It's A Big One...

Hamjambo, marafiki na jamaa wangu! Habari za Amerika sasa? Kenya ni nzuri sana.

My weekdays have begun to blend in with one another, as is the life of a student. Our classes did change recently as we have now broken off into our separated tracks -- subjects pertaining to our internships. The whole 37 of us have two classes in common. Country Analysis is all about Kenyan political history into today and is taught by a very intense, passionate, yet humorous man named Fred. We separate into three groups for Kiswahili taught interchangeably by Judy, Elly, both fabulous, and Omanga, young and confusing. Dr. Jama is the head of our program here and he was also our Development professor, but is now teaching my track, Environment and Sustainable Development. The other tracks are public health, education and art, and micro-finance.

My home stay became very comfortable as my mama and I are quite similar and get on pretty well together. Kevin is still a little angel, although he gets way too much homework and only has time for dinner, a half-hour of TV, and a goodnight to me before he goes to bed at 9. Baba was pleasant until he fell ill; now everything has changed. He was always retreating to his bedroom without finishing his dinner and looking quite uncomfortable, but when I would ask how he was, the answer was always just fine, as is the way here: everyone's always nzuri sana. Then I came home one Friday to find him gone, taken to the hospital by mama. Turns out he's diabetic and his blood sugar was down to 2.2, almost coma stage. They also found fluid in his stomach so he was in hospital for a week. Now, he has been home for two weeks, but he seems worse. The only way I know he's there is because mama closes all the doors to the hallway before she helps him to the bathroom. I suspect that he was discharged early in that the health system here is similar to the States: treatment is expensive and no one has insurance. So, the mood is my home is somber and exhaustive. Mama smiles little and Kevin stays pretty quiet. I have begun to live for the weekends...

Two weekends ago, a group of eight of us left town for Hell's Gate National Park. The cheapest way to travel is in a matatu--a vehicle somewhere between a conversion van and a mini-bus, and we squeezed ourselves into one for a fast-paced, scenic, hour and a half ride to Naivasha, Kenya. Once we reached the town center, the driver made us get out, claiming that the matatu, which was running just fine, had broken down. We were made to get into another before reaching our destination. It seemed a bit skeptical, but we went with it, and sure enough we arrived safely, and with no more money due, at the beautiful resort of Fish Eagle Inn. Resort, you say? Yes, but we all shared a dorm style room with bunk beds and thatch walls in cold, cold Kenya. The blankets were extra. One of the girls I was with bought a guitar en route so that we could party it up at the fire. A couple sitting outside our room stopped me to shake my hand and welcome me to Kenya. I talked with them a bit, practicing my Swahili when they asked me whether that guitar they saw was for the church. No, I replied, it's to play. Right, they said, to play for the church? No, no... just for us. Oh, well we are so glad you are here! I shook their hands again and joined my friends on walk to the lake.

We had to pass through a thick hedge and found on the other side a campground filled with matching tents. Excitement grew as we realized this was the happenin' place for the weekend as we hopped and skipped our way to the overlook on the fence between the lake and the grounds. We watched the sunset over the water and another Kenyan walked up to meet us. He told us he was here for the meeting. What meeting? "You see the tents? It's the meeting of the Christians. We're all here together for the meeting." We never really found out exactly what the meeting of the Christians entailed except that they woke up at the crack of dawn and sat against the wall of our room eating their breakfast and ignoring their children who screamed, laughed, then cried at our window. Other than that, they were silent.

We also met an American diplomat named Paul. He works in anti-terrorism in Tel Aviv, but was stationed in Nairobi for three months. A very hard sense of humor, he was just a shadow in the night smoking a cigarette telling us that he couldn't answer our questions, but he'd write a book about it one day. We ran into him again in the restaurant and asked him to join us for dinner. Good move, he talked all night about his work, and payed the whole tab. A few of us separated and meandered to another bar on the grounds while others climbed over the fence by the lake and heard the noises of the hippos who slept on the shores of Lake Naivasha every night.

Hours later we found each other again, and all decided that there's nothing like a resort in East Africa to make you hungry all the time. There was always a big beautiful buffet set up for people much richer than ourselves, but by this time of night, we decided we couldn't take the mouth watering any longer. Katie, the guitar player, asked the owner of the resort if we could please, please eat the buffet without paying as we were starving students, and the party in the bar surely wasn't eating it. We didn't know where that was going to go, but before we knew it, she was talking to the host of the party. A few minutes later she came over to inform us that we were free to enjoy everything presented, the host was in good spirits, and could not resist the charm of a cute American. Three servings a piece later, we all decided to purchase a bottle of wine for the host, who, it turns out, was enjoying his resignation party. We went to bed that night with bellies full, ready to take on the hike into Hell's Gate.

