Another border, another crapshoot. First we agree a rate with a money changer, he calculates what he should give us and then rounds down - not buy a huge amount but then when we point out that he should be paying extra he insists that he's right and hides is money behind his back. We found someone else.
The Kenyan immigration guys were great; we spent a while there not just getting passports stamped but making sure that we got the lowdown about the hows and how-much for this neck of the woods. The border guard we spoke to was very professional too - he refused to shoot the dishonest money changer or even shoot at his feet to make him 'dance' (we asked).
So, Moyale, a town split by the border although there were some notable differences: the Ethiopian side just seemed a little more developed: tar sealed roads were the most noticeable difference. Good news though: this part of Kenya is just as cheap as Ethiopia.
Our next move, after checking into the cheapest hotel possible - US$3 for both of us - was to find transport out of town and to do that you need to speak to The Brokers. There's plenty of truck traffic but only one weekly bus and, to get on one of the trucks, you need that middleman to arrange things for you. Actually, you don't but when we tried speaking to the truck drivers directly the cartel of brokers were pretty good and protecting their little racket. After one day of absolutely no trucks going to our preferred destination of Marsabit (they were all going to Wajir, out towards Somalia) and a second day of being told that the outrageous sums being quoted were the real price (contradicted by every local that we asked) we were shocked when, on the third day, a broker approached us and offered us a ride to Marsabit for the same price as locals.
Off to Marsabit we were! We were joined by two Canadians who had gone to the border without getting a visa in advance (every country from Kenya south sell their visas on the border) and who were returning to Nairobi to visit the embassy. We had a good chat, picked their brains for advice and arrived in Marsabit after about 10 hours at 11.30 pm. As we unload the bags from the trucks a man approaches from the shadows: he needs to record us for the census. Not a cunning ruse: he has the uniform, badges and everything to go with it. As it happens there in only one hotel still open (the others appeared to be shut for the census to stop people from avoiding the enumerators) and, once we checked in we gave our names, countries and ages for the Kenyan government. Reading the newspapers later it was actually a controversial census in some ways: people were asked for their tribe (which led to suspicion that this would be used by the government for nefarious purposes) and, according to some commentators, quite a few people returned to their traditional homes rather than be counted where they currently lived which defeats the purpose of a census. There were other problems too such as enumerators not being paid expenses and not following guidelines but that's another story.
What's in Marsabit? Not much really. It's a village built on top of an ancient volcano so it's quite high up and can be jolly chilly and we got plenty of wind there. It does have a national park and we went there to have a chat to the ranger. We decided not to go into the park but as we were at the gate a troop of baboons turned up to forage around the ranger hut so we got more than we bargained for. Marsabit, in the dry, barren north, has a single communal water tap where residents can fill up a 20L jerrycan with government water for 1 shilling (literally a few US cents). There's a wind turbine for electricity on a nearby hill but one of the blades broke a few years ago and hasn't been replaced.
Noting the general quality of the accommodation in which we stayed and the lack of infrastructure in northern Kenya, Paul hit upon a great idea to get around the absence of power sockets that we were struck with. He bought a fitting which went into a lightbulb socket (instead of the bulb), some cable and a standard wall socket, wired them together and then we had access to power simply by unscrewing the lightbulb and connecting Paul's socket. Great for charging appliances.
When we got to Isiolo we found a cheap hotel with no power sockets, just a lone bulb. Perfect for Paul's new contraption. Except that, as we used it, we developed a crowd of hotel staff who came to see why a wire was hanging from the lightbulb fitting. Eventually someone came to demand more money on the basis that a laptop sucks up loads of energy: we pointed out that we were colletively using one third less power than their 100W lightbulb. This is where high school physics comes in handy - remember W=VI? The manager came, we explained again and he accepted it based on 'reasonable use' (ie not staring at the screen into the small hours). That was as exciting as Isiolo gets so we headed on to Maralal with the intention of then looping back north to Lake Turkana and Loiyangalani.
Maralal had a little more than Isiolo: it's one of the main towns in the Samburu region and is consequently full of Samburu tribespeople who wear colourful blankets and large doses of beads. As with leaving Moyale the only transport to Loiyangalani is by truck / hitchiking so we played the waiting game (and got stuck into some sausages and eggs at a nearby cafe: months without sausages leaves a yearning). Eventually we met a traveler from the Czech Republic who had returned from Loiyangalani with some Kenyan friends - we asked him for info and one of his friends went and found a Broker and got us a good deal albeit going to South Horr, halfway to Loiyangalani. We took it, left town at sunset and at 3.30 in the morning rolled into town.
