Kenya

Paloma's dad, Daniel. We're probably talking about walking at night.

We expected Nairobi to be just as scary as Dar es Salaam, but we were pleasantly surprised with it. The city is very modern; there’s a downtown full of well-dressed businessmen bustling between skyscrapers, lush suburbs with nice homes, manicured parks and stately universities. Also lots of malls just as nice as malls in the states. Then of course there’s Kibera, Africa’s largest slum, but we didn’t go there. We felt safe exploring during the day, but every single person we talked to warned us not to walk anywhere at night. It got to be almost comical how people would turn suddenly serious on the topic. “Oh yeah, great city, I’ve never had any trouble,” an expat would say. Then in a hushed tone, “You know not to walk at night though, right? We heeded the advice and never wandered at night to see whatever it is that stalks Nairobi’s streets when the sun goes down.

Njambi was shy at first but sure warmed up to TK

Anyway, the first thing we did in Nairobi was meet up with the lovely Paloma and her Pops. Paloma was my classmate at Hopkins and she has spent a lot of time working in aid/development in Kenya. The best part of seeing her in Nairobi was getting to meet the seven orphans she sponsors. Back in Baltimore, I had heard Paloma speaking Swahili on her phone, regularly checking up on the seven kids she loves like they’re her own. She first met them when she was studying abroad in college, when they were saved from the streets and put in a new boarding program that quickly deteriorated under irresponsible management. She couldn’t bear to see them return to the streets so she and her parents decided to personally send them to a good boarding school. They have thrived there and Paloma visits as often as she can. TK and I joined her and her Dad to visit on the first day of the new school year, and I could see why these kids strike a chord in Paloma’s heart. They were delightful – a few were charismatic and funny, others shy and sweet, and they all clearly loved Paloma. She acted so naturally in the role of their mother. She handed them new backpacks with school supplies and snacks. She encouraged them to be polite to us visitors and asked them to set goals for the school year. She frowned to see that some of their uniforms didn’t fit properly. When it was time to go, she hugged them all good-bye and lingered to leave, watching them return to their classrooms with tears in her eyes. It was touching to see and I’m so glad our travel schedules coincided so that we could meet her wonderful kids.

John, on the other hand, doesn't have a
shy bone in his body. He was hilarious.

When Paloma and her Dad flew back to the states, Anjali arrived from Boston. Anyone who knows me probably knows who Anjali is; she’s practically my sister. Her graduate thesis, focusing on war-time rape, brought her to Nairobi for research, and she came a week early to travel. 

Boat ride to the island

We experienced a different side of
Kenya, relaxing on the beach in Malindi with three of Anjali’s acquaintances. On one of our days there, some very gregarious hosts brought us all to an island off the coast. 

While a seafood feast was prepared, we strolled to the water. This stroll took about 30 minutes longer than it would later in the day, because the tide is insanely wide on the Indian Ocean. It was the same in Zanzibar and back in Mozambique: the shoreline at noon lies a kilometer further out than the shoreline at 3pm. When we finally got there, the water was hot. We didn’t swim very long before heading back for our feast. 

The temporary shore

They served platters of curried shrimp, followed by fresh crabs, and finally fish. This was unfortunate for Anj, who made do with salad and rice, but it was delicious for the rest of us. And the icing on the cake: the two guides who brought us to this beach feast refused any payment, so the whole day was free.

Then Anjali went on a safari in Masai Mara, and TK and I took the train back to Nairobi. We thought this would be a nice alternative to the bus. We had taken the bus from Nairobi to the coast, and it had blasted loud crappy hip-hop throughout the entire ride, even though it was an overnight bus. Who can sleep while 50 Cent is shouting, “I'll take you to the candy shop...”? Buses are also notorious for driving dangerously fast on that stretch. Before we left, the conductor walked down the aisle to videotape every passenger’s face; we asked why, and he nonchalantly replied that it was to help identify bodies in case of an accident. Scary! So we opted for the train on the way back.

Mombasa train station, 1950. I mean 2013.

We waited several hours in a nearly deserted train station that looked like it hadn’t been used in fifty years. It felt a little eerie, but a thousand times better than any crowded bus station. The train itself had also passed its prime long ago; all fans were broken, paint faded, but otherwise in working order. They served dinner in a small dining car, and we had our own little compartment where we could watch a movie on the laptop, before drifting to sleep to the sound of cranking metal and screeching brakes.

Train beats bus any day.

Back in Nairobi we came down with something and laid around the hostel for a few days, leaving only to go to see movies in those modern malls. Sometimes all we want to do is pretend we’re back home, where we can eat comfort food and go to the movies and not worry about where to stay the night or when to catch the bus.

And how could I forget this – an elephant orphanage just outside of Nairobi, where baby elephants, orphaned usually by poaching, receive 24-hour care for several years before being introduced to the herds in Tsavo National Park. 

A six-month old. Can I please work here? I wish they had this in Oregon...

When they're a bit older - these guys are 3 years - they can hold their own bottles. How precious!