Kenya – Camels And A Kalashnikov
Not even my spirit animal, the ever-joyful, rambunctious Cape Robin Chats, scrubbing in the dust can lift my melancholic spirits today. They’re trying their best, to no avail.
A bone weary dog lies sleeping guarding the chicken meshed farm gate, supposedly lying in wait for his family to return from work this afternoon. Occasionally, he listlessly lifts a swollen paw to swat a fat black and emerald fly. Dust covers everything. I’m told the rains will wash it all away in a month or two. A long time to wait when you’re a blade of grass frizzling away, parched, your wilting energy sapped until a twister sweeps you under a dead bush. The annoying fly has finally got the dog moving. His old arthritic hips buckled as he shook himself, took two tentative steps, emitting a pall of fine dust and minute dust fleas, which soon drifted back down and settled on his back as he collapsed in a heap once again. A puff of dust whooshed up and settled. Even the dust has lost its mojo.
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Let’s get back to travelling. The dusty roads are enough to lift the spirits.
Butch and I took to the healing waters of the hot spring bubbling in the river a few meters off our Campsite, soaked up the minerals and allowed our eyes to wander around the picturesque landscape. The soft curvatures of the enormous boulders and rocks formed a maze to float around, where we discovered hideaways from the prying eyes of a herdsman and his goats.
Exploring the countryside, we find, is best done on our bikes, and each morning of our stay, we’d pack the daypack with our bottles of flavoured water and a snack before setting off.
Lake Bogoria, a World Heritage site, was our intended destination. Lake Bogoria is a saline, pink, alkaline lake in a volcanic region in a half-graben basin south of Lake Baringo, a little north of the equator, notably known for its spectacular hot springs, geysers, and vast amounts of blue-green algae that attract hundreds of lesser flamingos on the lake.
Forewarned is forearmed, but little did we know that the rules were written in stone, and no amount of sweet talking would persuade the Lake Bogoria National Reserve gate official to lower the price. He was adamant that $50pp was the fee whether we stayed for one or 24 hours. In unison we solemnly shook our heads NO, too expensive.
No matter how high we ascended the surrounding hills, following the directions of local herders, we never got a glimpse of Lake Bogoria. The narrow, shallow, alkaline lake on the Rift Valley floor, varying from 3,000 to 4,250 ha in extent, with a maximum depth of 8.5m, stubbornly eluded us. Exhausted after many kilometres of challenging cycling, we gave up and returned to our Campsite.
To make up for our disappointment, Butch made a reservation at one of the local Choma restaurants for supper that evening, where we were treated like honoured guests and enjoyed the local fare—boiled goat meat with leafy greens and maise meel putu. It was interesting to note that all the diners were men, which was in keeping with the patriarchal societies in Africa.
Business was slow. The owner/manager of our campsite told us that COVID-19 had put a spanner in the works, and although the dreaded virus was a thing of the past, its effect on tourism was not. We spent a few hours lamenting the demise of tourism, but he soon perked up after a thorough inspection of the Honey Badger. He said his dream was to own something similar and travel the length and breadth of Africa. We agreed wholeheartedly, assuring him that traveling opens the mind and heart and ensures one lives a long, contented retirement.
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The next day, we set off to Lake Baringo. The landscape became increasingly dry. The lake is in a remote, hot, dusty, rocky area, and the vegetation is sparser with smaller acacia trees. Pastoralist farmers are nomadic, following the water and grazing for their cattle, sheep, goats and mules.
Homes and farmsteads were often corrugated iron structures, allowing rapid temperature changes in a harsh climate. The buildings heat up quickly during the day but are cool during the night when families sleep. During the day, households were mainly out of doors, children were at school, and men and boys would shepherd their flocks or fish while women tended small gardens, set up roadside stalls, or attended to domestic affairs.
Lake Baringo is, after Lake Turkana, the most northern of the Kenyan Rift Valley lakes, with a surface area of 130 square kilometres and an elevation of 970 metres. The lake is fed by several rivers: the Molo, Perkerra and Ol Arabel.