As it happens South Horr, a very small rural town, is quite a good place to get stuck. Which is what happened to us for about four days as we either missed trucks (they passed town when we were elsewhere) or no trucks came. We visited the local primary school where we found a few of the teachers are preparing for the start of term the following week: they have 780 pupils who come from as far as 200km away with many of the pupils boarding at the school. (I met the head in Maralal after we returned and 530 of the students had arrived during the first week: not bad considering the drought has forced many pastoralists to move looking for food.) In addition to a food allowance the school has a vege patch where they grow spinach and kale - a child's favourite! We took in a film, Bruce Lee's Enter The Dragon, at the 'theatre': a wooden shack with a solar-and-battery-powered TV and DVD player used to play pirate copies; entrance fee: US$0.15. It got to the point where, upon hearing the rumour that a truck to Loiyangalani was leaving Maralal one evening, I got up at 2am to wait for it. It arrives at 3.15am and it stopped at South Horr. As I'm asking the truck crew if they're really, really not going to Loiyangalani, a traveller sticks his head out and asks "where are we?" George and John, both from the Netherlands, are heading to Loiyangalani too.
The next morning as I'm trimming my shaggy beard the hotel owner's son runs in: he's found a truck to Loiyangalani leaving right now. It turns out to be a Kenya Wildlife Service 4X4 heading to the national park north of Loiyangalani. They'll fit us in for a small donation and, having roused John and George, we all squeeze in and set off at high speed. The road is all dirt and rocks, the landscape is 100% volcanic with some poor locals still herding their goats over the dust and rocks but eventually we sight the big blue of Lake Turkana. It's a big lake but one which is (allegedly) disappearing. It's also a bit salty too so the locals, although they can fish from the lake, rely on water tapped from local springs to fill up their jerrycans.
Loiyangalani is small. Smaller than we expected and not worthy of the large dot that was placed on the map. However there is a disproportionately large abundance of accommodation for such a small town ranging from $200 / night lodge to $3.50 / night camp. We took the camp. And what did we do there? Not much really, simply because there isn't much in the town. It was a pleasure to get there after so much effort, the weather was fine and we were able to just sit back enjoy it all and pass the time. I also played George and John at Pontoon and lost all my stones and twigs (chips).
Returning to Maralal we hung around for a few days for no real reason but had the pleasure of meeting Laila, a Belgian woman who had married a Samburu tribesman and who runs an internet cafe out of the house. She runs a blog too. We had heard of the banditry around the north and Laila, who speaks Samburu fluently put it into perspective. According to her the food aid, such as from World Food Programme, often doesn't make it to the intended destination and instead ends up in shops. Either the sacks are changed (so the recipients don't know that they're taking WFP food) or the shopkeepers knowingly take the aid. Laila hinted that the local council were aware of this and perhaps even conniving in it. As for the banditry? She gives only her driver advance notice by one day that she's going somewhere and keeps the destination a secret. Apparently with the proliferation of mobile phones it's all to easy to call ahead and let someone know that a foreigner's heading their way. The worst place for banditry: the road between Maralal and Rumuruti, to the south. When we left Maralal where did we go? On the road to Rumuruti (with a final destination of Nyahururu) - call it a desire to cheat death. We were kind of unlucky: we missed the last matatu (minivan) but Lady Luck winked at us and five minutes after packing up for another night at the hotel we meet a man who's going to Nyahururu and he wants company (cannon fodder) for the ride. His price is a little more than the matatu ride and we happily accept. David, as his name is, is an education administrator and has a shiny 4x4 to drive us to Nyahururu. Later in Nyahururu he buys us dinner. What a man!
Nyahururu is not much of a town - it's there but doesn't do much. However it is conveniently located to reach Thompson's Falls which happen to be quite spectacular. It's 82m high says a local shopkeeper and you can walk to the bottom. Which we did. We enjoyed it immensely and Paul, perpetually annoyed about the amount of litter that can be seen in towns (there's often no rubbish bins or refuse service) did a little clean-up going as far as wading into the stream below the falls to pull out a motorcycle tyre.
Following Nyahururu we decided to be very touristy and head to Nanyuki to see if we could find the equator. Nanyuki is also a small town offering little however it is the main 'base' for hiking on Mount Kenya (after which Kenya was named) and which is open for hiking. The weather wasn't great (very cloudy with some rain) and the price, although cheap for 3+ days in a national park, was too much (especially if we were to do a safari later). We walked to the equator instead to find a rusting, yet still legible sign surrounded by shop owners who, like the shop owners at Thompson's Fall use all manner of emotional blackmail, pleading and pressure tactics to get you into their shop and stay there. Interestingly they all claim to make their own products even though every shop stocks the same products, including artists' signatures. I did get some souvenirs there although it was a mini ordeal.
With nowhere else to go except for Nairobi we headed there. The owners of the hostel where we camped immediately offered us a safari to Maasai Mara NP and pressured us to go the next day (good price, people already going, etc): we put it off rather than make a snap decision. Instead we went to the Giraffe Centre a private institue set up to help preserve the Rothschild giraffe. It's small and kinda zoo-like but with one key feature: you can feed the giraffes. We started with feed pellets which the giraffes half-hearted nibbled and were lucky when one of the staff brought along some pruned branches. The giraffes spied the greens and ambled over to tuck in. It was a great experience and made our day.
May your journey end well and hoping you have enjoyed my Internet Services.
RépondreSupprimerLAILA