Dining Out On Discovering Delightful Nairobi Part 2

YOU, yes, you, are the inspiration for these scribblings. That is how I justify my ongoing missives to tell the story of places, people and ordinary things, from the most extraordinary to the very mundane. I am stirred by the colour of the sky and moved by the bright clothes worn by the poorest of the poor, the dazzling smiles of children, and the courage of men pushing barrows and bikes up back-breaking hills and the hope for a better future worn on the exhausted faces of mothers and grandmothers.

“Many travelers to Africa make the mistake of choosing their destination based on preconceived notions of romance and adventure. This can lead to disappointment. Let the itinerary be a blank slate, and let the adventure write itself. The Traveler, London – February 1919” From Mark of the Lion by Suzanne Arruda

I couldn’t agree more. We have often discussed how our preconceived prejudices have influenced our choice of destination. Fortunately, earlier adventures have dispelled some of our fears, and whenever possible, we have tackled the bull by the horns and carried on regardless. Our pluckiness has proven to be the best decision. The results speak for themselves; we are happy to report.

---oOo---

Let me introduce you, dear reader, to MPesa, which means m-money in Swahili. It is a brilliant payment system used all over East Africa. It is easy to subscribe to and only needs a registered cell phone with a SIM number to make or receive payments.

M-PESA was launched in Kenya in 2007 to make domestic remittances as simple as texting. Today, M-PESA allows customers across seven African markets to instantly and securely send funds, pay bills, make in-store payments, send money abroad, and access financial services such as loans and overdraft facilities.

Users with no bank accounts can access the numerous M-Pesa outlets nationwide. The money that must be stored is given to the kiosk attendant, who transfers the amount in digital form to the user’s M-Pesa account. Cash collected digitally is stored in an M-Pesa trust account.

Interestingly, in partnership with Nedbank, Vodacom tried unsuccessfully to introduce something similar to South Africa. Analysts believe M-Pesa failed in SA because Vodacom did not consider the significant differences between the Kenyan and South African markets.

 

---oOo---

While Butch got stuck into fixing the Honey Badger, I did a few solo expeditions. My first excursion was to visit an old "friend", Karen Blixen, in Karen’s serene suburb. I was, after all, in her neighbourhood.

“When you have caught the rhythm of Africa, you find out that it is the same in all her music.”
― Karen Blixen, Out of Africa.

All entrance fees to national parks, museums, historical sites, and botanical parks are painlessly paid through MPesa. Foolhardily, I hadn’t registered.

Coffee is my rescue remedy, and the coffee shop beckoned. There, I assured myself I would register on the Parks website and do my entrance fee as suggested by the lady at the entrance gate. After a frustrating hour of trying and re-trying to subscribe, I threw in the towel and stomped off at the gate to lament my inability to pay. Cash payments are not accepted. The ingenious attendant soon beckoned another Kenyan visitor to the gate, and she made my payment using MPesa within two ticks. MPesa was the way to go.

Elinah, my guide, is a tourism student, and she told me she was working at the Karin Blixen Museum for her practical studies.

While we walked through the expansive, luscious gardens, she told me the story of the Karin Blixen Museum.

“The Karen Blixen Museum not only provides the most comprehensive insight into the person of Karen Blixen but also offers guests a fantastic space for personal reflection on our nature trail against a backdrop of Karen’s beloved Ngong Hills.” Elinah began her talk while we sat on an eroded, moss-covered garden bench enjoying birdsong (Hadeda Ibis) under a magnificent Acacia umbrella tree.

The Karen Blixen Museum was once the centrepiece of a 6000-hectare farm at the foot of the Ngong Hills owned by Danish Author Karen and her Swedish husband and half-cousin, Baron Bror Blixen-Finecke. Initially, they would do cattle ranching, but her fool-hardy husband changed his mind and decided to dabble in the very lucrative coffee farming.

Located 10km from the city centre, the Museum tells the story of a different period in the history of Kenya and later gained international acclaim with the release of the  Oscar-winning movie ‘Out of Africa’, based on Karen’s autobiography by the same title.

The magnificent sandstone farmhouse wrapped in a deep veranda and red tiled roof was built in 1912 by Swedish Engineer Ake Sjogren.

Karen and her husband bought the house in 1917; Karen called the house “Bogani” or “Mbogani”, meaning a home in the woods.

