Star Date: August 2009
Kenya: Lake Turkana to Mt. Kenya
Hello Dear Family & Friends!
EJoka! Nia Jokan.
(Hi! How are you? – Turkana dialect)
Joseph’s Turkana girlfriends, age 80 and 84. I told him he could
have as many girlfriends as he wanted, OVER 80!
“Letter from Africa”, Karen Blixen – 1914, I am reinvigorated…tanned by the sun, full of the spectacle of it’s savage splendor, free, powerful along days of dazzling heat and nights of intense moonlight…nature in the raw. Life worthy of the beginning of time, the same today as it was a thousand years ago.
Indescribable. Words don’t do justice to the dusty frontier town of Lodwar, in northwestern Kenya. Out of the swirling dust emerge mirage-like images produced by the intense, rippling sun. Tribes people of every description walk slowly by on their way to market. Everything from goats to beads to chickens to wrist knives to baskets to boiled eggs are passed in front of you, hoping to sell their wares and make a few bob to spend while in the ‘big town’. Turkana tribes people browse the sparse but fascinating market or meet under the heavenly shade of a tree. Turkana women with shaved heads or short mow hawks, ceremonial scars cut on their faces, arms and trunks, colorful cloths partially covering their breasts, and distinctive heavy bead collars wrapped around their necks are a sight to behold. Tall elegant Ethiopians with fair skin walk beside Sudanese and Somali Muslim women with heads covered. Out in the marketplace Joseph met Andrew, of the Turkana tribe. He was raised at Elles Spring, our next destination, a small village along the shores of mighty Lake Turkana. No public transportation exists down the desert track, but he knew of Reverend James who was heading back home later in the afternoon. Piling into his old land rover we headed out into the desert, driving through desolate stretches towards, it seemed, the end of the earth. There was a stark, silent beauty as we slowly made our way through the surreal surroundings. Occasionally we would come across a lone goat herder taking his flock on their daily 20 km trek for water. Isolated villages, like someone’s favorite basket collection, were huddled together for safety and companionship.
While the beating sun gave way to the golden rays of sunset we watched as bare breasted women adorned with colorful collars of beads carried babies on their backs, balancing heavy containers of water on their heads. Sometimes the nearest source of water is 5-10km. Cows and goats were rounded up into enclosures and the welcoming glow of cooking fires signaled the completion of another day battling the elements of this harsh climate. Rev James, from a tribe in eastern Kenya, basically drove 4×4 overland, avoiding extreme areas and pits of deep sand. Only 8 kms. from Elles Spring, just as the spectacular orange ball set on the horizon behind the acacia trees, we bogged down up to the rims in a deep pocket of blowing sand. Not wanting to spend the night in the truck everyone kicked into gear and with the help of pushing and the ‘old land rover that never dies’, we escaped and drove quickly through the rest of the sand lying in wait to swallow up unwary vehicles. We made it! But where were we? As darkness descended we saw that we were surrounded by grass huts and tribal compounds. Villagers stopped by to stare and wave. Pastor James explained that there isn’t a town, or even a small market here but this is the original site where missionaries collected water from Elles Spring and built a small church and school. We just wish these well intentioned community services scattered across the country didn’t come with high religious price tags attached. The villagers, desperate for water in the ongoing drought have relocated their nomadic village around this water source, now an elaborate system of solar pumps and holding tanks to keep the dirt out.
“Oh, by the way, their is no place to stay here so you are welcome to stay with our family!” Hearts of gold. A small room in an adjacent hut was swept out and we dropped off our bags. “Do you have bedding? Sorry we can’t carry it in our 18 inch suitcases.” We scrounged their house together for a clean sheet, thin blanket and beautifully woven floor mats. Stringing up a mosquito net completed the preparations and we relaxed with a cup of tea next to the cooking fire; covered by a carpet of twinkling stars and cooling night breezes off the Jade Sea. The stillness was heavenly and we were thankful for another remarkable day.
Mother and daughter. The daughter had intriguing designs cut into her face and arms but they didn’t show up on the photo. The smiles did though.
This 78 year old character proudly proclaimed that he has 4 wives, 20 children, “Up until now!” and too many cows, goats and camels to count.
This spunky lady showed us her hut and posed for a photo.
Every afternoon this friendly little camel herder would pass by taking 20 camels down to the lake for a drink and bath.
