Travel Log 13 - Kenya

Nairobi, Naivasha and Hells Gate National Park
3/6/2008 – 19/6/2008
Architectural wigs and an ominous air

First impressions of Nairobi were of a modern and Western metropolis, beggarless and lined with the first litterbins we’d seen since we went through France. Well-heeled businessmen and women hurriedly marched about in marginally out-of-date suits. The notable differences were; far more aggressive driving, louder voices, the occasional traditional dress - vibrantly coloured with over-sized patterns, and the proliferation of highly implausible but eye-catching, architectural wigs on the heads of women. As the sun set it became far more rowdy. Below our hotel room we could see street children glue-sniffing and staggering into a heap in an alley to a night chorus of hundreds of car alarms. The streets felt edgy, whether this is because we were expecting them to be dangerous (thanks to the many warnings about ‘Nairobbery’ from fellow tortoises) or because they genuinely were is impossible to tell.


As we had an ex-pat friend in Nairobi (Tom) and he was kind enough to help us out, we ended up spending much of our time within this community. The world in which they, and therefore we occupied was in many ways dissociated from the black Nairobi and surreally Western. What united the ex-pats and the black Nairobians was their disgust with and their propensity to talk about politics.

We were told that over 22.5% of the country’s GDP is spent on the running of the government.

Before meeting Tom we were staying downtown in the ironically named ‘Secure Rest Lodge’ which is probably where Stuart’s camera was stolen from (hence the inauthentic photos of South Ethiopia and most of Kenya). While we stayed in this part of the city a student was shot by indiscriminate police gunfire. We only knew when reading the papers the next day. A similar experience was relayed to us by many Nairobians regarding the post-election violence. It was felt that the Western media’s portrayal of events gave the impression of something not only citywide, but engulfing the whole country, and this had irreparably damaged the country’s tourist trade. We met seemingly lost tour guides who offered their services to us free of charge as part of government initiative to change the country’s image. Tourism accounts for 54% of Kenya’s GDP.

One evening Tom, our man in Nairobi, took us to a very exclusive country club. We made our way past the stuffed lions to the billiards room to play snooker with the political attaché to the British High Commission. As he was introduced to Toby, Toby was not entirely prepared for the jolly good, ‘rah!’ hand throttling. He stared down at the awkwardly embracing hands and looked up with raised eyebrows, holding Toby’s eye, then Stuart’s, probably looking as he does when he is in hostage negotiation situations.

The owner of the country club went to L.S.E. with Mugabe. After we sat in the bar and discussed African politics with the political attaché, specifically the state of Zimbabwe and how they should scrap their currency in favour of the South African Rand (as inflation has become so ludicrous – a loaf of bread costs 1 billion Zimbabwean Dollars at the time of writing and only three years ago three zeros were knocked off the currency). As we talked an old gent tutted and cupped his ears to hear the BBC better, he had said he had come for his lunch and it was then around nine in the evening.

While staying downtown, we wanted to find out if the guard which we had put up was valid. We had heard our fair share of horror stories so we cautiously braved a bar near our hotel. After one beer in Zanze Bar we could take the staring no longer and yomped back. The staring was mainly out of surprise at seeing two mwzungus (Swahili for ‘white man’ but better translated as ‘man with no smell’). What was off-putting was, not knowing whether they were surprised because we were very likely to be robbed and therefore either mad or stupid, or just because the bars in the area were not frequented by mwzungus because they had been told horror stories by other mwzungus.

We took a trip to Hell’s Gate National Park with Tom and Charles and their families. The excitement began as evil and organised baboons stole the bread as we picnicked. Next we walked through the high-walled gorge, the enthusiastic charisma of the children was infectious as we helped them clamber through the more difficult parts. We came to hot springs and washed off the mud. Chinese geothermal engineers in brightly coloured boiler suits chain-smoked ahead of us. When we caught up with them they grabbed one of the children to take photos of one another with her. It was hard work prizing her away, but the engineers seemed very pleased with themselves and helped lift the other children up a ledge as their parents caught up. We drove around the park leaning out of the top of the land rover engulfed in the flow of pillow warm air, trailing a cloud of red dust behind us.

The families left Hell’s Gate to get to work and school the next day while we stayed in the luxury of Camp Carnellys, just outside Naivasha. The showers were the best so far in Africa (they were outdoors but felt like take a bath) and they served delicious crayfish. The campsite stretched out onto Lake Naivasha, rimed by a squat electric fence to keep the hippos out.