Many pieces of furniture that Karen Blixen sold to Lady McMillan on her departure were re-acquired and form part of the permanent exhibition, lending an authentic air to the living conditions Karen enjoyed during her occupation of the house.

Their marriage failed after eight years, and in 1921, the adulterous playboy, Baron Bror Blixen, moved on. After her divorce, Karen was left to run the financially troubled farm independently, a daunting task for a woman of that generation.

Not sparing the punches, Elinah told me, sighing regretfully, yet with an edge of mischievousness, that “In 1914, Karen was diagnosed with syphilis but lived in the house until her return to Denmark in 1931.” And let that nugget sink in.

Tragically, Karen suffered from a lifelong disease described as tabes dorsalis due to taking mercury pills for a year, after which she experienced severe mercurial intoxication.

The farm failed miserably, and Karen's wealthy uncle, Aage Westenholz, who financed the farm with family members who were shareholders, stopped supporting the endeavour after suffering various tragedies, including a factory fire and continuously failed harvests. Elinah said triumphantly that the farm was situated at an unsuitable elevation for coffee production. “in this area cattle are the traditional partners of the mighty Maasai and have been  for centuries.” Indeed.

“ The farm was bought by Remy Martin, who broke the land into 20-acre parcels. Subsequent development created the present suburb of Karen. Records indicate that Lt. Col. G. Lloyd, an officer of the British Army, bought the house in 1935 and lived there until he died in 1954, when it passed to his daughters. The handsome house was sporadically occupied until it was purchased in 1964 by the Danish government and given to the Kenyan government as an independence gift.

Subsequently, the government set up a college of nutrition and the house was used as the principal’s house. In 1985, the movie based on Karen’s autobiography began, and the National Museums of Kenya expressed interest in acquiring the house to establish a Museum. The Museum was opened in 1986.” (Extracts taken from the Museum’s website.)

---oOo---

Karen, also known by her pen name Isak Dinesen, was born at Rungstedlund in Denmark on the 17th of April 1885 as the second child of Wilhelm and Ingeborg Dinesen’s five children.

After her divorce, she fell passionately in love with a handsome English man, Denis Finch Hatton, and his tragic death in Tsavo in 1930, coupled with the failed farming, left Karen little choice but to return to Denmark. She turned to writing as a career following her departure from Africa and published such works as Seven Gothic Tales (1934), Out of Africa (1937) and Babette’s Feast (1950). She died on her family estate, Rungsted, in 1962 aged 77.

The Museum remains a serene environment that seems to belong to the past, surrounded by a tranquil garden and indigenous forest, with a splendid view of Karen’s beloved Ngong Hills. She honours the hills with the phrase ‘I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills’.

Farm tools, including a tractor from that period, wagons, ploughs, and original coffee processing factory equipment, form part of this rich collection as outdoor exhibits.

I returned to our campsite determined to rewatch Out of Africa on YouTube, which I did that evening. My beloved was still fighting tyres and rims under the Honey Badger and informed me we would be there for a few more days.

I couldn’t be happier. I had an itinerary.

---oOo---

Suffused in romantic stories of Africa, I persuaded Butch that we should go out on a date night. He readily agreed.

Cultiva Farm Restaurant

“Welcome to our restaurant, a sanctuary transcending the ordinary, where cultivating and creating takes centre stage. Our establishment is not just a restaurant; it is a haven where organic heirloom crops flourish, where people’s skills and talents are nurtured, and where a deep passion for the art of flavour comes alive only at Cultiva.” We were sold on the idea and immediately made a reservation.

To stretch his legs, Butch suggested we walk to the restaurant, which we did, by a very circuitous route. Our walks have brought us closer to our neighbours, who all greet and wave, and some even stop to chat. A simple “good morning (habari za asubuhi) or good evening (jioni njema)” lifts our flagging spirits after a long day.

 
We deserved our dinner, we agreed, and arrived exhausted and ready for a feast. The large restaurant, with various seating arrangements and spaces, was pumping. Servers were bustling about tying apron strings, bartenders were shaking up cocktails, and the swing doors to the kitchen gave us a glimpse of harried chefs, tea towels flapping and spoons flying, busy preparing delicious plates.

I’ll have a cocktail on a date night to set the mood. My frozen virgin Strawberry Daiquiri was sublime. Butch sighs like a Cheshire cat sipping his single malt, the ice cubes tinkling, after an exasperatingly exhausting day.