A Kenyan Government report in 2021 estimated that the surface area of Lake Baringo had increased by over 100% to 268 square kilometres over the period 2010-2020. Lakeside villages were flooded, and people were displaced. Local people all reported that the rising water is due to climate change and the earth’s tectonic plates shifting. The evidence is visible and very real.
Yet, it is hard to imagine that the lake’s millions of litres can’t be utilised and used by farmers to irrigate their crops.
Fishermen still use primitive boats and dugout canoes to ply the waters daily for their catch using cheap Chinese nets and handlines.
Fish caught in the lake include Tilapia and marbled lungfish, which were introduced to the lake in 1974 and now provide the majority of fish from the lake.
No fish is too small for the pot; we were told by a fisherman in his balsam wood handcrafted canoe when he proudly displayed his fish, which I’m sure was for sale. He also confirmed the rumour that crocodiles and hippos are present in the lake, and he wriggled a warning finger that we should take heed.
Unfortunately, sanitation is crude, and Lake Baringo has recorded a high prevalence of parasites. This calls for the public to be sensitised to the risks of consuming undercooked infected fish.
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Our campsite, a few hundred meters from the Lake shore, Bush Baby bar and Campsite, was very comfortable, and the manager/owner was accommodating. He would, he said, arrange our excursions and negotiate a reasonable price.
Within minutes of stopping, our hammocks were strung up between two trees. I promptly fell asleep while Butch read. I’ve often wondered whether he’s not been tempted to throw a flip-flop in my direction to stop the gentle purrs I emit. But he hasn’t.
Our boat trip around the shores of the lake and to one of the islands confirmed the Al Jazeera article about the alarming rate of flooding and the water rising in Baringo. “Elizabeth Meyerhoff, a social scientist, has been studying the lake since 2013, said the water level has been rising at about 2.5cm (0.98 inches) a day.”
“Just a few years ago, Baringo and Bogoria – freshwater and alkaline lakes, respectively – were 20km (12 miles) apart, but local officials say that distance has diminished to 13km (eight miles).” Al Jazeera.
The effects are catastrophic, submerging homes, schools, roads, hospitals, lodges. farmland – and even entire islands.
We were prompted to go on a birding hike with a local guide who told us that over 470 species of birds are recorded, occasionally including migrating flamingos. He informed us that a Goliath heronry is located on a rocky islet in the lake known as Gibraltar.
Meeting people is always a highlight, and we were delighted to know we would not be the only campers but would be joined by four groups of cyclists exploring Kenya or even further afield.
A group of five men from The Netherlands looked very professional and were training for a competition later in the summer: two girls from Canada, a couple from Germany, best friends who meet up annually to cycle during their leave, and a single rider from France.
Each cyclist had a story to tell, and we were fascinated to learn more. They inspired us with their guts and determination, and I must confess I was pretty jealous that I’d never thought of cycling safaris when I was younger and fitter.
The Frenchman, who had just completed the route we were about to take, warned us of the infamous bandits lurking in the shrubbery in their efforts to steal goats. These bandits, he said, were illegally armed to the teeth, and some were even better equipped than the police. The dreaded and unreliable Kalashnikov is the preferred weapon used, he solemnly told us. I quaked in my flip-flops.
Police stationed at roadblocks would be able to inform us of our safety or not, and we could have a policeman escort us if needed. Still, we were later told that would not be a good idea as bandits were not partial to law enforcement, which might even spark a shoot-out. He had also been warned his bike was worth much more than a goat regarding a bride’s price. This enlightenment came moments before he set off on his bike to continue his journey to Mombasa.
Our guide fetched us from the Campsite early on the morning of our hike, well before any cyclists had left. Fortunately, good timing prevailed, and we could wave goodbye along the main road with the peloton of Dutch riders leading the way. The Canadian girls only set off at midday, which was surprising as they’d be pedalling during the heat of the day.