Life among the Turkana tribes was an experience we shall never forget. Kind, gentle, smiling people we soon realized that they are the antithesis (opposite) of modern western culture. They live out here over 100 kms from the nearest town, and are totally self sufficient. There is nothing they need, and without electricity or TV and the bombardment of advertising, there is nothing they are told they want! Just think of it – nothing to buy! They represent the opposite of the consumerism that is ruling our culture. Nomadic pastoralists, they build a village out of native brush and grasses, rebuilding every 2 years due to voracious termites, like the ones living in 40 ft. high clay chimney-like mounds that dot the landscape. Unique upside down bushel basket huts are scattered around small compounds, enclosed by fragile fences woven from thorny branches off the only trees tough enough to survive here. Smaller sleeping huts and open topped cooking enclosures complete the design. Like the Masai, they traditionally don’t pierce Mother Earth and live entirely off their domesticated animals and the occasional gathered herb or plant. Total sustenance is comprised of cow, goat or camel milk and blood for breakfast. Warm milk is squirted into a decorated gourd, a small dart pierces the vein in the neck of an animal and small spurts of blood are caught in the milk. A quick blending and this strawberry blood/milk shake is ready. The first version of a ‘Slimfast shake’. I would get real slim, real fast if that was my only choice. Fascinated nonetheless, we passed on our chance for a taste. A second meal, in the evening would be meat if available or possibly chapatti type flat bread or grains, if someone has sold a goat in town and traded for staples. Otherwise an instant replay of the old standby blood shake satisfies them as they talk and joke around the cooking fire. This bleak diet, hard work, and endless walking serves them well as many elders live into their nineties, while those having moved into town have a life expectancy of the national average of around 48 to 56. Polygamists, it is common for a man to gather up his resources of goats, camels or cows and start looking for yet another wife. He can often be sighted with a white feather in his hair or hat, like a peacock looking for a peahen. If the price is right young brides of 10-16 years are married off to older men in elaborate ceremonies of singing and dancing. Brides (sometimes with their approval nowadays) are purchased for 25-50 head of livestock. We were told you can ‘rent’ a wife for only 20 goats. Maybe it’s a lay away or pay as you lay plan. Wonder how many goats and camels a western woman would go for? The problem is that the women here are expected to simply say “Yes” to their men so it wouldn’t be long and any self respecting western bride would be sent packing. Villagers change partners as the need arises, usually after a tribal council is held. We witnessed a heated debate complete with shouting and sticks waving, between a husband accused of beating his wife and the wife and her family. After over 4 hours everyone finally sat down and waited for the wise words of the elders.
Ceremonies are held as the boys and girls come of age. Circumcision of boys or girls is not practiced by the Turkanas, but 2 bottom front teeth are pulled from the girls mouth, and patterns are cut into their faces, arms and trunks, leaving behind intriguing decorative scars. Men become warriors after training and as things are quiet here now battles with neighboring tribes are rare occasions. If during battle they kill an enemy certain cuts are made on their trunks to record the event. Other scars are from practices by the tribe’s healers of making a cut and packing herbs in the incision, healing different ailments.
We spent hours walking through the woven hut compounds, showing our pictures and meeting everyone from tiny babies to spunky youth to elders in their 80’s. We noticed that many elders were bent over, possibly because of the high protein diets causing bone loss. Someone said her Grandmother, 110 years old, was having a rest. It would have been fun to meet her. One 84 year old lady with a twinkle in her eye took a shining to Joseph and even made overt advances at him, to which everyone started howling. A 78 year old character proudly proclaimed that he has 4 wives, 20 children, “Up until now!” and too many cows, goats and camels to count. Looking at the picture we carry of Hawaiian dancers he pointed at the prettiest one and stated, “I will have that one!” Joseph promised to wrap her up and send her through the mail. We took many photos and also promised to send copies to the whole village. We always deliver our photos but chances are slim for his mail order bride. The huts are used mainly for storage of their few possessions and we found them quite spacious. People sleep out under the stars after sharing a meal and a story by the evening fire. Not much happens out here so guaranteed we were the topic of the day that evening.
Reverend James, Monica, Peter and Samuel, our gracious hosts.
New ‘3rd’ bride in Lodwar. The husband was a happy, busy shop keeper.
The infamous white feather shows that this peacock is looking for a peahen.
Young women from the market in Lodwar.
