Marooned In The Masai Mara

We pulled up to the exit gate of the Masai Mara game reserve as bejeweled Masai women swarmed our Land Rover bearing blankets, Masai sticks, jewelry and other hand-made trinkets. The ladies brazenly opened the car’s sliding windows and dangled necklaces, earrings and blankets inside the car, imploring us in their broken English to buy; to “promote” them, to “support” them. They had dark skin, bald heads, slender arms and bodies and all had drooping earlobes, some of which were wrapped over the tops of their ears. Many had yellowed teeth and flies buzzed around them constantly. They were at every window of our car with their hands inside. The scene was reminiscent of the group of hungry vultures we’d seen just that morning picking over a carcass on the savannah.

My wife and daughter had been eyeing the intricately-beaded bracelets worn by the importuning women, but were disappointed with the quality of those being offered for sale. When my wife asked if their personal bracelets were for sale, a woman offered hers but it didn’t fit. Another woman offered hers but that was too small, as well. Without a Masai beaded bracelet, we rolled through the exit gate and out of the park.

Five minutes after leaving the park our Land Rover suffered a tire puncture. Ordinarily this is not a big problem, but near a park known for its lions, some caution needs to be exercised. We piled out of the car while our driver and cook started replacing the tire, which had completely shredded into strips of thick, black rubber. Up the road was what appeared to be a Masai village and near us a few Masai boys were tending goats. After a couple minutes, a couple Masai men wearing red, tartan-like blankets and carrying swords and large sticks came by to inspect us, keeping about 20 feet away and saying nothing. For the past couple days, we’d seen a few women selling trinkets, but our interaction with the men had been limited to watching them tend to their livestock while we drove by in our safari vehicle.

My son got out his Nintendo DSi game, sat down on the ground and starting playing, not sure how long we’d be stuck there. After a few minutes, a young Masai man approached him to watch what he was doing. A few more came over and now my son had a crowd around him. His handheld game, which occasionally serves to isolate him from where he’s traveling, now became the thing that brought him and us closer to the local culture. He handed over the game to one of the young men and demonstrated how to use it. By now there were about a dozen Masai men milling around us and I could smell their powerful body odor. The tire was taking a long time to fix and I was getting worried that we might be stranded there for a while.

The young man playing Nintendo handed it back to my son and came over and asked me in English where I was from. “America. Obama-land,” I said. Most Kenyans are extremely proud that one of their people has fathered the leader of the free world. I heard many reports of raucous celebrating on the night of the 2008 U.S. elections. Many large-screen televisions were set up to watch the election results all over Nairobi. One cab driver told me that many people watched on the big screen because they did not trust their television sets at home, as though somehow results could be altered on a small TV set but not on a big one in front of so many people.

Nintendo Man asked me, “Do you know Salt Lake City?” I drew a map in the sand to show him where the town would be on a U.S. map. We told each other our ages and then he said, “I have been to Memphis.” I sang a few lines from “Hound Dog” but he did not recognize the song, a statement either about his familiarity with Elvis Presley or my singing ability. I asked him at what age he would marry and he said twenty-five. I asked him at what age a girl might marry and he said 14 or 15. At this point I looked over my shoulder to check on my almost-13 year old daughter, who was with my wife talking to a group of Masai men.

With the tire taking longer than expected to fix, my wife and daughter had settled in to a negotiation of some kind. I walked over and watched them admiring the beautiful, beaded bracelet of one of the men. The bracelet, made by the wife of the man’s friend, was indeed exquisite: tightly-woven, multicolored beads on both inside and out with an attractive geometric design. By now they were almost done with the negotiations and after a few more minutes they had arrived at a mutually-acceptable price. My wife had skillfully chopped the price by two-thirds from the original asking price. Only 30 minutes after being rebuffed at the park exit gate, they had their beaded bracelet.

Travel mishaps sometimes turn into rewarding experiences and often they turn out to be quite memorable. Instead of being marooned in the Masai Mara, isolated in our Land Rover with a flat tire, we made the most of a great opportunity to interact with the people we had been driving by for the past couple days. My wife and daughter’s authentic Masai bracelet was a bonus as well.