The guide was an excellent spotter, could identify birds by their calls, and spotted them hiding in the foliage well before we would. We were able to identify 36 birds, including African Scops Owl, African black-headed Oriole, White-bellied Go-Away-Bird, Ruppell’s Long-Tailed starling, ring-necked Dove, Pearl Spotted Owlet, Beautiful Sunbird, Black-Billed Wood-hoopoe and Black-throated Barbet. We were delighted by our ticks.
The next day we took to the streets on our bikes doing a fair distance. We stopped for a break on a bridge 20km out of town and almost got caught up in a sudden strong gust of wind. The fishing village was abuzz with activity it being a Saturday and at the harbour all the fish had sold out and only the last stragglers remained. All the colourful boats had been pulled up and moored on the sand.
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Cattle Rustling
Our journey to Lake Turkana in Northern Kenya was to take us through some exciting landscapes and to educate ourselves; we learned that “Kenya’s pastoralist communities have long considered cattle rustling a cultural practice. In the past, warriors wielded crude weapons such as spears, swords, bows and arrows to steal livestock, but they rarely killed people.
Livestock symbolises wealth; stealing cattle was considered a means to elevate one’s status.
Cattle raids have escalated, fuelled by the proliferation of small arms smuggled into the country. Police reports indicate that cattle raiders’ weapons originate from neighbouring countries with internal strife, particularly Somalia and South Sudan.
Gangs of gun-slinging raiders usually storm villages at night, shooting people on sight before driving away entire herds of cattle, sheep and goats, leaving whole communities devastated.
Herders, as young as 16, from Baringo in Kenya’s Rift Valley, tired of waiting for the government’s help, feel they have no option but to arm themselves. They buy AK-47s, but also more powerful guns such as M16s and G3s, to protect their families and their livestock and also to take back their stolen animals.” I read on the internet. While I read and photographed, Butch kept an eye open for any rustling.
“Maricha, did you see the guy with the AK47 slung over his shoulder?” he whispered breathlessly on the second morning of our road trip. I hadn’t. But I would keep my eyes open, I promised. What I had been doing was waving and shouting "habari - Hi" to everyone on the verge.
We’d spent the previous night at the Marich Pass Field Studies Camp. This lovely centre is generally reserved for groups studying biology, ecology, geology or botany, but it welcomes Overlanders like us. It is a beautiful campsite under the tallest Indigenous trees. Although the facilities were basic, the showers were good, and the pit toilets were pristine. There was no electricity laid on. Dinner orders had to be placed beforehand, of which we were unaware. Dinner would be on me.
While we waited for traffic to pass, I noticed a sign mentioning Dr David Roden, a significant benefactor of the Marich Early Childhood Development and Primary School, the Tikeet Health Center Project on the Masol Plains. A remarkable man with a passion for educating and improving healthcare in the district. I believe he has subsequently passed away, but work continues with the continued help of his wife and son.
The name Marich (pronounced Malish) would be the first time I had seen a name similar to mine used. English Name: Black pepper. Sanskrit Name: Marich. Botanical Name: Piper nigrum. My favourite: is Marich. Meaning - Sun.
Originally Latin. In Judaism, Maricha is not pretty at all! Meaning: A harsh and sour person. Digging doesn’t always have the desired outcome. I put my phone off and wiped the grin from my face.
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The landscape was beautiful in its desolate starkness—calico-coloured sand dotted by hardy scrub and caravans of camels, herders with flocks of sheep, goats and a fortune of cattle. A mule or donkey never disappoints, and their sullen, slow plod as they make their way stubbornly along the side of the road is endearing. They are survivors.
When we reached the police blockade and roadblock, Butch pre-empted the officer and asked him whether we had a safe passage across the dangerous bandit territories to Lake Turkana. Perplexed, he looked up and said,
“Good afternoon, Sir; you tell me. You’ve just crossed the dangerous region of concern!”
