Amboseli Safari

Headed down to Amboseli for a weekend, only a few hous drive from Nairobi. Following are a selection of images from our drive around the park.

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The hidden beauty of this land...

It was a lovely evening tonight in old Thika town. I walked back from our Interim Care Centre after an afternoon kickabout with the boys, followed by dinner and a DVD. Another war movie unfortunately - more death and destruction, their favourite type of movie. I had actually borrowed a DVD for them from our local movie rental place - Spy Kids 1, 2 and 3 - but then had left it home. Doh!

Anyway, not really keen to watch the end of Windtalkers for a third time (there's only so much Nicholas Cage in his action hero phase one can take), and with most of the boys quite happily playing cards amongst themselves, I decided to head home. I was already feeling pretty good - a nice bit of exercise, a brief chat on the phone with a friend of mine who always leaves me with a smile on my face - but as I was strolling home through the darkened streets, with people strolling past me on their way home for the evening (everyone strolls in Kenya, there's no other word to describe it) and the sounds of a small town settling in for the evening around me, I found myself suddenly understanding why people find this part of the world so beautiful. Perhaps an epiphany would be the way to describe it, though I've always found that a rather strange word. "Epiphany" - sounds like one should always pronounce it with a refined British accent. Rather...

Some of the beauty around the country is obvious. The national parks - such as the eerily sublime starkness of the Masai Mara savannah, with its low lying scrubland interspersed by the odd concentration of vegetation, the varied and abundant wildlife either lying about in the available shade watching the tourist vans with wary eyes or else fulfilling Darwin's theory on survival of the fittest in all it's bloody glory; and the lush swamplands of Amboseli with its herds of slow moving elephant and buffalo below the stunning backdrop of Kilimanjaro. The often mist shrouded highest points of Africa - the aforementioned Kilimanjaro, as well as the less famous but perhaps more beautiful Mount Kenya - and their lush undulating foothills, thriving with life both flora and fauna (including human). The traditional music and colour of the numerous tribes that inhabit this vast land, especially the Masai with their bright kanga and kikoi cloaks and seemingly limitless variety of body adornments (and not all of them created just with the tourists in mind).

However it is the beauty that is not quite so obvious, the kind of beauty that does not feature in the glossy tourist brochures or getaway programs that I have begun to understand and appreciate. It's the singsong harmony of the local dialect carried on the evening breeze, lending itself so readily to the singing and music that has been exported to the west in all its various forms over the years. It's the freshness of the gentle evening breeze on your skin still warm from the day's heat; the aroma of nyachoma (roasted goat) being prepared for the clientele of the abundant and always lively restaurants and bars. It's the variety and colour of the roadside shoe stalls randomly set up each evening, offering every variety from casual sandals and joggers to business and evening wear; the hawkers walking around with a dozen business shirts somehow hung along their arms, each with a final price dependent on your bartering ability measured against your desperation to look the goods at work the next day. It's even the seeming chaotic nature of the matatu stand with dozens of signs listing villages and towns you've never heard of and will probably never travel to, the touts calling you over to their van even though you've given no indication of being on the lookout for transport, and the numerous snack sellers walking from van to van with their trays laden with an abundance of wares from small packets of biscuits and nuts to chips, flavoured drinks and every type of sweet you could imagine.

And then there are the people you meet, even just passing in the street. The always close to the surface smile that seems to exist on the face of every Kenyan (well, not so sure about the white Kenyans...) and that is so readily released with a quiet "Habari" in passing (and this is not just a reaction to a white person, but something I've seen amongst Kenyans). The readiness with which complete strangers will engage you or other strangers in friendly conversation, about anything from where you are from through to the current state of Kenyan politics. The regulars at the local bar and pool house who have no hesitation in inviting you to join in and teach you their local variation of the game. And there's even the kids living on the street who you pass at night, especially the younger ones - 5 or 6 years of age - who can exude such warmth, and you can see that all they really want is to feel some warmth in return and have a chance to realise their potential.

Life. Everything is just so alive. And there is beauty in this life.

There is so much negative said and written about this part of the world. Some perhaps justified. There is corruption - it's endemic and does need to be address for long term progress to occur - there is extreme poverty in many places, and there is a high level of crime in many of the major cities. However it is certainly far from a lost cause. No place with this much beauty, this much life, could ever be a lost cause. I am just beginning to appreciate the beauty that does exist here.

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Damned if you do, damned if you...