It's a two kilometer hike from the road where the matatu drops you to the gate of the park. Naivasha is famous for the flower industry and there are greenhouses lining all the main roads. Walking along this one I stepped over discarded or dropped flowers of all colors, smelling the fresh mountain air, smiling at the old Maasai woman walking alone. At the gate we had trouble convincing the guard that we were in fact residents, as is a common problem, but our alien cards don't lie, and eventually she had to let us in for the cheap price. It is another eight kilometers to the gorge, which is the destination of all visitors of Hell's Gate. Most rent a safari vehicle or a peddle bike to get to the good stuff quicker, but we students walked. What's eight kliks? And we wanted to have the full experience.

It was a hot day, but the beautiful mountain ridges all around us kept the heat far from our thoughts. We walked freely among zebra, warthogs, giraffes, impalas, and elands; some of these animals crossed the road right in front of us. The jeeps would pass and kick the dirt up into our faces, but we were happy to be free... until about 4km in. Then it was like, yeah great, it's a zebra, I haven't seen shade and I'm hungry. We walked the last half in silence.The gorge was exactly as it sounds. The river is dried up but for a light trickle, and here and there was a very light waterfall. The weather down, down deep into that ravine was perfect, the rocks shaped like a huge playground. Every time we passed another fall of water we all had to wet our hair with a big WAHOOO! We were feelin' tip top and climbing all over everything.

At one point we ended up on a side path, viewing the gorge from slightly above. The crew wasn't satisfied and wanted back down along the bottom. But I was getting a little tired of all the sidetracking. I'm used to a hike ONWARD! Not stopping at every fallen tree just to see if one could make it across or not. One at a time, I lost my commys. I, assuming they were going to be goofing around forever, shouted down that I would just meet up with them later and continued on.

Alone I kept along the trail, which got smaller, smaller, and steeper. It would go up the side of the ridge, and instead of coming back down, well it just kept going up higher! Pretty soon, I was nowhere near the gorge, and wondering if I took the wrong way after all. I began to rush, afraid I was taking the long way, but the trail was so narrow, I could easily slip down the side, and it was no short fall. At one point I finally reached a landing and was able to catch my breath. Wow, I was high. I could no longer see or hear water or voices, but just the slight breeze and I took in the sights. I could see the top of the other side, and reasoned that I was about two feet from the top myself. A young Indian boy shouted hello to me from the other side, and I recognized him, his brother and father as they had been hiking along with us in the beginning; their progress showing our lag. They walked on, and I smiled to myself at my climb and my solitude.

After a couple celebratory photos of myself, I began my decent along the same path, as it finally seemed to want to bring me back to my friends and the gorge. Again the path got so narrow at times, I thought I would slide right down the cliff. Then I reached a rocky portion that really was missing the foot part altogether. Cursing myself for never taking a rock climbing class, I let reason tell me to lean my body weight in against the cliff wall and find something to hold on to. As I looked and felt along the wall, my heavy bag swinging along my side, I remembered why you always hike in pairs, then found a rock to grip. Oh, thank you, I grabbed on and facing the gorge, let my left foot guide my body down when CRAP the rock popped out and I felt my body start to tumble. I threw myself sideways like I was going to cartwheel and at the same time caught glimpse of something dart across the gorge bottom. A young boy had been watching me from the other side and was now running up to help me. I landed without a scratch and just kept moving down toward him, half in fear, half in embarrassment. Together, we made it to the bottom, and stood there together, alone.

I thanked him then told him in Swahili that I wanted to continue to the end, but he said no, it was time to head back up the other side and return to the park. He started to guide me to the path going up, but I pointed up the gorge, "Marafiki wangu, watu saba" -- I have seven friends.., he understood and stared in anticipation, as I once again dunked my head under the best falls yet. After my friends rejoined me, I let them know it was too late to continue on and, with William's help, we hiked up and out. 8km later, with bloody feet, we finally found an empty jeep and hitched the last few km back to our inn.

That night we had our campfire. Katie and Ryan played guitar and led us in great songs, as we got to know a group of Rwandans sharing our heat. They bought all our drinks and invited us back to their place to party into the night. Several of us were completely pooped, however, and hit the bunks to be ready for the early morning out. It was a successfully exciting, relaxing, (and cheap!) weekend away from the hustle of Nairobi.

Once we returned to our home city, I was already anticipating leaving for my next weekend getaway.. Uganda. As I said before, the weekdays wear on me, and blend into one monotonous, tiring, and sometimes just sad day. All I could think about last week was arriving in Kampala and going to Craig and Lois Kippels' for some true R&R. The Kippels are friends of the family and have been telling me I must visit them when in East Africa for the last three years. I decided to take the night bus over on Thursday night, relax on Friday, then raft the Nile on Saturday. Before I knew it, I had eight students wanting to join me. So, Craig and Lois made reservations for my friends at a hostel, and at the rafting company scoring us a great group discount. We were set and couldn't wait for the week to finish.

