In your dialect of English . . .

Do you say ‘Ass over teakettle’ or ‘Ass over applecart’? Either way, you can get an impression of how my bike ride went this weekend. I have decided against taking pictures of the bruises I have suffered, but I keep finding more, which makes me sort of sad inside (and more sad outside, I am having troubles finding a comfortable position in which to sit in my chair this morning). I thought I had found all of them yesterday evening when I got home from our little adventure and jumped in the shower, but there are new ones this morning L.

It turns out graceful is not a modifier you can add to my name. I am not a huge cyclist, I own a bike in PHX, but the trails I go on are relatively well kept and I don’t bike in places where I am forced to ride alongside trucks and buses with no escape path. But I am a sucker, and when Aine said, “Hey, there is this fun cycle adventure thru Masailand, let’s join,” I thought, well why not. I am a sheep in the end, and since a friend of mine told me I was such a voyeur a couple of weeks ago, I have been out there doing vs. watching.

Context: To say this was the most disorganized outing I have ever been on would be a stretch, but at present I am unable to think of a situation where it was worse. I am sure it will come to me in time. Example: We were supposed to be picked up by the event coordinators at 6:20am, they arrived at 6:45am. They had approximately 10 stops planned across Nairobi, and they sometimes didn’t know where they were going. Some people ended up waiting 2 hours because they were told they were going to be picked up at 7:15am, and we got there at 9:15am. Second example: we were supposed to be checked in and on our way at 9am. We arrived at around 11am, and didn’t get on our bikes until 11:15am. We have rules back home since it is a desert and when it is ok to be out in the sun doing activity. Generally speaking, you want to be out of the sun between 11am and 3pm. And where we started, Ollorgesaille, is in the middle of a desert. I cannot tell you exact temperatures, but at least 85 degrees on up. I am sure it hit 95, since Joe had told us it is the hottest place in Kenya.

So we biked, and I was in a sort of ‘be on my own’ mood, so I feel behind the rest of the group, stopping to talk to small children, let them ride my bike (once you let one ride, all of them have to ride – and by ride I mean they got on and I pushed). Fully enjoyable time. Anyway, I am going along, and down the road comes a matatu. It is on its side of the road, I am on mine, so I think that there is no cause for alarm. And all of a sudden he must have seen a pothole or something because he swerves towards me and starts honking his horn. So I freak, and swerve as well, which is off the road, where there is a drop between the pavement and the dirt, front tire sticks, and voila, ass over applecart. I got up, a bit shaken, but looked at myself and didn’t see too much blood, so I thought I was ok. A scrape on my leg, one on my hand, but all in all, still in one piece. A bit shaken up, I decide my morning ride, since I am sweaty and gross, is over. Luckily, there was a bus (which there were not too many of picking up people – even though it was promised), which picked me up and took me and some other passengers on to Magadi.

The rest of the weekend, well, the summary is not enough water at certain points, not enough buses to pick people up when they needed it, poor estimation of distances (aka 1 African KM is not the same as 1 US KM), dinner very late, spoiled food . . . you get the drift, poor planning and organization. It was a total blast in spite of everything, and I would still get back up on that horse (actually, a horse would be a lot of fun too, but I suppose I mean a bike here) and do another trip similar in Kenya. The area was beautiful, supposedly the last scene of The Constant Gardener was filmed there. It reminded me a lot of AZ. I loved the camping piece, there was a full moon at night and we left the top uncovered by the rain tarp, so I could sit there and look up at it, which was very calming. Thanks go off to Mike for setting up one of the tents (he thought that we were already at camp when he arrived after biking in the dark for an hour). I will have to recruit individuals to go off on weekend camping trips, I enjoyed it that much.

Hopefully not too many days ahead of icing down my backside . . .

Just how far . . . ?

Do you think you can go with security guards at the Australian High Commission before you get arrested? I decided to go toe to toe today with 3 security guards today out of principle, but wasn’t sure when enough was enough. I knew getting into this that I would lose, but still, you know when people are just being ridiculous and you have to push the envelope? So I have all of my forms for my Australian visa, and I read on their website form that office hours are from 9-11am. Now, thinking it couldn’t be that simple, I had tried calling for 2 days, but no one ever answered. So I get there, and there is a pretty upset Indian man in line in front of me, saying that no one ever answered his call . . . not a good sign for me. So I go up to the entrance desk, and they ask me if I had an appointment. I tell them that the website says (form in hand) that the desk is open from 9-11am. I am told I have to have an appointment. When I tell them that’s not what the form says, they point to a flyer mounted to the window stating that I need to have an appointment. I ask them how I would have known that, and they say I should have called. Ah ha, well, I tell them that I did call and no one answered. Oh, they say, they have been getting those sorts of complaints a lot.