Butch’s slow braised Bœuf Bourguignon served in a pastry “pot” was a winner, and my Ravioli swimming in a delicious cream sauce was perfect.

Someone once said that restaurants have their unique “sweet spot”, e.g. a chef might excel at starters and main courses but neglect his desserts, not being a pastry chef. This is often reflected by the lack of exposure on the menu, or the serving staff might underplay the importance of a dessert by offering diners coffee or liqueurs.

I believe diners are tantalised by starters and left swooning for dessert. I was not expecting much (because desserts have generally been underwhelming north of the Orange River).

While examining the dessert display, I noticed that the attractions looked terrific, but the perfection left me doubting. However, after a minute, I succumbed to the Panna Cotta. (I always do) and I managed to pursuede Butch to try the Meringue and berries.

The Panna Cotta was the pièce de résistance. Bravo!, Cultiva, you nailed dessert. 10/10.  Cultiva is “where flavour transcends, and souls flourish.”

In the Uber going home, Butch said, “I could return to Nairobi just to do a culinary tour.”

---oOo---

The following day Butch joined me on my morning walk. Breakfast at the Giraffe Manor Boutique Hotel appealed to me. I had seen photographs of giraffes poking their heads into the dining room to greet diners and thought that could be a Kodak moment to share with our grandchildren. Alas, our request was declined. Only hotel residents could enjoy this privilege. “Would I like to make a reservation?”

But we would not be discouraged, so we ventured to the Giraffe Center, where we met Daisy.

She is one of ten Rothschild Giraffes under their care. Born at the Centre, She is Daisy IV, named after Daisy I, the first giraffe rescued in 1979.

We spent an entirely entertaining half an hour perusing the exhibitions, then strolled out onto the raised platformed path snaking a circular route through the grounds to meet Daisy and the other Rothschild Giraffes. Not shy in the least, they marched towards us, nudged and cajoled with those big Giraffe eyes until Butch succumbed to their flirting lashes and fed them a handful of tidbits which were specially formulated pellets served in little wooden bowls.

He said, the long, pointy, black tongue curling out and around his fingers, searching for and finding nibbles, was rough and snotty.

We were so captivated by Daisy that we couldn’t resist learning more about her species. We attended a short lecture in the auditorium and learned this:

Rothschild’s giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis camelopardalis ) is an ecotype of the Nubian giraffe. It is one of the most endangered distinct populations of giraffe, with 1,399 mature individuals estimated in the wild in 2018

Giraffa camelopardalis rothschildi is named after the Tring Museam’s founder, Walter Rothschild, and is also known as the Baringo giraffe, after the Lake Baringo area of Kenya, or as the Ugandan giraffe.

 

Fourteen things to remember about Rothschild’s giraffe.

1. The colouring of the coat or pelt. The reticulated giraffe has clearly defined dark patches with bright-whitish channels between them;
2. The Rothschild’s is paler, the orange-brown patches are less jagged and sharp in shape, and the connective channel is creamier in colour compared to the reticulated giraffe.
3. In addition, Rothschild’s giraffe displays no markings on the lower leg.
4. Another distinguishing feature of Rothschild’s giraffe is the number of ossicones on the head. They are the only Giraffa to be born with five ossicones. Two are the larger and more obvious ones at the top of the head, familiar to all giraffes. The third ossicone is in the centre of the giraffe’s forehead, and the other two are behind each ear.
5. They are taller, measuring up to 5.88 metres (19.3 feet) and weighing 2,500 pounds.
6. Males are larger than females by a few hundred pounds, and their two largest ossicones are usually bald from sparring.
7. Males are darker in colour than females, although this is not a guaranteed sexing indicator.
8. Side note: The meat of the Rothschild giraffe is supposedly very sweet, and its bones contain a specific type of fat that traditional cultures use as a medicinal component.
9. Rothschild’s giraffes live in savannahs, grasslands, and open woodlands of Uganda and Kenya.
10. Rothschild’s giraffes mate at any time of the year and have a gestation period of 14 to 16 months, typically giving birth to a single calf.
11. They live in small herds, with males and females (and their calves) living separately, only mixing for mating.
12. The Rothschild’s giraffes tolerate other animals around them as long as they don’t feel threatened.
13. Mostly, they are very friendly, but the males are known to fight for mating. Since this species can mate all year, those battles seem frequent.
14. A kick from a giraffe will send you into a tailspin and the next dimension.