The following day we hired bikes and returned to Hell’s Gate. We were lucky enough to come face to face (so to speak) with many Maasai giraffes as we cycled through. They were beautifully serene as they took the time to eye us down, and all at once, like a puppet operated by a mad puppeteer, they took flight. We were also lucky enough not to get gored by a buffalo that charged at us while we ate our lunch. It thought better of it and ran into the bushes. On the return trip the sun was low and the air was cool so the park was far busier with animals, but not tourists. Zebras, Maasai ostriches, Thompson gazelle, bushbuck, Kirk’s dikdik, common duiker, Grant’s gazelle, white bearded gnu, Coke’s hartebeest, iimpala, klipspringer, Bohor reedbuck, Chanler’s mountain reedbuck, steinbok, defassa waterbuck stretched out for miles. Well, that’s probably what we saw. We definitely saw ostrich, gazelle and the bizarre rock hyrax – it looked something like a large rat and apparently it is the elephant’s closest living relative and it has the ability to secrete a substance from its feet which allows it to climb rocks at improbable gradients. Besides all the safari one-upmanship, gliding silently along the road with gazelles darting across in the near distance with tens of buffalo following us with a shared gaze was an indelible image. The otherworldly nature of the place was compounded by the high cliffs that made it feel as though we had sneaked into an enclosure.


The following day we took a matatu (the small Toyota minibuses called ‘taxis’ in Ethiopia) to Charles’ house. Our bus driver was an unlikeable eccentric. He kept a photo of himself wearing aviator sunglasses in the sun visor above where he sat and tried to extort money from us in exchange for the directions to get to Charles’s.

Charles’s family had owned the farm on and off for over a hundred years and he was born there to English parents. His beautiful house looked out across a bright garden onto the turkey pens and grassland on which his cattle grazed. He was suffering after the post-election violence regarding the disputed triumph of Mwai Kibaki over Raila Odinga because it had destroyed the country’s tourist trade and resorts were his main clients. We saw evidence in Naivasha where a large IDP camp had been setup in an attempt to protect the migrant workers who come to work on the flower plantations. However, this camp was so poorly located that hardly anyone had ever gone there. It was strange to see the reality of these workers and the strange thought that many of the flowers they were picking were destined for Britain.

We took Charles’ huge dogs to walk around the grounds, respectfully greeted by the families of those who worked on the farm. For dinner we ate a beautifully prepared meal in a very English style. As we waited for it to be cooked Charles showed us some of his father’s photographs, which he took while serving as the commissioner responsible for most of south and west Sudan. He was clearly a great photographer and it was a real privilege to peek into a lost world of men with gramophones shooting lions, and pet cheetahs sat in front of typewriters.

Having a maid come to clear the plates at the ring of a silver bell after dining was alien. Undoubtedly if one were to grow up with it, it would be different. Speaking to different ex-pats on the subject there seemed to be a consistent theme – I need their help and they need some money. If I was not paying them to cook or clean or look after the children or act as a gardener or driver or watchman, they would be working harder for less money doing something else with less job security.

One night when we were having a drink with Tom we were introduced to manager of Kenya’s number one band – Yunasi. Simon or ‘E.P’. – ‘El Presidente’, as he was known by the band, was kind enough to offer us a place to stay and we headed to the nicer part of Nairobi after helping Charles carry some frozen turkeys to an old people’s home.


Simon’s house was also very impressive, built by an eccentric Indian architect who placed verandas, light switches, bathrooms and a secret passage behind the bookcase in seemingly random places. Sitting on the veranda during the evening watching his jungle of a garden alive with movement and sound was therapeutic.

We were taken to a local bar after doing a day of work and drank too much before dinner with an interesting set of characters with different perspectives and filmic stories of Kenya.

The following day Simon lent us his car and Matisu the driver and we took a day out or a ‘jolly’ as people seemed to refer to it. We visited the elephant sanctuary and ‘Giraffe Manor’ then continued up to the house for which Simon had made a bridge, crossing over the wide gorge. It was owned by an eccentric old artiste who had constructed herself a mad house stretching along the escarpment, made up of Gaudi-like buildings with strange turrets. Unfortunately the rope bridge was occupied by a party of forty of so people who were crossing painfully slowly so we had to head back to help prepare for a barbeque. Compensation came in being allowed to drive the Land Rover off road on the way back.


At the barbeque that evening we met with a big group of Simon and his wife Katie’s friends and Yunasi themselves. They invited us to come and see them perform in Kampala, where we heading anyway. Toby from the band was delighted to meet a fellow Toby and even happier to hear that he played guitar. When it got late and most people had left they began to sing. They had amazing voices and beautiful harmonies punctuated by high ‘yiyiyiyi’s, low ‘ommmmm’s, sharp ‘shhhhhh’s and soft ‘hhhhhhrrrrr’s. The garden was full of wildlife, and with the background sounds of bush babies, bats and crickets it felt as if we were in the Masai Mara.

After the luxury of ex-pat Kenya, and with little understanding of wider Kenya we headed on the bus for Kampala, leaving from a bus stop that could have been in the CBD of any major Western city in mid-summer.