Mornings are a flurry of activity before the scorching mid day sun finds everyone snoozing in the shade. Late afternoon people reemerge, often heading down to the lake, 1 km away, for a swim and maybe some clothes washing. The lake is vast, with receding shorelines filled with unique water fowl such as pink flamingos, royal ibis, herons, ducks an many more. Joseph swam and played ‘hippo’ with Rev James and sons Samuel and Peter every evening, before we took a walk along the lake, ending up at home in time to prepare the evening’s meal with Monica, Pastor James’ quiet wife. We had bought enough vegetables in town to feed the whole family. Sitting under the stars talking quietly we were at total peace in this place where life slowly unfolds but stress, as we know it in the west, doesn’t exist. Hakuna Matata – no problems.
There hasn’t been a tribal raid on Elles Springs for years but with increased population sadly the glorious big game animals disappeared long ago. Some changes for the better, others for the worse. Thinking raids on villages was a thing of the past we were amazed to hear that in places around the lake, especially up on the border with Ethiopia, killings still occur. A group of young Masai will kill a lion with spears and clubs to prove manhood. Warriors from one of the Ethiopian tribes up north on the lake will kill a man from a neighboring tribe and wearing his private parts as a headdress, proudly walk back into his village. He is now a hero and can choose any bride he desires. Several Turkana fishermen were killed in this way last year. A group of warriors fought back avenging their family members and only the intervention of Kenyan military stopped more senseless bloodshed. Border disputes are common up here with neighboring Sudan, Ethiopia, and Somalia. Arts, customs and traditions should be maintained but conflict and violence between tribes needs to end. The majority of disagreements are caused by theft of goats or cattle, spurred on by the drought. The last rainfall was 2.5 years ago and counting. Joseph made the point with the young men listening, that in our tribe the strongest, wisest, most powerful man of our tribe is the one that doesn’t kill other men. This was well received. If customs are violent or are no longer useful they must change. It is the job of the youth of the tribe to adapt and bring about these changes necessary for survival. So goes life in this remote area surrounding the beautiful Jade Sea or Lake Turkana.
Death is a way of life out here. Livestock are dying from lack of water and without this spring of fresh water so would the villagers. The proud old guy with 4 wives and ‘plenty cattle’ lost his 30 year old daughter, mother of 4 children, the day we left. Suffering from asthma she was sick in bed for a couple of days, not eating or even drinking much. Someone brought her some new fangled cure all medicine from town. She sat up, took a couple of pills and laid back down. They found her dead 2 hours later. Asthma is related to dehydration. Who knows? Hopefully this will serve to warn others from just taking pharmaceutical medicine without knowing the side effects. She was to be buried the next day, with scripture reading by the graveside. So sad for her family. Pastor James and wife Monica have served here for 6 years and help the people greatly. Not a hell fire and damnation type he is careful not to push his ideas on others. His service to the community speaks loudly and owning the only vehicle for 60 kms. (a gift from a friend) he provides rides to town twice a week, with everyone pitching in for gas. We beat every bush in search of a fishing boat to hitch a ride across the lake to Loyangalana, but they were all far away catching the big Nile perch, famous in the lakes of Kenya. Even though we had to backtrack to Lodwar, for another couple of days of people watching, our trip out here was one of those rare astonishing experiences that just happened. ‘Asanti sana’. Thank you.
With only night buses available back down to Kitale we hitched a ride south with the first truck going our way. George, our driver and a gentle soul, had just spent a week fumigating weevils from bags of grain at nearby Kukuma Refugee Camp. With over 40,000 plus displaced persons it is a massive project by Oxfam, World Vision, USAide, etc. to simply feed these desperate folks, as more stream in across the desert. Many die of hunger or exhaustion en route over the hundreds of miles from their war torn lands of Somalia, Angola & Ethiopia. Many brave, gallant workers struggle against all odds towards the survival of these refugees. Just like the hopelessness of the glue sniffing street kids lurking in the shadows of Kenyan cities, it all seems as overwhelming and futile as shoveling sand in a windstorm. With pain in our hearts at the suffering we see around us we decide once again that donating toward educating the young people of these developing countries may provide light in a seemingly dark future. Ironically this so-called ‘Dark Continent’ enjoys 52% of Earth’s sunlight. Perhaps it should be renamed the Continent of Light as this mysterious land holds great unrealized potential.
A friendly Somalian shop keeper.
Now that’s a termite mound! Care to build a wooden house nearby?
