, or why this is happening. To explain our lives of excess to someone who has so little, and then to explain that this excess in my life was the reason for the devastation of theirs… it made the environmental crisis very real.
It was a magical experience to be in the thick bush again, to drive through the forest in an open-topped landcruiser and talk of love and religion… but I was deeply moved by Duba’s questions and gazing out at an empty lake. Something needs to change. And fast.
19 March
Duba’s son, Jamal, was on the case to organise us a truck to Mount Kenya. Niall and Grant decided to camp the night at Marsabit, but Ol and I were keen to get to Mount Kenya and attempt some of the climb… We gave Jamal our cash – against our better judgement – and woke this morning with no Jamal in sight. We had a few painful moments and a nervous breakfast, as we went through our conversations trying to work out the flaws in his story. Jamal eventually turned up. It turned out that the truck was leaving a little later and he wanted to give us an extra hour to sleep! This trip is making me more suspiscious of people. Jamal is truly and genuine and great guy, and I am sorry that I doubted that…
Our guide, Duba, took us up to Lake Paradise – a world-renowned lake that has been heavily documented since the 1940’s. Animals amass to drink at the beautiful crater lake. Not so. Duba has been working at Marsabit as a guide for the last 35 years and has never seen it dry before. It is a sad moment. The lake is a dry crust with no animal in sight. It is a deep concern for the future of the park and a town that is dependent on its tourism. 38 000 people live in Marsabit – a town circled by desert. There is a massive water shortage and Duba explained that the desert was growing inwards and farmers were struggling. Everyone in Marsabit relies on food stamps and NGO support – it is a devastating tale. The animals? Duba thinks that they move further afield, down south to where they can find water. The only animals we saw there were an elephant and a buffalo with their calves… They cannot go too far with their young.
Duba puts all this down to changing weather patterns, hotter weather and less rains. There was a poignant moment captured on camera where he asked the questions did scientists know why the weather was changing, and were they doing something? Looking over the physical effects of climate change was a sobering moment, and it struck me that the livelihoods of those who are the least to blame are the most at risk. These wonderful men who cannot understand why someone would need more than one TV in a house will suffer at the result of our lives of excess. No-one is teaching them water conservation techniques, or why this is happening. To explain our lives of excess to someone who has so little, and then to explain that this excess in my life was the reason for the devastation of theirs… it made the environmental crisis very real.
It was a magical experience to be in the thick bush again, to drive through the forest in an open-topped landcruiser and talk of love and religion… but I was deeply moved by Duba’s questions and gazing out at an empty lake. Something needs to change. And fast.
19 March
Duba’s son, Jamal, was on the case to organise us a truck to Mount Kenya. Niall and Grant decided to camp the night at Marsabit, but Ol and I were keen to get to Mount Kenya and attempt some of the climb… We gave Jamal our cash – against our better judgement – and woke this morning with no Jamal in sight. We had a few painful moments and a nervous breakfast, as we went through our conversations trying to work out the flaws in his story. Jamal eventually turned up. It turned out that the truck was leaving a little later and he wanted to give us an extra hour to sleep! This trip is making me more suspiscious of people. Jamal is truly and genuine and great guy, and I am sorry that I doubted that…
17 March - Kenyan Introductions
It has been a solid few days of cycling with three 110 kilometer-plus days in a row over the typically challenging Ethiopian terrain. Yesterday was particularly difficult because a 96 km suddenly turned into a 110 km, and also because it was a long straight road that ignored any hills in its path and went directly over them! To make matters worse, there were no towns to speak of. I found myself counting the fourth rise on the horizon and rationing my rests to get to each one. It was mind-numbingly frustrating.
I started off just after seven and spent most of the day cycling on my own and it was awesome to get a little bit of space and personal time. A day of cycling on my own, mulling over my life plans and chatting to random strangers that I met – was divine! In particular, I pulled up at 60 km for a little break in a tiny town. Immediately, three men sitting outside their local bar, beckoned me over for a chat. A half hour later saw a lone female Farangi chatting away to two local policemen, the bar owner and his mate, surrounded by twenty-odd children while they chatted over politics and agriculture over a few beers. Classic! Ok, so I didn’t join them in the beers, but they were great company and made every effort to make sure that I was comfortable, made sure that none of the children got too close to my precious bicycle, and were fascinated about South Africa. It was an awesome experience and I lapped it up for the completely bizarre nature of our interactions. This is Africa!
Yesterday afternoon at 100 kilometers down, a van passed me, pulled over, the door flung open and an English woman hopped out bearing gifts of water! Janet and Chris are a couple from England who are travelling to Cape Town via Scandinavia and the East and then returning to the UK via West Africa. We had a few beers with them last night at the hotel campsite. It was so refreshing to chat to Westerners again! Apart from the Swedes and a few Tour d’Afrique cyclists that we met in Sudan, they are the first overlanders that we have actually had a chat with. I had expected to meet up with so many more people travelling around Africa. This infamous Cape to Cairo highway has turned out to be a fairly untravelled route.