Beware Of The Jom

“You must leave early in the afternoon, before dark…maybe by 3:30 or 4:00 pm, because of the jom,” said Martin, our guest house proprietor. We’d read a lot about the dangers of Kenya’s capital city, beginning with its “Nairobbery” nickname down to the obvious folly of walking out in the African bush…but what was the jom? A carnivorous predator lurking behind the thorn trees? A gang of unemployed thugs waiting to rob unsuspecting tourists? Whatever it was, it was clear that we should avoid nightfall in Nairobi. Martin mentioned it again the next morning and I was starting to understand. “You need to start out a little later today, due to the jom.” Of course. He was talking about a traffic jom.

We’d decided to stay in Langata, a Nairobi suburb, because of its relative safety and its proximity to several interesting tourist sites. Nairobi’s recent commuter congestion problem is a direct result of relaxing automotive import requirements. Previously, Kenyans could only buy new cars from government-authorized dealerships, but in the last few years were able to buy refurbished vehicles from whoever they wanted for a much lower cost. This has created the local monster known as the jom.

I learned this from Bernard, our taxi driver, who gave us an early morning ride – before the jom – to the departure point for our 10 day Kenya-Tanzania safari. Bernard told us that “we must give ourselves at least 90 minutes, on account of the jom.” Bernard was an experienced driver who knew how to avoid falling prey to the jom. About halfway into town, he started taking side streets, pausing at each corner to gauge how quickly things were moving. Bernard’s driving expertise came hand-in-hand with his interest in racing. He was a “spanner boy” in the pit crew for a local racing team, until it was disbanded. After that he drove for a Shell oil executive until the company laid him off. “I have an offer for a job in Qatar…driving an oil truck across the desert. The plice they are offering is too low…but we are still negotiating,” said Bernard, his r’s sounding like l’s because the absence of that sound in his native Kiswahili dialect. Bernard had been driving a taxi for a number of months to support his family. He’s been considering a job in Qatar because a three-year truck-driving stint there would give him a large chunk of capital with which to start a business. “It is a sacrifice because I can only visit my wife and children during holidays,” he said. Bernard was well-dressed, educated, spoke English well and, like most of the Kenyans we’d met, underemployed.

About 80 minutes after leaving Langata, we arrived at our safari company headquarters. Without Bernard’s knowledge of the back streets, the 20 kilometer trip might have taken two hours. We paid Bernard and were ready to start out on our safari and head out into the dangers of the African bush. At least we knew that we would not have to deal with the jom.

Doomsday In East Africa

I creep along, slowly and silently inching my way towards my prey, my finger poised and ready to fire. We’re in Kenya, home of big game hunters and spectacular savannah, but my mind is focused solely on my target. I continue to follow, keeping my distance, then my prey settles into a stationary position and I take a single, quiet step to be within firing range. I carefully aim and fire and my target drops to the ground. I move over to where it falls and give it one more shot, just to be sure. The mosquito that had been harassing us all night has finally paid the ultimate price for his sins. I nailed him with a shot of Doom, Kenya’s best-selling brand of Mosquito spray.

Although we had yet to start our 10-day Kenya & Tanzania safari, the theme of predator versus prey greeted our arrival in Nairobi. Arriving at 10 pm after almost 30 hours of jet travel, we were ready to settle into a long slumber. Just after falling asleep, we were all awoken by the annoying, buzzing-whining sound of what seemed like dozens of mosquitoes circling our heads. For whatever reason, our hostel didn’t think it necessary to put mosquito nets in our rooms. The kids tried to catch a few with their hands and we all tried to sleep with our heads under the covers but that proved to be too hot, not to mention difficult to breathe. The first night we alternated between getting munched by the pests and sweating under the covers.

Fortunately, mosquitoes in Nairobi do not carry Malaria, unlike in most of the country, so our problem was merely an annoyance, not a life-threatening scenario. The second night the hostel manager “fumigated” the room about 20 minutes prior to us going to bed, but we had similar problems that night as well. The only reason we fared better that night is because we put mosquito repellent on prior to bed. The third day we decided to take matters into our own hands: we went out a bought a can of Doom. With my new 180ml can of toxic flying insect spray, I was instantly transformed from just another backpacking Dad into a Great White Hunter. I spotted one on the wall and Whoosh! It was dead. Another was trying to hide between the window and the curtains…Whoosh! Gone. After being tormented by the winged pests for the previous two nights, it was great to be able to turn the tables: we had gone from prey to predator.

Despite this mosquito annoyance, we felt like we have been put into the proper frame of mind as start our East African journey.