Fishermen weave these tiny balsawood boats and paddle around Lake Baringo catching boatloads of fish. We bought 3 fish to throw to the fish eagles for breakfast.
Hungry Hippos!
Some of our fondest memories over the last 6 years of travel are of relaxing in a small bungalow along a remote tranquil lake, river or ocean side. After our rigorous trip down from the desert from Lake Turkana visions of relaxing at the shore Lake Baringo drew us on. The integral piece of the puzzle we once again forgot were crocodiles and hippopotamus. Both less than cordial in sharing their lakefront turf, we soon realized we were relegated to stay back in the village. Finding our clean, friendly Weaver Lodge was a bonus. The village although very meager was extremely welcoming and we spent hours hanging out with the locals in town, with the Kalenjin fishermen along the shore, and enjoying the views from the upstairs lounge of the Soi Safari Lodge. Our early morning boat ride was like opening an episode of the Discovery Channel. This vast lake provides habitat to every imaginable bird from great heron, egrets, plovers, cranes, kingfishers to thousands of colorful tweeting birds in the trees, to the grand finale of a fish eagle swooping down to pick up the fish thrown for his breakfast. Crocodiles are everywhere but villagers believe while there are enough fish in the lake, they can live peacefully side by side. The lone fishermen along the shore carry a line in one hand and a rock in the other to throw at any crocodile getting too close. It reminded us of the tiny little sticks the rangers carry while walking amongst the Komodo Dragons of Indonesia. Ineffective but it makes the holder feel safer. The fishermen in their lightweight hand woven balsa wood boats (that a boy can lift in one hand but sink after being in the water for 6 hours) throw lurking crocodiles occasional fish guts as offerings and even pat them on the head with sticks as they pass by. Out near the islands where there are less fish, it is not uncommon for a crocodile to kill a child venturing too close to the waters edge. Hippos are another story. Fascinating creatures to watch, these bulldozers of the shallows must always be given a wide berth. We kept a keen eye on the swirling water as two separate families and one mother with a 4 day old baby floated around grazing. One of the families had just changed location from the river and were sensitive to defending their new territory. Before we knew it the head male and 3 others were silently advancing underwater towards our boat. Surfacing about 15 feet away with a great roar, we had just been given our walking papers by these dangerous marauders of the African waterways. Only one male is in charge of a group of females and raucous, bloody battles to the death are often fought between males over deeper water or females. The males are so territorial that they will even kill their own male off springs left in the open by an unsuspecting mother. With the drought it is not uncommon for the hippos to venture further and further inland at night in search of grass for grazing. Groups of these tubby but assertive pillagers have even started chewing on the straw huts of sleeping villagers. Guaranteed visions of sugar plums weren’t dancing in their dreams for a few nights after that close encounter.
Back up into the cool green hills to enjoy Thompson Falls, Kenya’s highest, and the highlands of Mt. Kenya we ran into Wangombe and Mumbu. He is a Kikuyo medicine man or ‘dagatari’ and we had fun discussing herbal cures such as gathering leaves for malaria, healing tribal members of spells and ailments and about their God of Nature, ‘Mgai’. In the end they invited us to their next ceremony in December. We were honored but our visa for Kenya expires in October. It would have been a real experience. Next time.
Tribalism rules life in Kenya. One of the highlights of visiting remote cultures are their unique traditional dress, religious customs, colorful music and dances. These outside trappings run deep into the fabric of life in Africa. Human nature allows groups of people to be born into or join a tribe, church, or organization, with the accompanying rules of conduct, conformity, and always some form of payment required. Unique costumes differentiate one tribe from another. A person either belongs or doesn’t. Even though neighboring tribes have so much in common out here in the bush, they each feel that ‘their way is the right way’. It is common in the public markets to hear comments such as, “Don’t buy from him, he is a Kikuyo.” or “We don’t like Masai. They aren’t honest and they dress funny”, and so on. I offered a woman a pair of Turkana earrings as a gift but she told me she wouldn’t wear them because she was of the Luo tribe. I replaced them with a pair of western hoops, made in China from the market, and she was thrilled. Conflicts of bordering tribes get played out in the larger scheme of politics as tribe members vote only for members of their tribe, not the best person for the job. We are often asked what tribe we are from and like to have a lot of fun with this. We explain that centuries ago everyone in the United States came from a different tribe. I alone am a wild mixture of Norwegian, Croatian, Irish, English and Scotch, but although we are proud of our heritage, we simply call ourselves American. Younger generations here are starting to open their minds to this change, seeing the strict tribalism and ensuing bias and violence as old fashioned. Only the elders are hesitant to give up their tight control on their members. Old ways are often replaced by new popular churches with members wearing strange cloaks, turbans, or even nun-like garbs. Just trading one hat for another. There is security in belonging as is shown by the majority of humanity belonging to organized religions. Cathedral bells call in millions of Christians Sunday mornings. Donations please. In the middle of Ramadan, with Muslim women covered in full burkas and call to prayer blaring 5 times a day from a dozen competing minarets, it is obvious that tribalism is alive and well throughout the planet. Is a western suburban neighborhood, with the overt theme of “keep up with the Jones” any different?