Now, at the border of Kenya, Moyale, we change our last Ethiopian birr for Kenyan Shillings, pass through immigration, and enter the country that I have dreamed of since I was a little girl.
***********
What a day and world’s apart from the peaceful start forecast by my morning’s musings! I am shattered. Again.
After a fairly tedious border control process we cycled across the border into Kenya. We were greeted with jovial officers with impeccable English and even better banter and flirting! – I even got offered a date. Nice.
In Moyale itself not too much actually happens despite the endless activity: The ATM’s wont spew out cash; You cannot get a cold drink in a café, in fact, you give them cash to go to the shop and buy them for you; and there are endless “guides” that swamp you and latch on and then never leave your side… they are trying to earn a tip for being generally helpful. As we entered the town we had a dozen of these guides on us in seconds, organizing, arranging and hassling. We needed to get a truck en route to Nairobi – we had made an executive decision at the time of the conflict in Kenya that we would err on the side of caution and truck through it. This is disappointing but sensible I think.
I had been recommended Marsabit National park as a must-see and so we decided to break the trip with a visit there. The truck ride was a ridiculous experience on an awful road through a desert. We suffered many casualties: the antiquated landdrover left half its undercarriage splayed across the desert; Grant’s bicycle nearly lost its back wheel and a few cogs in the process; I lost my front brakes and a speedometer; and we all lost a couple of years of our lives flying along in a state-owned vehicle, sitting next to two well-armed officers, considering the ramifications that would result from braking a fraction more suddenly or swerving a split-second later. The driver was clearly in a mad rush. It was a dust-filled five hour experience that was a solid introduction to Kenya.
A good night’s sleep, hearty meal and warm shower out of a bucket, is exactly what the doctor ordered.
I started off just after seven and spent most of the day cycling on my own and it was awesome to get a little bit of space and personal time. A day of cycling on my own, mulling over my life plans and chatting to random strangers that I met – was divine! In particular, I pulled up at 60 km for a little break in a tiny town. Immediately, three men sitting outside their local bar, beckoned me over for a chat. A half hour later saw a lone female Farangi chatting away to two local policemen, the bar owner and his mate, surrounded by twenty-odd children while they chatted over politics and agriculture over a few beers. Classic! Ok, so I didn’t join them in the beers, but they were great company and made every effort to make sure that I was comfortable, made sure that none of the children got too close to my precious bicycle, and were fascinated about South Africa. It was an awesome experience and I lapped it up for the completely bizarre nature of our interactions. This is Africa!
Yesterday afternoon at 100 kilometers down, a van passed me, pulled over, the door flung open and an English woman hopped out bearing gifts of water! Janet and Chris are a couple from England who are travelling to Cape Town via Scandinavia and the East and then returning to the UK via West Africa. We had a few beers with them last night at the hotel campsite. It was so refreshing to chat to Westerners again! Apart from the Swedes and a few Tour d’Afrique cyclists that we met in Sudan, they are the first overlanders that we have actually had a chat with. I had expected to meet up with so many more people travelling around Africa. This infamous Cape to Cairo highway has turned out to be a fairly untravelled route.
Now, at the border of Kenya, Moyale, we change our last Ethiopian birr for Kenyan Shillings, pass through immigration, and enter the country that I have dreamed of since I was a little girl.
***********
What a day and world’s apart from the peaceful start forecast by my morning’s musings! I am shattered. Again.
After a fairly tedious border control process we cycled across the border into Kenya. We were greeted with jovial officers with impeccable English and even better banter and flirting! – I even got offered a date. Nice.
In Moyale itself not too much actually happens despite the endless activity: The ATM’s wont spew out cash; You cannot get a cold drink in a café, in fact, you give them cash to go to the shop and buy them for you; and there are endless “guides” that swamp you and latch on and then never leave your side… they are trying to earn a tip for being generally helpful. As we entered the town we had a dozen of these guides on us in seconds, organizing, arranging and hassling. We needed to get a truck en route to Nairobi – we had made an executive decision at the time of the conflict in Kenya that we would err on the side of caution and truck through it. This is disappointing but sensible I think.
I had been recommended Marsabit National park as a must-see and so we decided to break the trip with a visit there. The truck ride was a ridiculous experience on an awful road through a desert. We suffered many casualties: the antiquated landdrover left half its undercarriage splayed across the desert; Grant’s bicycle nearly lost its back wheel and a few cogs in the process; I lost my front brakes and a speedometer; and we all lost a couple of years of our lives flying along in a state-owned vehicle, sitting next to two well-armed officers, considering the ramifications that would result from braking a fraction more suddenly or swerving a split-second later. The driver was clearly in a mad rush. It was a dust-filled five hour experience that was a solid introduction to Kenya.
A good night’s sleep, hearty meal and warm shower out of a bucket, is exactly what the doctor ordered.
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