“What are you telling me, officer?” Butch asked,
“As I've just mentioned Sir, you have just passed through the district where the bandits operate and where we expect problems. Here, it is safe to proceed.” He waved us through the barricade, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Idiot Mzungus”, he probably thought. Unbeknownst to us, we had run the gauntlet! We grinned triumphantly.
"You know what?" Butch said a while later "The guy with the AK45 that you were waving to and greeting was probably a bandit"
"There you go, see, friendliness works." was all I could say.
The drier the earth became, the more colourful the local people dressed and adorned themselves. Regal Ladies wore beaded collars, necklaces, earrings and bracelets and wrapped themselves in colourful tribal cloths.
Turkana Clay Necklace: These ancient adornments are still popular among Kenyan women. Beads are made from locally sourced clay, shaped into cubic or rounded pieces and finished with clear lacquer to enhance the clay’s natural colours. The clay beads are strung onto a cord at intervals and worn as a necklace.
Traditional African Glass, ceramic, wood and even plastic beads in various sizes, shapes and colours are used to fashion exquisite pieces. Tall, slim young girls and married ladies regally strut nonchalantly, wearing masses of beads on elegant elongated necks like models on a catwalk.
Every one as elegant as Iman, the Somali-American model and actress, these women could be muses for designers like Versace, Thierry Mugler, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan, and Yves Saint Laurent.
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I must mention Lokichar (pronounced Lukinow)– a bizarre town in the middle of nowhere with a noteworthy twist in the tale. “Lokichar is in the heart of the dusty and arid Turkana basin, 550 km northeast of Nairobi.
Until 2010, it was a forgotten backwater for Turkana cattle-based pastoralists with a pre-2010 population of under 1,000. The principal activity was basket weaving and other local crafts catering to the sparse traffic. The 2011 discovery of oil by Tullow Oil, talk of the Uganda/South Sudan oil pipeline to Lamu passing through, and the opening of the border to the new state of South Sudan has started to transform its prospects. The 2012 population for the area was 2,000 and rising.” Wiki
A wide boulevard runs past the old town now with brightly painted shops, hotels and office complexes flanking the double motorway. Paved pedestrian paths, traffic lights and solar lights shine brightly.
To us, the town reeks of money thrown at it in an attempt to create a Utopia in the dust. A movie set or promotional campaign was my first thought. Butch thought The President and his cavalcade might’ve come to town, or a Chinese contractor had his map upside down, we wondered, perplexed.
Fortunately, just a block behind the ostentatious main road, normalcy prevails, and markets, tiny shops and the Safari kiosk with wooden slats over the culvert still reign supreme.
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With our windows rolled down and a gentle breeze cooling us and sending tumbleweeds rolling, we felt like pioneers in a new world where dust devils swirled in the distance and evaporated.
Wind-worn rock formations dotted the landscape, the occasional herder driving their goats, and then an infrequent tiny hamlet where a child rolls a tin at the end of a stick. Here and there, a scrawny, long-legged chicken scrapes the bare earth for a seed, or a cooking pot simmers on a fire, tendrils of smoke dancing upwards in spirals before disappearing seamlessly.
The Honey Badger dug into the sand, grumbled and groaned, found traction and doggedly pressed on.
The harsh sunlight beat down at midday, and the breeze licked hot on our faces. We were explorers. The road became a track splitting and plaiting around low-growing acacias, prickly pear bushes, and the occasional sprig of dead grass.
Over the last dune, we tumbled, and in the distance, like a magic mirage, a sea of turquoise lay shimmering before us.
Our campsite for the next few nights, the Eliye Springs Resort, beckoned us with tall palm trees and traditional igloo-styled grass huts promising a cool refuge. We were permitted to park on the shoreline.
These were nights in white satin. Balmy, windless nights with the water gently lapping onto the shore a few feet from our window. Our trusty fan whirred and kickstarted as the blades snagged a loose tine. Tomorrow we’d fix the damn thing we’d say and soon forget as we drifted off into a dream state.