Free thinkers, outside their ‘tribe’, are sometimes viewed with suspicion so sometimes we try to normalize our existence as we travel. Being teachers and having two children sets us in good standing. Our unique vegan lifestyle is simply because we want to be healthy. Fair enough. “Yes, we are travel junkies” but it was explained to us that the nickname for ‘white people’ here, ‘muzungu’, really means people who move from place to place to place. Tribes don’t like that. Continually asked what religion we belong to we answer that “We know God and love him, whatever name he/she is given: Allah, Buddha, Enkoi, great Spirit”. These simple answers seem to satisfy people’s need to know. What a strange tribe we are. Maybe we belong to the tribe called ‘of this Universe’!
You can even differentiate what tribe a person belongs to in Kenya by the way they carry their parcel. Some women carry loads on their head with amazing grace, others use a strap across their head, some carry their heavy parcels slung across their back and of course wealthy people just have someone else carry their bags. We explained to a very serious crowd of onlookers that we were from the “tribe of the rollalongs.” When traveling we each own a rollalong case and are self sufficient. The crowd was pleased and this is something we use often when asked if we want help carrying our bags.
Thoughts of Africa conjure up images of wide open spaces, exotic, friendly tribes people, big game, spectacular sunrises and sunsets. The mountains surrounding the Great Rift Valley, such as Mt Kenya, are green and misty but as you descend in altitude down to the equatorial zone, vegetation thins out until you find yourself surrounded by dry savannah. Matatu rides from towns to remote villages are great places to spot wild life such as ostriches, dik dik Bambi size deer, monkeys, hyenas, zebras and a wide variety of grazing animals. Lone goat herders, 100 kms from home, stride by towards the horizon, sometimes wearing only a ‘London Fog’ designer raincoat, leather sandals and carrying a club and spear. Just imagine for a moment, a well-to-do European woman special orders a costly top of the line summer raincoat. Later it is discarded to the church bazaar. Unsold it gets bundled up and sent to a mission in Africa. Corruption allows these shipments to be intercepted and sold to venders for sale in piles along the dusty streets. This goat herder, having just sold 3 goats in town, spots a bright raincoat in the market. Shaking it out, he proudly dons his new acquisition and struts across the desert 20kms back to his village. Feeling cocky he even considers it may be time to look for yet another wife. World’s apart yet we are all so alike.
And so it goes…………………………………..Next month from the green, cloudy slopes of Mt. Kenya to the tropical coast of Mombassa. Until then search out “Nature in the Raw” around you and explore it. Too far from Nature? Make the time to find it. Let’s keep connected to our source, wherein the answers lie. Glad you stopped by. Thanks for keeping in touch! Take care!
These magnificent crowned cranes stand over 4 feet tall.
Whats Up? Hakuna Matata – no problems.
Wangombe and Mumbu. Wangombe is a Kikuyo medicine man or ‘dagatari’. Notice how his head dress resembles the crane in the previous photo. Symbolism comes from Nature around us.
Need we say more?
Love, Light & Laughter,
xoxoox Nancy & Joseph
Travel notes:
$1.00US = 80 Kenya Schillings
Lodwar:
We stayed at the Suburb Hotel. 400s. Very basic but about the same as all the hotels in Lodwar, dusty and rugged. Nice folks running it. Splash and some other hotels at 700s weren’t any better. Look around.
Guides: Andrew Ewoton (ride to Elles Spring), or John Esukuku. Just ask around. They seem to both be honest and very helpful for about 100-200s to make arrangements for you.