So then I ask for a supervisor. But you see, the supervisor is inside, and I cannot go inside, so I cannot see the supervisor. I tell them that I have no intention of leaving until I see a supervisor. So the supervisor comes out finally and we go thru the same circular argument again. Then he says I can leave my number and the receptionist will call me to schedule an appointment. I let them know that if she cannot take calls (simple), I doubt that she can make calls. They do not think I am funny. I thought it was sort of funny. So then I tell them that I won’t leave without an appointment. And we wait, and wait, and wait, and then they tell me I have an appointment for 9am. I might have gone too far when I asked for the receptionist’s name so that I could take a formal complaint against her to get her fired. I told them there were plenty of Kenyans that needed work and could do that sort of job . . .

That's me, out there making friends. I did go back the next day and I was able to get in and drop off my passport. Now we have to see if I get the approval.

International Camel Derby

As if I needed more adventure in my life . . . this past weekend I went to a town north of Kenya by about 6-7 hours by car (Maralal) for the International Camel Derby. It's Monday today, I'm sun burned, sore in places I didn't think possible, and sluggish, but had a once in a lifetime experience.

Our motley crew met Friday morning at Java House for breakfast prior to heading out of town. The group was: MacHarg (Vandy / Duke / Acumen Fund), Mike the Accenture Intern, Amy & Ana (Acumen Fund folks), Ed & Jason (McKenzie folks working all over Africa), Kathy & Emily (Kathy has been in Africa for years now, Emily is her friend that has been working in Tanzania), Kenya Joe (ex-Peace Corps turned TechnoServe consultant), Rohan (Deloitte consultant), and Shannon (professional photographer). We had a RAV4 as well as a 9 seat 4x4 mini-bus / van (not sure exactly what to call this thing, in Zambia it would be a combi, here I guess it is a Matatu, anyway, a big van type mass transport vehicle). We left at around 10am and arrived in Maralal at 7:30pm. Along the way, we stopped in Nyahururu to pick up a friend of Joes’ (Kevin). We also had to stop in Rumuruti to convince the police to give us an escort up to Maralal. The road between the two towns is plagues by bandits and cattle raiders. It could range from having to give over money to death, and as it turns out, not so much into dying. Joe spent a good long while trying to get them to come but to no avail. So I strolled up, flirted a bit, hugged the head officer, and we were in business. The rest of the ride was fine, except that Kathy lost her muffler on the way (literally, it fell off). MacHarg was able to string up the exhaust pipe with some chain and a carabineer. Go MacHarg / MacGyver!

The evening was a throw back to college. I ended up sharing a room and a queen bed with Shannon, which I have not shared a bed since I can’t remember when. We went to the Hard Rock Café for dinner (yes, the chain opened a post in Maralal just for this weekend), where I experienced Somali food for the first time. Then back to the Yare Lodge where we were staying for drinking games. I cannot remember what we were playing but it devolved (as expected) into discussions around sex and drinking.

Race day – you could feel the tension in the air, the camels were nervous, the handlers were nervous, all of the amateurs on edge, hoping, praying that they would win the race and the big prize money. Ok, so not at all, but it was fun. Not sure that man was meant to race 10K on a camel to be honest, as it is not easy on the back side (for the person – bounding with no padding, not so much, for the camel – beating the living daylights out of it with a stick). That being said, I must just have the worst luck, as I got a camel that had no interest in racing whatsoever. The race starts, and my camel (Bore – who I was either calling Borat or Fernando at any given time) runs for a bit, and then decides that he is not so into winning the big prize money for me. We go on for about 3Km, and then he runs me into a tree. I start bleeding (nothing serious) so we stop for a minute. I realize at this point that there is no way I am going to catch up, so I tell my handler that we should switch places. At first he is skeptical, but after some convincing, he is on top of the camel and I am leading it. My handler (LeMoge) actually starts telling me to run, like the camel is going to listen to me more than it did to him. All in vain, the camel ride turned into a camel pull. I stopped at the BP to buy a coke and a water, I was tempted to ask them to ‘fill ‘er up’, but I was already pushing it with pulling into the gas station with my camel. People were looking at me strange as we headed back to the finish line, a muzungu leading an African around on a camel, but I like to be different. I came in dead last as far as the race is concerned, but 1st in the camel pull (the event I was actually competing in).

The rest of the day was filled with ethnic dancing, singing, a Tricamelon (that Joe won for the 3rd year in a row – bike, run, camel), a fantastic trip to an escarpment where I saw one of the most beautiful vistas I have ever seen, dinner, and drinking. The next day we got up early to see the start of the peace run (3 feuding tribes were brought together for a 3 day retreat before the race to promote peace and understanding), the professional camel race, and the ½ marathon (which the Kenyans finished in like 1 hour 10 minutes). I got to see a goat slaughtered and the prep for a Samburu wedding ceremony.

Icing on the cake? Stopping for a picture at the equator. Half in the northern hemisphere, half in the southern hemisphere. I think that sums up how I have felt being here, half in one world, half in another.