Desperate hair manoeuvers, terrible rainforest bathrooms and a race against time (Kakamega)

One of the hallmarks of my Kenyan stay was the evolving straw-like consistency of my hair.  I’m talking bush fire dry. Scarecrow dry. Biting on a towel dry. Visits to local supermarkets inevitably found me longingly wandering down the hair product aisle.  I finally hit breaking point. I saw this product, Alison’s Avocado Oil and Lanolin Conditioner with sunscreen, and like crack addict hungrily snapped it up and ran to the check out. Barely out of the market I opened it and, oh glory, loaded it into my hair.  Unfortunately I didn’t notice its consistency until after I had devestated the container, nor did I fully read the ingredients. “Compounded with petroleum jelly”.  There I was in dusty Africa with a head full of Vaseline. Thank goodness our hotel had a decent shower.

Our group was very disciplined. Each morning we were ready at the pre-arranged time (our six-minute frenzy was a good demonstration), and yet it always took the bus and guides a while to get going for reasons unknown.  The morning after the night club we were hanging by the bus when a couple of guys with “Learn Swahili” books tried to sell to Nanopod.  When she wasn’t buying, one guy said “Hakuna matata” (no problem) while the other said “Hakuna matiti.” When it was obvious Nano didn’t know what that meant, they lectured that if she bought the book she would know. So when our Kenyan guides returned, she asked “What does hakuna matiti mean?”  Surprised and delighted, they asked where she heard that, then explained it meant “no tits.”  While the rest of us laughed uproariously, Nano petulantly said, “I’d like to find those guys again and tell them Hakuna Ma-Dick-i!” We laughed even harder.

On our way to Lake Bogoria we passed the equator, which is suprisingly narrow. At the lake we saw impressive termite nests, dik diks, and ostrich.  The lake also has hot springs in which Ken successfully boiled eggs.

Lake Bogoria, perfect for boiling eggs

We then made our way to Lake Baringo

Lake Baringo fisherman

where we (those of us not at the pool — guess who) had a boat cruise where we saw hippos, birds and more birds. That night we stayed at the fabulous Roberts Campsite, which in the morning was an African wonderland of bird songs, a purple sunrise, and hippo grunts.  Of course, in the midst of all this raw beauty I woke up dreaming that I had precisely 8,453 unread e-mails and a cooking demonstration by Jamie Kennedy waiting for me at work.

We had some bus troubles the next morning, so we were directed to the reptile farm.  Lots of snakes I didn’t care to meet without glass separation. It wasn’t that interesting, but luckily for us there was a restaurant “recommanded by Loney Planet” if we were really stuck.  We got the bus started, but unfortunately the bus problems were an omen for the rest of the day — a grueling eight-hour ride.  But it was worth it because we had the beautiful Kakamega rainforest to greet us at the end, right? Wrong. After getting somewhat lost we finally made it; by this time a few of my travel mates were starting to desperately give the subtle, top-secret sign of bladder distress (waving one’s hands energetically at the wrists just above shoulder height). Merilee, Lilah and Beth bravely ventured forth to the Kakamega restroom, Lilah and Beth appointing Merilee as the canary. Merilee is no softy — she and Jim were on the first leg of their eight-week African experience, and they were not afraid to rough it, evidenced by stories of their outdoor adventures.  I will spare the details, but suffice to say that Merilee returned from the facilities very distressed, insisting that Jean-Luc see the “bathroom” before camping down for the night. We left immediately.

But that presented another problem.  We had an hour left of sunlight and limited alternatives.  I’ll remind you that we were the very first group to take this trip.  We tried the Happy Clapper Christian Retreat, but they had no room.  Fortunately we had The Bible — Lonely Planet Kenya. In a race against time, we drove through deep Kenya where the locals regarded us with a combination of shock, disbelief, and utter bafflement.  This is not a place where “mzungu” (white folk) travel. Emilio and Sherry began taking bets on who would have the first meltdown. Finally, with fifteen minutes of sunlight to spare we rolled into Jaminda’s Paradise Small World Hotel. It was passable, but Ali and I had a bit of a rude shock when we surveyed the bathroom — let’s just say Kenya’s Public Health Authority’s message seemed to be getting through.  We slept on the beds in our sleeping bags.

Lake Baringo resident