Butch, of course, did test the waters, as he always does, and swam a few meters when the heat forced him off his chair to plumge into the water. I could not. The thought of crocodiles lurking, made my blood run cold as I watched him and surveyed the coastline, not knowing what I’d do if a primaeval monster leapt, jaws open and my beloved his target.
The rising waters we’ve noticed at all the lakes have also taken their toll here, flooding the beach, drowning many trees and submerging a few buildings.
One evening, we treated ourselves to a meal in the restaurant. Our table was set on the beach, where we enjoyed a romantic evening under the stars. The waiter was attentive and friendly, striking up a conversation where we got all the local “intel”!
I commented on iOverlander, “ We’ve been here for four nights. There is no sign of the German owner, and staff have no discretionary powers to negotiate a price. They also have no system for calculating extras, e.g., bar, restaurant, or laundry. We were assured that Visa payments were accepted, but when settling a bill, the card machine had no “SIM.”
The cold showers were excellent, and having our laundry done was a treat. Finding our laundry spread out on the beach sand to dry and later on the ground to be folded was a cultural shock, but I survived.
We were offered some land-based excursions, which we declined because the boat “unfortunately was unseaworthy", the captain said. Thanks for that I thought. Better now than miles from the coast.
There’s nothing quite like having no plans, no agenda, and time is your own. We relaxed, read, wrote, rested and felt restored after our four-day visit.
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`LAKE TURKANA
Lake Turkana, also known as Anam Ka’alakol, meaning “the sea of many fish”, or the Jade Sea, from its aquamarine colour seen approaching from a distance. The colour comes from algae that rise to the surface in calm weather.
Lake Turkana.is a saline lake in the Kenyan Rift Valley in northern Kenya, with its far north border crossing into Ethiopia. It is the world’s largest permanent desert lake and the world’s largest alkaline lake.
Although the lake has been used for drinking water, its salinity (slightly brackish) with very high levels of fluoride generally makes it unsuitable, and it has also been a source of diseases spread by contaminated water. Increasingly, communities on the lake’s shores rely on underground springs for drinking water. The same characteristics that make it unsuitable for drinking limit its use for agriculture in the hot and dry climate.
The discolouration of many local people’s teeth has been considered a familial trait and a genetic quirk from their ancestors. The reality is that it is the deceptive work of the high fluoride levels undetectedly seeping into their bones (often with debilitating and severe deformities) and teeth.
The rocks of the surrounding area are predominantly volcanic and are home to scorpions and carpet vipers. Central Island is an active volcano emitting vapour. Outcrops and rocky shores are found on the east and south shores of the lake, while dunes, spits and flats are on the west and north, at a lower elevation.
On-shore and off-shore winds can be extreme as the lake warms and cools more slowly than the land. Sudden, violent storms are frequent. Three dry rivers (the Omo, Turkwel, and Kerio) flow into the lake. The lake’s water loss is caused by evaporation.
The lake is rich in fish, and fishing is essential to the local economy, but it is threatened by falling water levels and overfishing.
Lake Turkana National Parks are now listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site; the lakes are known for their Nile crocodiles.
The area still sees few visitors, being a day’s drive from Nairobi. The area is primarily clay-based and is more alkaline than seawater.
The lake, an aquatic biome, and the surrounding region are classified as desert and xeric shrubland. Besides being a permanent desert lake, it is the only lake that retains the waters originating from two separate catchment areas of the Nile. The Lake Turkana drainage basin mainly draws from Kenyan and Ethiopian highlands.
The Chalbi Desert is east of the lake. During moister times, there is dry grassland, and during drier times, the grass disappears. The shrublands contain thorny, almost leafless, hardy dwarf shrubs, and the doum palms surround the lake.
Hyphaene thebaica, with common names doum palm and gingerbread tree, is a palm tree with edible oval fruit. It is native to the Arabian Peninsula and the northern half and western part of Africa, where it is widely distributed. It tends to grow in places where groundwater is present.
The Lake Turkana region is home to hundreds of species of indigenous birds. The East African Rift System also serves as a flyway for migrating birds, bringing in hundreds more. The birds are essentially supported by plankton masses in the lake, feeding the fish.
