A Colonial Start
Arriving to Nairobi - Jomo Kenyatta International Airport at (3:45 a.m.) I waited until first light to begin my trip north to the town of Nanyuki. Finding the appropriate matatu (local transportation van), I quietly awaited departure…and waited….and waited….and waited. As I quickly learned, matatu’s lack set schedules, departing ONLY when 100% full. So wait I did, in a steadily growing pool of vinyl induced butt sweat, enduring a million “Mzungo” (white person) jokes and incessant sales pitches (“No sir, I do not need a rubber chicken”) until the last passenger finally climbed aboard. A boisterous, big boned woman who became my Liaison for Kenya.
“Where are you from? Why are you in Kenya? Do you like Kenya?” I could hardly complete one answer, before the next question fired my way. And when she tired of questions, she moved to the issue of Kenya. Spanning religion, education, economics, and corruption, Irene filled my eager ears with a history very different to the LP's (Lonely Planets) rendition! 4 hours and hundreds of topics later, Irene climbed out of the matatu as lively as she had entered, extending her phone number and a tempting dinner invitation. An offer I politely had to decline. I had an even better date waiting.
“Where are you from? Why are you in Kenya? Do you like Kenya?” I could hardly complete one answer, before the next question fired my way. And when she tired of questions, she moved to the issue of Kenya. Spanning religion, education, economics, and corruption, Irene filled my eager ears with a history very different to the LP's (Lonely Planets) rendition! 4 hours and hundreds of topics later, Irene climbed out of the matatu as lively as she had entered, extending her phone number and a tempting dinner invitation. An offer I politely had to decline. I had an even better date waiting.
Swept up by my old Swiss flat mate, and now Nanyuki transplant, Mikhaila, my next 3-days could be described as “colonial bliss”. Living in a huge colonial inspired home, complete with polished wood floors, large outdoor sitting area, perfectly manicured garden, and my own personal cabin - complete with vanity, bare claw bathtub, and fresh flowers daily - I couldn’t have felt more distant from Africa.
Sipping bottomless cups of tea and chatting the days away, we could have been anywhere in the world. One step outside the compound, however, and you were transported back to Kenya. Abandoned railroad tracks became foot paths, women sauntered past with produce stacked high atop their perfectly balanced heads, children rolled bicycle tires down the road, boda bodas (motorcycle taxis) zoomed past all hours of the day and people extended as far as the eye could see! |
During my stay, I had the pleasure of meeting many of Mikhailas friends. Working in the aviation and education fields, they came from South Africa, England, New Zealand, U.S. and of course, Kenya. But it was the Kenyan friends that surprised me. They were white. Leave it to the Africa virgin to make such a naïve and aesthetic judgement but I neglected to consider the 19th century, large-scale British colonization and subsequent ethnic mix.
During colonization, many white settlers purchased land for farms and ranches. Utilizing otherwise unproductive lands, the Brits turned a grand profit and continued to expand their property reign. Buying up nearly every piece of rich land for a small sum, land values shot up and ethnic tensions flared. To appease the majority, black Kenyans, the government began buying back land (for much less then it was worth) and re-dispersing it. Many White |
Kenyans lost huge amounts of property (some losing everything) but those who stood their ground and fought back, earned citizenship for themselves and their prosperity. They are aptly termed, “White Kenyans”.
Continuing down this colonial road, we decided to spend a day by the pool at the posh Mount Kenya Safari Club. Once a "repairing retreat" for Big 5 hunters (elephant, rhino, lion, leopard and buffalo) this magnificent 100-acre property sits at the base of beautiful Mount Kenya. From Big 5 to 5 Star, it has been transformed into a luxury hotel, restaurant, pool and all around ritsy whisky drinkin', cigar smokin' kinda place. Or, in our case, Pims (a very British drink). Casting hardy laughs into the pleasant breeze and turning our “drinking pinkies” up towards the crystal clear blue sky, we welcomed the aristocratic feelings that came with each sip of our overpriced Pims. All I needed was a cup of tea and rain, and I very well may have been in England.
An unexpected start to say the least, but after a few days of pre-trip R&R and itinerary planning, I couldn’t feel more prepared to begin my African adventure. I will miss my baths, Lorians famous tea, and dragon cakes, but most of all, I will miss my friend, Mikhaila. Thanks for everything and all the best in your new life in Kenya! Asante Sana!