The day after the in some ways farcical though deeply offensive situation and comments that arose from the night mentioned in a recent post, when one of the kids we're working with came to our residence at 10:00pm after spending a few days back on the street, wanting some food and perhaps an opportunity to go back to our Interim Care Centre (ICC) but in the end deciding to stay on the street for that night, I was a feeling quite despondent that I had not been able to convince him to go back. The boy in question - Stephen Maina - is an extremely bright, intelligent and very funny 15-year old with - on the surface - everything in the world going for him. He is somebody you can look at and imagine him becoming whatever he wants to become.

But then three days after taking him and some others to the cinema in Nairobi after a day of car washing to raise funds for a treat, a treat which none of them has ever done before (they had never seen a movie on anything but a TV previously, it was great to watch their faces), I first of all see him back on the street begging for money during the day, and then later that night at our gate, high on glue, and asking for food. Damn.

And then he came back the next night... The gate bell was answered by one of my housemates/colleagues, who then told me that Stephen was asking for me. I went out to the gate and was quite devastated by his appearance. He looked far worse than the night before, fairly obviously had not eaten much if anything over the past three or four days, and had the look of someone who hadn't washed at all over that time too. He first of all asked for some water - so he hadn't drunk much water either - and then said he wanted to go back to the ICC. As you might imagine I was quite relieved to hear this.

But first, never wanting to overstep my mark or go against the will of those who are actually employed by the organisation I'm a volunteer with, I attempted to call Josephine, the ICC manager, to inform her of the situation. Unfortunately, the call went unanswered. So, what to do?

Since I had had a similar situation the evening before, and on that occasion after a discussion she had agreed to try my idea (ie. taking Stephen back that night on the understanding that first thing in the morning he had to do something that had been asked of him), I figured there was nothing wrong with me taking him to the ICC and talking with Josephine whenever she called me back. Worse case scenario is we speak in the morning, she tells me that she has changed her mind and didn't want him back until he does what has been asked of him, but overall no real harm done. My other alternative was to send him back on the street for the night, which when you have someone in his condition asking to come back to our care, well... it's not a decision I could make with all good conscience. If I did, and anything at all happened to him, I could never forgive myself.

So we headed off to the ICC in our trusty old Subaru (well, old anyway...), my glances across to the forlorn figure next to me conveying my relief at developments. Then my mobile rang. It was Josephine returning my call, and this time, though I again strongly conveyed my feelings on the matter and that 11:00pm at night was not, I believed, the time to be drawing a line in the sand when it concerned a child's life, she put her foot down that she did not want Stephen returning to the ICC until he had done what she had asked.

So what had she asked of him, four days previously? The one major issue that Stephen has is that he can be rude and bully the younger boys at times. It obviously comes from his need to look out for himself while living on the streets, but obviously is not acceptable within day-to-day normal life and as such is obviously something that needs to be dealt with during his rehabilitation at the ICC. On this occasion, he had been involved with a fight with another boy, and Josephine had asked him to go home and bring his mother to discuss the situation. Stephen had returned to the streets rather than face his mother.

My view was that at 11:00pm at night, with him being hungry, dirty and obviously very depressed, that it would be no harm at all to allow him to wash and sleep at the ICC that night but then demand he does what was required of him first thing in the morning. As I said previously, asking him to return to the street that night with the chance that something could happen to him was not something I was comfortable with at all.

Josephine's position on the other hand was that she couldn't let the boys constantly take advantage of the different staff, and come and go from the centre whenever it pleased them, and that Stephen had to do as he was asked before he could return. While in some way I can understand her view, especially when we have a responsibility to more kids than just Stephen, I still do not agree with turning a child away late at night, that there is no hard and fast time to draw that line in the sand when you're talking about a child's life.

However, I was not going to go against a manager's final decision, so less than 100 metres from the ICC I stopped the car and told Stephen what had been decided. The look on his face wasn't so much sad as simply resigned to the turn of events. I seemed to be the one most distressed by the situation, Stephen perhaps used to a life full of these kinds of situations. I asked him if he would come back to the house in the morning, and I would go together with him to talk with his mother and bring her to the ICC. He said he would.