Some birds more common to Turkana are the little stint, the wood sandpiper, and the common sandpiper. The African skimmer (Rhyncops flavirostris) nests in the banks of Central Island. Like many other waterbirds, the white-breasted cormorant (Phalacrocorax lucidus) ranges over the lake. The greater flamingo wades in its shallows. Heuglin’s bustard (Neotis heuglinii) is found in the east of the lake region.
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A fortnight had slipped by in a wink, and soon, it was time to return to Eldoret and our friends, the Krugers. We had Jannie’s 35th Birthday to attend, after all.
We set off with our diesel tanks filled at the one-horse town with a single bowser, a cactus, and a tumbleweed. With my hat pulled down low over my eyes, the sun beat relentlessly on our windscreen and side mirror, blinding me. I heard Milene say, “It’s a long way to Tipperary Maricha.” Indeed it is.
This time, we’d take another route back to Eldoret, but first it was back to the Turkana main road before we could swing off and head to towns and districts with these succint names: Sigor, Pokot South, Ortum,Pokot south and finally Cherangany.
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The last leg.
Where we found ourselves at Barnley’s Guest House and Campsite for a night or two.
Through an avenue of Indigenous trees, we rolled in exhausted and stopped on the driveway to gape at sprawling English gardens, gigantic moss-covered trees and flower beds filled with a rainbow of colour. The farmstead, designed by architects, was covered in penny creepers and Ivy, keeping the stone walls and interiors cool.
Richard Barnley, a third-generation custodian of this magnificent old-world property, is a font of information about the area and Kenya. On one or two occasions, he’d invite us for a cuppa in his English cottage home filled with antiques, worn Persian carpets, family silver, Toby mugs and a Sanderson upholstered settee. Monochrome photographs in silver frames on the mantelpiece told the story of a succession of brave women who’d tamed the land and became successful cattle ranchers.
Our spot on the lawn for the night was spot on, and we soon had ourselves set up, a fire going, and our sundowners poured. With ice cubes clinking in our tumblers, we sat down in our camping chairs to survey our surroundings. On a terrace above us was parked another overlander with German plates.
Julie and Marcel, a young couple from Berlin, had driven down the west coast of Africa and found themselves here with us. They are delightful and informative, and we’ve become friends. I’ve often sent texts enquiring about various routes, visas and Carnet de Passage renewals, and their informative replies have been swift and precise.
My instructions before Butch set off to the village in a taxi were clear. When they left, I was to move the Honey Badger up to Marcel’s campsite. The lawn was flatter and more level, he quipped. I’d sleep better, he said as the taxi made a wide arc and zoomed off.
I had not been behind the truck’s steering wheel for 18 months but, I could do it. When the blue Syncro pulled through the gate, I jumped into the truck and went up the slippery lawn to their spot. I parked and decided to reverse the vehicle to straighten out a tad.
I should’ve stopped while the going was good. To my horror, I reversed into a tree, damaging my bicycle’s front wheel. At first glance, I thought I’d done an excellent job because the thick branch was neatly positioned slap in the middle between the two bikes, not realising the branch had pushed past my wheel and damaged it. The only positive was that I stopped before Butch’s wheel was destroyed too.
The two very kind workers reassured me that all was not lost and helped me sort out my dilemma, remove my bike, and directed me to park the truck on the level I knew I’d put paid to my driving for another two years.
I couldn't wait to add our name (and the Honey Badger's) to the well thumbed Visitor's Book.
The next day, we set off for Eldoret, in these tropical climates a landscape changes overnight. On the fields crops were ripening and, if the weather holds, it would soon be time to harvest.
Driving into Eldoret and seeing the Mall felt so familiar it felt like home. We were on the hunt for a bicycle repair shop and a Vegetarian Curry joint serving Puni Puri for lunch. Neither disappointed us.
To read more about fluoride contamination in Turkana, click on the link:
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