Sorry for not posting an essay on June 9^thlike was scheduled. I pride myself on posting every two weeks to my website/blog, and just like clockwork as it turns out this was the first time in over seven years that I missed a posting date. I’ll try and post this Kenya essay today, and its follow-up essay next Friday (June 28^th) if all goes well (and it should). This is part II of my Kenya odyssey, and the final essay will be part III of the adventure. A great experience!!

 

Word Count: 1240

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kenya Kurudi IV

 (The Return-Part II)

 

In a lot of instances, I generally don’t get very emotional. Trying to maintain an even keel for most of the events that transpire in my life is the standard modus operandi. Having adapted a more or less “Zen” approach to life has a great deal to do with that. Every once in a while, I lose it though. When my Kenyan friend, whom I hadn’t seen in almost thirty-five years showed up at Comfort Suites Hotelto take me back to his place for the next two weeks, I actually got emotional as we re-connected. Waiting for him to show up consisted of hanging out with some of my new-found friends from the Intrepid Travelergroup who were waiting for their evening flights out of Kenya. All of sudden I teared up when my buddy appeared. Luckily it was tears of happiness, as opposed to the tears of sadness, so nobody had to call in psychiatrists or emotion police to calm me down. Is there even such a thing as “emotion police?”

We left Nairobi and headed back to my friend’s place in the town of Kagio, Kenya. A village on the eastern foothills of Mt. Kenya near the town of Sagana. The trip took us over two hours to get there, and even though we had a lot to talk about I guess I was a little bit more tired than I anticipated. Nodding off on two separate occasions during the drive. Of course, it was also pitch-black outside like always happens in the tropics at night, so what else was I supposed to do other than converse with my buddy? Not like I can see anything outside any way, right?

When we got to my buddy’s house and after meeting his wife, they set me up in a guest room. Complete with my own mosquito-net, bare walls, and a bed that gives new meaning to the term, “an overly soft mattress”. I’ll survive though since it was only for the next two weeks, and not like I was planning to live there for an indefinite period of time. If that were the case, I might have to change the bedding. After all, I’m sixty years old, aren’t I?

My buddy is an evangelical minister, so the next day being Sunday we attended church services that lasted for over three hours. At various times during the ceremony, I couldn’t help but think about my agnostic and atheist friends back home in the states. They probably would’ve freaked out big time if they had to put up with something such as this for an extended number of hours. Other than having to deal with another hot, dry, oppressive sun-tropical day, I adapted. Just like the bedding, I’d find a way to survive.

The next day we drove to the scene of my crimes from thirty-seven years ago, Wambugu Farmer’s Training Center.Wambugu Farm was the location of the tree nursery/agroforestry center I helped to establish as a U.S. Peace Corps volunteer, and I’ve been curious to see just how much the place has changed since the I left in ’84. What a change indeed. The place is much more established with the nursery itself having gone through extensive changes. The trees alone that I helped to plant in and around the nursery have since gotten much bigger. One or two of them have actually been cut down since the size they’d achieved negatively affected the nursery itself.

My most memorable part of the visit? One of the guys my friend and I worked with was still there and right on the verge of getting ready to retire. He showed us a sign that I’d actually lettered and painted all those years ago too. What a blast from the pass indeed? Not sure if this was another glaring indication of my age, or a fact that they’d saved the sign after all these years since I left.

Two days later we took the train from Nairobi to Mombasa. Chinese investment in East Africa over the past ten years has been extensive, and our four-hour ride on a bullet train put the all those over-night trips I took back in the ‘80s to shame. The train ride was fast, incredibly smooth, efficient, and a very modern ride. Not exactly like the rough-and-tumble rides from the past.

This got us into Mombasa well after dark. Another example of just how strange the transition from day to night is in the tropics. Back in the 80s it didn’t seem to bother me that the change between light and dark was so stark, these days it does. One-minute its sunny, then sunset happens and immediately it becomes pitch black within five minutes. Kagiosince it’s in the foothills of Mt. Kenya is somewhat cooler too, but still hot. Traveling in and around Mombasa is like stepping into a blast furnace. Hot and humid conditions on the coast is a gross understatement.

The next day we visited a number of sites in and around Mombasa. Fort Jesus (a nod to my Portuguese heritage), a ferry ride where I was the one and only White guy amongst a sea of Kenyans (now I kind of know how alien some black folks feel in the states), and an afternoon swim in the Indian Ocean. A welcome way to cool off by the way.

Just like that first morning in Nairobi where I woke up to roosters crowing, and the sounds of frogs chirping while in Kisii the previous week (just like in the old days as a U.S. PCV), here in Mombasa I woke up to the call for prayers to worshippers emanating from the local mosque. It’s true what they say, some things do indeed stay the same after all these years.

The only real highlight of the train ride back to Nairobi was the fact that we passed through the Tsavo Game Reserve, only to glance out the window and see a few animals off in the distance. The ride itself got us back into the city well after dark and by the time we returned to Kagio, it was almost midnight. Time for more complaints; one of the things I hate about international travel is it seems like you spent an inordinate amount of time in transit. Just like the hot & humid conditions, the sudden transition from light to dark, and occasional dirt & grime along the way, these complaints are minor. Swimming in the Indian Ocean for the second time earlier in the day makes up for them. As I told my friend earlier in the day, “You’ll be lying on your deathbed one day, and the memory of the good experiences will pass through your mind.”So does the memory of the hardships, but those thoughts seem to fade with time.