---oOo---

Across the road from the Giraffe Center is a hiking route in a natural forest. We had our walking shoes on, time at our disposal and were relatively fit. A walk up the hill to see Karen’s beloved Ngong hills, where her adored lover is buried, was the only invitation I needed to head up there. We could also see how big the farm was.

Through narrow, indigenous tree-lined tunnels, we escaped the hustle and bustle of the city and trekked ever upwards using a seldom maintained natural Giraffe path.

At last, at the very top, a sign ordered us to stop, and there, in the distance, were the faded blue Ngong Mountains. Wistfulness engulfed me at the thought that all the players in this drama were long gone and mostly forgotten.

‘There was a place in the Hills, on the first ridge in the Game Reserve, that I, when I thought I was to live and die in Africa, had pointed out to Denys as my future burial place. In the evening, while we sat and looked at the hills from my house, he remarked that he would also like to be buried there. Since then, sometimes when we drove out in the hills, Denys had said: “Let us drive as far as our graves.” KB

 

 

 

While Butch satisfied his curiosity at the workshop where our Honey Badger was still on jacks, I went surfing on the web. On TripAdvisor, I found what I was looking for—a guided tour of Historic Nairobi.

In our street the cattle were coming home to their kraal.

---oOo---

In my Uber, I was whisked off to the appointed meeting spot in the centre of Nairobi. There I stood under the clock as it struck 9h00. Soon after, my guide, Tim, arrived. After assuring him I was up to the task and ready to tackle the walks, heat, distance and time, we set off to the Maasai Market.

I was promised I’d feel like a local, but I stuck out like a sore throbbing thumb in a minefield of yelling where everyone was trying to make a buck. A quieter atmosphere prevailed inside the market an  Art Deco building with it's cathedral-like vaulted domed ceiling, allowing me to settle in and enjoy the displays.

Stall owners were friendly and invited me to take my time and look – it’s free, to try on bracelets and necklaces, and enthusiastically imparted local lore and the history of their market.

The turquoise beaded bracelet I bought will always remain a favourite.

At the fresh meat market, stall owners were washing down butcher’s blocks and floors after their early morning sales and cooks and chefs were bustling about setting up their stalls, wiping enormous metal woks, and setting charcoal to burn in braziers for the lunchtime crowd.

The cacophony of a hundred voices shouting orders, calling neighbours and the drumming scream of motorbike hooters bringing deliveries of fresh produce all added to the urgency to get lunch ready at midday.

We moved on to the quieter flower market, where I was astounded by the displays of fresh blossoms in full buckets. Nairobi ladies love enormous bunches of flowers, and  soon  the buckets would be empty. Tim assured me it had to happen before the blooms drooped and wilted in the heat. Farmers delivered the blooms early every morning from neighbouring hothouses and farms.

 

 

“When the Missionaries arrived, the Africans had the land, and the Missionaries had the Bible. They taught us how to pray with our eyes closed. When we opened them, they had the land, and we had the Bible.” ― Jomo Kenyatta. Heros of Kenya's fight for independence are commemorated in bronze and Tim proudly pointed them out to me stressing their importance in modern Kenya.

Nairobi boasts many libraries emphasising a hunger for knowledge, learning and studying.

We visited the McMillan Memorial Library, an architectural and cultural gem steeped in history and significance named after Lord William Northrop McMillan. This iconic building and library blend colonial heritage and a world of literature, art, and knowledge, offering an extensive collection of books, periodicals, and historical archives as envisioned by its patron, McMillan.

All along the pavement, booksellers sell academic books to students at a reduced price. Often, students can swap books or resell books to the sellers in lieu of a full payment. At one of the stalls, I purchased an outdated Vogue magazine to complement my collection in storage.

Tim told me our city tour was destined to end at the Kenyatta International Conference Center, where we’d zip up to the roof, and I could enjoy a 360˚ view of the Nairobi skyline. I was thrilled.

The breathtaking views were the cherry on the cake for my city tour, and I often just stood there,  taking it all in.

Unsurprisingly, the view attracts many tourists and locals alike, and we were also privy to a fashion shoot. Perfect backdrops are guaranteed.

Tim and I ended our walk at the Trattoria Restaurant, where we enjoyed a perfectly brewed coffee.

Thank you, Tim. You were the perfect guide. Informative, funny, and knowledgeable about many aspects of your beautiful city. I could not have enjoyed the morning more with anyone else.

