Il Ngwesi

Last weekend I visited Il Ngwesi, a Maasai community project in Laikipia. It’s a remote eco-lodge tucked into a corner of Maasai land, that has been turned over to a wildlife reserve. To reach it you either need a light aircraft (which is how we assume Kate and Wills visited – oh yes, they've stayed there before now. Did I not mention that?) or patience: we took a shuttle bus three hours to Nanyuki where the project has an office, then another two hours to Isiolo, then switched to 4x4’s for the final hour and a half.


It’s completely worth it though. The lodge is set into a hillside with unbroken views of plains and scrub, and a watering hole in the valley where you can watch the animals come and go. At night we heard elephants trumpeting.

In fact the rooms are open to the world with no windows or doors. Even the loos look out over the valley.

One of the highlights was a walking safari; normally you aren't allowed out of your vehicle on safari for safety, so this was a real treat. We did have a dude with a big gun accompany us, but it was amazing to really be able to get out into the landscape and explore. We even saw elephants (from a safe distance - I'd include a picture but they just look like big rocks with ears). The other wildlife was being a bit shy as its the rainy season so there's a lot of cover around, but our guide, James, was really knowledgeable. Here he is on a termite mound (left).

The Maasai are generally quite self-contained so it was a privilege to spend some time in their land. We even got to see some of their awesome jumping, and they tried to teach us to dance (without much success).

One of the other volunteers is working in the area and is trying to help a bead-making cooperative connected with Il Ngwesi. She told us that cows are pretty much what it's all about for Maasai guys: in fact they believe that all the cows in the world belong to the Maasai people, so if they need some it's alright to just go and take some from neighbouring communities. This means that there are cattle rustlers and skirmishes quite frequently further north from Il Ngwesi.

It's a great project and a magical place. I hope that next time I can share it with Eddie too.

White people everywhere

I'd like to apologise in advance for the length of this blog post: I couldn't find an easy way to write it, so please bear with us - normal running will be resumed soon. If you're feeling lazy you can skip this next section and just know that we've had visa trouble and Ed is back home, after a traumatic 20 hours stuck in Jomo Kenyatta Airport. If you want the details read this next part...

Early April: We remind VSO that Ed's extended tourist visa is due to expire on 5th May, and ask how his residency visa is coming along. VSO reply to say that it has not yet been requested, because my work permit has only just been approved and that had to happen first. They warn it will take at least six weeks and so Ed will need to renew his tourist visa by leaving Kenya then coming back. They advise crossing into Tanzania as a day trip.

27 April: Ed goes to visit a volunteer (Ed: Thanks, Lennart!, Also great views of Kili) who lives at Oliotokitok on the Tanzanian border, and tries to renew his visa at the border there, but is turned back.

28 April: VSO advises Ed to try a different border crossing into Tanzania. On his way out of the office, another staff member chats to Eddie and casually drops into conversation that actually they might not be able to get us a dependent's visa for Ed after all, because they've changed the laws and we need to be married. He goes on to say, in classic Kenyan style:

"So, what you need to do is go to the office and sign the papers, then wait 30 days for them to be posted, and then you can formalise everything."

Ed thought for a minute before the penny dropped: "Wait a minute, you're instructing us to get married?!"

When Ed relayed this conversation to me I (jokingly) described it as the worst marriage proposal ever (well, apart from all the other Kenyan marriage proposals anyway). We decided this wasn't really the way we'd like to tie the knot - cryptic utterances from VSO are not my idea of romance. Although on reflection, maybe we should have asked them to pay for the reception. However, I digress...

29 April: Ed tries the other recommended border crossing and manages to leave Kenya this time. He hangs out in a bar in Tanzania for a couple of hours before trying to head back, but is again refused a visa and the officials insist he must leave East Africa.

3 May: With 24 hours till his visa expires, VSO hurriedly book a flight to Ethiopia for Ed.

4 May: Ed leaves for Ethiopia and hangs out in Addis Ababa chewing miraa/qat. Thanks to a couple of awesome VSO contacts, (Ed: Thanks Aurelia & Tom!) he has a great time (Ed: I can highly recommend Addis, fun times!)

6 May, 5.40pm: Ed lands back in Kenya and gets to immigration where he is again refused a visa and told he can only leave the terminal if he presents a ticket for his return to the UK. He calls VSO to ask for help. His phone promptly runs out of battery and he spends some time trying to find someone to help him charge it.

6 May, 10.30pm: VSO dude arrives and persuades security to let him through to negotiate with the airport staff. They refuse to budge and VSO promise to return the next day with a ticket.

6 May 11pm- 7 May 5am: Ed tries to sleep in coffee shop/ mosque/ airport floor.
(Ed: The mosque was full of people sleeping 'Praise be to the snoring Ugandan', the coffee shop had Al-Jazeera on the TV far too loud and airport floors are quite uncomfortable)

7 May 6am: Ed finds shower. By this point he considers this as one of the night's successes.

7 May, midday: After a morning of me impatiently texting VSO saying, "are you on your way yet?", they obtain a ticket for the 10 May and pick me up on the way to the airport.