We drove slowly back to my place, where I got him a large plastic bottle and filled it with water. I then dove him into town to the area he would be sleeping. We pulled over. I looked across at Stephen's downcast face, and asked him again if he would come to the house the next morning. Again he said he would, but while a part of me was obviously glad to hear this commitment from him, another part of me was fearful of what might happen to him overnight. It's not as if he didn't have plenty of experience at sleeping on the streets, but still, what chance it would be that night - the night we turned him away when he was so desperate - what chance that night was when something serious happened to him? I watched him walk away from the car with hope, fear, sadness…

You can perhaps have some understanding of my relief the next morning when he arrived at our gate. He is now back at the ICC, and from all reports has improved in his behaviour to others. Time will tell if this event is the one that makes the difference, but I'm still of the belief that turning him - or any other child - away late at night like that was the wrong thing to do.

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I'm a racist

Well, according to a fellow Australian volunteer from Melbourne I am. Apparently, because I dared to have another opinion than one of our Kenyan managers, and ended up talking her around to trying out my idea, I'm a racist. Even though, in trying out my idea, it in no way precludes subsequently trying out the Kenyan manager's idea if mine should not succeed.

(The issue involved one of our street kids who had returned to the street, and came looking for some food. I wanted to give him another chance before we "made him" stick to the rules, so not just a simple issue of two opinions, we were talking about someone's life).

"You shouldn't think you know best just because you're white."

Oh my. She didn't seem to understand the point that I, like probably most people, sometimes have differing ideas to many managers I work with, and that's a part of adding value to an organisation. And this from a Malaysian Australian woman who is making it a very obvious point not to mix, associate or become friends with any whites of any kind while in Kenya - Kenyans or foreigners - only black Kenyans. I wonder if she sees the irony in her accusation at all? I'm guessing not...

This is also the girl who hung out with a couple of Masai men while down in Zanzibar, and then when one came to visit her in Thika (that's where I am, in case you 'all have forgotten) and she booked him into a nearby hotel, was surprised that he seemed really upset that he wasn't staying with her, in her room...

Unfortunately, like it or not, as a white (or even Malaysian Australian) foreigner in this country you're seen by many as one of either:
- A ticket out
- A badge of honour
- An easy score

And it has less to do with black and white and more to do with cultural and economic realities. It is a little unfortunate, means you do have to choose your local friends very carefully, however it's just something you have to accept as a part of life here.

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About bloody time!

One of my major tasks at the moment is to do the rounds of the various agencies, funding bodies, embassies, corporations, and any other organisation or even individual that may be able to provide any sort of funding or help at all. And damn it's a thankless task! I'm reminded of why I never wanted to go into sales, as there ain't nothing fun in this cold calling business.

However, I have finally cracked an appointment with one of the big boys, UNICEF. I have no idea if they will end up offering any help at all, but after more than a month of calls, dozens of "sorry, can't help you", and the odd appointment here and there mostly with small agencies not unlike ourselves (ie. not flush with funding), it's just nice to have somebody of substance actually agree to a meeting without any hesitation at all. Seems some in the business do recognise that we are all here to help after all.

And I got a little insight into those moments of joy that sales people get out of their job.

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Who am I?

Who am I?
I can love with the clarity of a bright summer's day
Who am I?
I can cheat on those who I say that I love
Who am I?
I can mourn the loss of a friend I wish I'd known more
Who am I?
I can wish for a friend who I could reveal all my fears
Who am I?
I can hold the hand of a child and help give them a chance
Who am I?
I can ignore the hand of a friend for fear of intimacy
Who am I?
I can know without a doubt the way that I feel
Who am I?
I can doubt everything that I hold to be true
Who am I?
I can live a life hungry to learn
Who am I?
I can repeat my same mistakes again and again
Who am I?
I can play ninety minutes with a body racked with pain
Who am I?
I can put off til tomorrow what should be done today
Who am I?
I can change my life around with inner strength and will
Who am I?
I can despair for a childhood that I never did have
Who am I?
I can laugh in the face of danger and risk
Who am I?
I can shed tears from the fear of growing old alone
Who am I?
I can express in words what I feel in my heart
Who am I?
I can find goodbye the hardest thing to say in the world
Who am I?
I can move to the beat of life's music pumping out
Who am I?
I can collapse in despair at a life that's passed me by
Who am I?
I can drink fresh clear water and think it nectar of the Gods
Who am I?
I can drink so much beer that I forget what I've done
Who am I?
I can watch stars at night and imagine heavens above
Who am I?
I can sometimes glimpse the shadow that lurks in my heart
Who am I?
I can hold in my hand the hand of my true love
Who am I?
I can attempt sexual assault on one I profess to love
Who am I?
I can hold my head high with the life that I've lived
Who am I?
I can look in the mirror and see the face of a stranger
Who am I?

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