---oOo---

My hopes of seeing our Honey Badger off the jacks was a tall order, and once again, I found my beloved greasy and trapped amongst wheels, rims, nuts, and bolts. I had one more day of freedom to explore. He did add that he was pretty “gatvol” and promised we’d soon be off to the coast to catch some sun and nosh on fish.

---oOo---

I wouldn’t let the grass grow under my feet. I ordered an Uber to take me to the Karura Forest Reserve the following day.

My Uber driver took his time getting to the gate. Watching his progress on Google Maps I noticed he stopped and set off occasionally, but I didn’t give him much thought. Besides, I didn’t want to use my battery life to spy on the driver’s progress. As soon as I got myself settled in the car, he asked whether I minded a “shared ride” and explained that he would pick up another passenger en route if one should require a passage. I agreed with the understanding that it would be on our route,

I would suspect that he knew just by looking at me that I didn’t have a notion of  “on our route,” and proceeded to take me on a wild goose chase all over the countryside to pick up another fare. Eventually, after thirty minutes, we arrived at an obscure boutique hotel where a guest stood with his expensive-looking masonite suitcase ready to roll.

He took one look at me and asked the driver what the hell was going on. The driver uttered five words, “This is a shared ride”, when the exasperated client lost it and marched off, the wheels of his suitcase bouncing and scraping on the cobbles. I was relieved but gave the driver my ten cents worth too and told him to get me to the forest pronto.

He switched his music up a few notches and ignored me for the rest of our journey.

My displeasure was clearly evident by the horrible star rating I gave him at the end of our trip.

---oOo---

Karura Forest is an urban forest in Nairobi. The forest was gazetted in 1932 and is managed by the Kenya Forest Service in conjunction with the Friends of Karura Forest Community Forest Association. Karura Forest is 1,041 hectares, consisting of three parts separated by Limuru and Kiambu roads.

I needed a coffee. The restaurant would be my first stop, and a pancake smothered in a berry compote was in order. I was going to walk off all the calories, I reckoned. There were three pancakes (I always confuse pancakes with crepes. These were American pancakes and not French crepes), which were far too generous even for me.

I thoroughly enjoyed my walk. I smiled continuously as I revelled in the freedom to walk at my own pace and stopped to photograph and greet my fellow walkers. There were groups of two, girlfriends taking a few hours off, squads of joggers keeping pace, older couples walking the dog, retired men out on a bro’mantic stroll and a class of school kids out on an expedition.

The trees are magnificent, the roads and paths are good, and there are routes to suit everyone. I needed a long walk and took myself off to the waterfalls.

A friendly single walker greeted me along the way, and soon, our paths crossed again. We realised we were both on the same mission to see the waterfalls. We started chatting. Nancy, works for an NGO, had taken the day off to exercise and sightsee and we were chatting up a storm.

We completed our course, hugged some trees, enjoyed the waterfalls, and pointed out a unique spot. At the exit gate, we swapped telephone numbers and exchanged photographs. When our taxis arrived, our paths separated, she would go north to Switzerland and me? My destination still unknown. And with a final hug and wave, we went our separate ways.

It is said that friendships/acquaintances have seasons. Yes, they do, and Nancy was the perfect earth angel for me on my walk in the forest that day. Thank you, Nancy, for talking to a stranger.

My Uber driver home was a lovely retired gentleman with whom I had much in common, including children, grandchildren, the highs and lows of retirement, pension funds, medical treatment for the aged and the eternal statement, “Getting old is not for sissies!” we were on the same page with all of it.

As I alighted the car, he, a devout Christian, wished travelling mercies on us and “God’s richest Blessings for Butch and you" and wished us well on our journey. The gesture was so unexpectedly kind and generous that I had to collect myself before entering our gates. He probably thought, “These Mzungus need all the help and divine interventions they could get.”

---oOo---

Things were looking up. Butch told me back at the camp we’d be off soon.

I had a last chance to photograph the mobile container dormitories specially designed for motorcycle Overlanders who often stopped and stayed a night at Jungle Junction. Word of mouth goes a long way.

---oOo---

Africa is complex, and Nairobi is a uniquely incredible place—it’s one of our favourite cities—and for all of its problems, and there are many, I think it’s a place that people should explore and enjoy the diversity and cosmopolitan vibes themselves,”

“I think food, culture, people, and landscapes are absolutely inseparable.” Anthony Bourdain. You’ll find it all like a hand in a glove in Nairobi