Took Fomoco Coach north to Lodwar from Kitale. The bus left at 12:30 instead of 10 and poor leg room (former Japanese tour bus). Reserve your seat the night before and go to their clean office to wait. Avoid the big mob scene of the bus station. Eldoret Coaches are older but fine too. A long hot ride but fascinating as you descend down to the desert then go through villages with indigenous people. 650s x 2 – 10 hours.
Elles Spring:
There is a camp at the springs which is under renovation. The new units will be great but expensive. Camping is 1000s alone and the staff isn’t used to working so good luck getting help. We stayed in the village with Pastor James and family but they don’t run a formal guesthouse.
Eldoret:
Aya Inn, On one of the main streets, across the street from “Bubbles Inn”, phone # 053 62259, 650s with breakfast, great restaurant and helpful staff. Clean rooms, try upper floor room S-24.,
?? Palace Indian Food, one block over, great curries and nan, 11 am – 11pm. (350s main plate)
Lake Baringo/Kampi Ya Samaki:
Weavers Lodge. On the road right near town center. There are no lodges on the lake anymore, unless you want to spend $50-$200 a night. Stay at the clean, well maintained Weavers Lodge with friendly, helpful Amos and Abby for 500s a night and have dinner at sunset at the Soi Safari Lodge down on the lake. They have veg curry for 300s a plate and a delightful collection of baby ostriches, crowned cranes and other birds roaming their enclosure. One ostrich walked right up to me and started eating the wooden beads off my shirt. A monkey in India tried the same thing. What a hoot. Arrange for a boat ride directly at the shore with the drivers or see below. 1000 per hour is the going rate but you will be quoted as high as 3000/hr. You can ask them to go slowly and take a little longer, shutting off their engines to save fuel (same price for 1 1/2 hours). We were told that the lake has large quantities of natural fluoride and that is why the people’s teeth are all pitted and brown. Most elders have broken bones, and even end up paralyzed. The USAide program bought the community 3 boats, with which they share the profits, but they seriously need a water filtration system.
Two honest boat guides who we recommend:
1. Robert Kiptosock, email:kirongole@yahoo.com
cell # 0724972041 (just ask for him. We chose him and he knows a lot about birds)
2. Fox Odour Othembo, email foxfocus@yahoo.com
cell# 542720009364 (has an office in town)
Nyahururu/Thompson’s Falls:
We stayed at the clean, quiet in the back, Safari Lodge. A sprawling place with new buildings, the rooms are accented with wood, which make them warmer feeling on cold evenings. 500s One block from the matatu stand, just ask.
Walk or take a matutu (20s) out to the entrance of the falls. Go in through the big arch leading to Thompson Falls Lodge. From there you can enjoy something to eat in their beautiful shady front lawn and have a look at the falls for free. If you step into the public area it costs 200s per person. Turn left down the main road, then right through a field, and walk back in a loop towards town, asking where the hippos are? Locals will point you to a pond with giant papyrus growing along the banks and a herd of hungry hippos wallowing in the water. Fun. Bye a roasted corn in the village and throw the cob to herd for a little excitement. Continue along the dirt path back to the ‘town clock’ (which is always 1:30pm).
Nanyuki:
Joskaki Hotel, clean, bright rooms, yellow 5 story building diagonal from the matatu stand. Try room # 4020 or any of the ones on 4th or 5th floor (500-770s).
Stay away from the bar noise. The streets quiet down by 10pm, but earplugs help.
Across the main street through town, near Barclays Bank, is a row of tiny stand’s selling Masai carvings and beadwork. They are friendly, not pushy if you tell them to just let you look slowly, and open to bargaining if you need any gifts.
Across the road from the stands is a little coffee shop frequented by Mazungus, with great ambiance. Pricey food but it looked copious and tasty. I splurged on fresh apple pie. Yum!
There is Settler’s Supermarket just down the road, run by a friendly Indian family. Good prices, specialty items and great homemade veg samosas mid day 30s.
The Ibus Hotel (across from the central park) serves great mokimo (mashed potatoes) and fresh veg curry for only 120s. Many local places serve good local veg food: potatoes and beans, even the butcheries if you can stand the smoke. Buy your fresh veggies from the large green grocery across from the park near the hotel. Great prices, fresh, and honest.
Only dry savannah with a few acacia trees remain where once thick forests stood. A by-product of greedy lumber companies and overpopulation. No trees, no rain.
Late for prayers, we caught these brothers and sisters on a full run towards the mosque.
Two Muslim schoolgirls from the Boran tribe, near Isiolo.