7 May, 12.30pm: We arrive at the airport and persuade security to take the ticket to Ed in immigration, but they change their minds and say he won't be able to leave the airport, and will have to stay in the terminal building for the three days until his flight leaves.
(Ed: At this point I have a bit of a meltdown in front of the immigration officer, which definitely loses me man points)

On the other side of security, we try to negotiate to at least to be able to get clearance for me to go and say goodbye to Eddie and take him some clean clothes, but the security officer says no, even when I burst into tears (security dude is far and away my least favourite Kenyan to date).

7 May, 1.30pm: 20 hours after Ed first landed back in Kenya, immigration finally relent for no apparent reason, and give Ed a visa so he can stay in the country for another three days. However, he signs a visa application form to say he will leave on the booked flight. He finally arrives back in Kenya, much to our relief.

9 May: VSO try to liaise with immigration at Nyayo House to sort everything out, but get conflicting answers from them and airport immigration. We arrange to meet VSO there the next day to try and resolve the issue.

10 May: We arrive at Nyayo House, only to get a call from VSO asking us to meet with them at their office instead - they have decided time is too short and Ed needs to go home and work it out from there, or risk being barred from Kenya permanently. We all agree the best solution is if VSO can consider Ed for a VSO placement, so he can return with his own paperwork as soon as possible.

10 May, 11.40pm: Ed flies home, leaving us both pretty blue and confused.

All in all, a pretty stressful experience, and now we are stuck in different continents hoping VSO will be able to help us resolve the issue. Our best plan at the moment is for Ed to take up a VSO placement at my organisation, KAIH, formalising its microfinance project - we'll keep you updated on progress.

But hey, there's always a silver lining, and mine was getting a phone call from Ed the day he landed back home. The reader should note that he had barely slept on the overnight flight, had been under considerable stress and had had very little time to mentally prepare for going home. He sounded slightly hysterical. Here is a rough paraphrase of our conversation:

Me: Hey darling, are you home safely?

Ed: Yeah, all fine, but it's well weird here.

Me: How do you mean?

Ed: There are so many white people. And no one has a disability. I feel like I've landed in the 24th Century or something.

Me: Right, yes I guess it will feel strange.

Ed: And there are so many things. They're everywhere. And everything is shiny and clean. The motorway was really weird. Oh my God! There are no potholes. And everything is so quiet. I keep looking for a matatu.

Me: OK. Have you eaten any cheese yet?

Ed: Not yet.

Me (secretly relieved about the cheese): Oh, well I'm sure you'll get some soon.

Ed: I love you darling, but I want to come home. I miss Nairobi.

Me (thinking, 'man, never thought anyone would miss this place'): I love you too sweetheart. I'll speak to you tomorrow - I think you need to get some sleep, you sound tired.

Ed: Yeah, alright darling, speak to you tomorrow.

So that's what six months in Kenya does to your brain.

Ed: England's green and pleasant land, how unfamiliar you are! Its odd, trying to get to know your own country again, like meeting a childhood friend as an adult seeing a slightly familiar face but bigger and fatter than you remember.

Nairobi Stinks

We've told you about the sights and even the sounds of Nairobi, so to complete the trio here's my top ten smells (by which I mean most common, not necessarily most pleasant) from the average Nairobi day. So, in no particular order, we have:

1. Washing powder. We are currently in the "long rains" (more on this another time) and this week it has been cats and dogs. When the sun peeked out this morning all the housewives in the flats downstairs from me rushed out to dry their washing.

2. Rain on hot tarmac. This is possibly my favourite smell ever - way better than the over-rated freshly cut grass. There's been plenty of it around lately too.

3. Diesel fumes. Nairobi's air quality is dire: even the thought of going for a run makes my lungs contract (admittedly not much change from the UK on that one) and snot is always black here.

4. Chicken shit. I walk through a chicken market every morning on my way to work and boy does it stink. Piles of live chickens have to watch as, one by one, their buddies and comrades gradually get the chop and are gutted for waiting customers.

5. Dust. I didn't think dust had a smell until I moved here, but Nairobi turns one into something of a dust connoisseur. This dust smells dry and slightly metallic, in addition to turning everything you are wearing red.

6. Armpits. Kenyans have a much more relaxed attitude to personal space than us uptight Brits. Add to that cramped matatus, hot weather and people too scared to open the windows in case their stuff gets snatched and you have a real old stinkeroony of a journey going on. Dude, keep that arm by your side...

7. Rotting rubbish. Rubbish collections in Kenya are a haphazard affair, and more often than not it is just gathered in a massive pile then burned. Pre-burning you can see cows and goats rooting through it for "tasty" treats and munching on plastic bags.

8. Sweetcorn. Barbequed sweetcorn is a popular snack, and has a sweet, slightly sickly smell, a bit like burning honey.

9. Mangoes. The smell of hundreds of ripe mangoes sitting in the sun is like nothing you experience back in the UK. It's almost perfumed; strong but delicate and sharp.

10. Sewers. Heavy rain quickly overwhelms the drains and the smell of sewage is everywhere - even on smart streets. In the slums you think the smell will never clear from your nostrils again.