Wednesday after class, I was feeling the fatigue of hump day, and decided to stop in Nakumatt, the big grocery store, to buy a grapefruit to improve my mood. Yes, a grapefruit improves the mood. I found a health food section, and got completely sidetracked by a gluten free shelf!! Oh God, I bought cereal, snack bars, soy products, I was lovin' life. I noticed it was getting on 6:15 and that the sun would set soon, so bought my stuff, and walked out into the evening.

As the noise and music of Nakumatt faded behind me I found myself engulfed in a strange silence. There were many cars waiting to exit the parking lot, but their engines were off, and the people inside, calm. The normally busy Ngong Rd was empty and there were people lining the sides. Police officers, military officers, and all sorts of officers were sporadically placed along the road as well. What, is the President coming? I thought as I walked up to the road's edge. I started my walk along the side when I saw a lone vehicle coming. One police jeep came speeding by with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Everyone's heads followed it, then turned back to where it came. As I walked on I found some women laughing and chatting nearby so I asked them what was happening. "The President is coming!" Just as I'd suspected, the road was cleared for Kibaki.

A moment later I saw them coming. I leaned up against a light pole and watched the show. Six or seven motorbikes with lights flashing surrounded his limo with flags unfurled. I saw a figure inside as it sped passed but wondered if I would ride in the obvious vehicle were I President. So I let my eyes fall on the figures in every official car and truck that sped behind it, and there were many. I could see all the people, but wasn't sure if my eyes fell on the turtle-like features of Kenya's current leader. Regardless, before even cutting into my grapefruit, my sour mood was lifted. I nearly hopped the rest of the way home, finally smiling at everyone I passed. We saw the President! I don't really know why, but I was thrilled.

Taking a bus across the country is always interesting. Each ride I've ever taken would make a satisfying story in itself. If you haven't ridden in one across a "developing" nation, you must try it before you die. Then again, it may be what kills you. Professor Fred has a saying that he will certainly be remembered for by us, as he says it at least three times a week. He loves telling us the various ways in which one can die in Kenya. "If you walk up to a lion, you die", "If you get typhoid here, you die". He brought us on a field trip to a pineapple field to show the extent of land taken from the Kenyans by Western powers. This specific plantation is owned by Italians that wouldn't even talk to us because they were suspicious of American students and their intentions. But, Fred let us know, "If you take one of these pineapples, you die".

The week before we left for Uganda, he wanted to show the class where the best seats on the bus are. He drew a bus on the board and crossed out the back. He drew a box over the wheels and said that if your seat was there, just hand them back your ticket as you will be sick the entire way. He then circled the front and said, "If you sit here, you die". My seat was number 43. I was worried that I was in the back and would be bouncing out of my seat the entire way. But on Akamba Co. buses, the numbers start on one side and work their way up the other. I was right next to the driver. Despite the bumps and the warnings, I was able to sleep soundly most of the way.

I'll spare you all the details of the ride across the ever changing western Kenyan roads, the walk across the border, and how a 12hr ride was stretched into 15, and just say that we all made it safely into Kampala.The Kippels' home is more accommodating than any student in East Africa can expect, and for that I thank them again. But, I must say that the highlight of my time in Uganda was rafting the Nile. I was told by the students who had taken the trip the weekend before that everyone flips. What?! Flips? But, why would I want to do that? I've rafted several times in my life, and have come very close to being tossed right out, but I've always stayed in the boat. And IT has always stayed upright.

I was placed with four other experienced rafters, so I thought that despite our light weight, we stood a better chance of making it all the way sans a flip, whatever that means... In my boat with me were Emmy, a friend on the program, Katie, a volunteer for LWF, and William and Tony, brothers-in-law from S. Africa and Swaziland. We had many interesting conversations on that raft. From level two to level five rapids we whooshed and whooped our way down the gorgeous, wide and surprisingly warm Nile. Big white waves would nail our raft, BLAM, and William was out at one moment and back in the next.

We talked about future rafting trips we were sure to take, and the bros told us of their favorite river to ride, the Zambia. Starting at the bottom of the Victoria Falls, you raft down the gorge in the wildest river they've seen. A plane ride with a $300 price tag away, I'm considering doing it during my internship. Boat after boat was being tossed and flipped and we proudly stayed afloat in the untamed water. Then they had us all paddle aside to the shore. "You hear it don't you?", our guide smiled. It didn't matter, the river was gone. It dropped ahead of us to a level six(?)(that's what the guides were telling us) rapid we had no visual on.

We waited for all the rafts to catch up as our individual guides prepped us for what was coming. Two or three rafts pulled ashore completely letting selected people, or the entire crew off. Scaredy-cats. Juja, our guide, just told us not to panic. "Just take a deep breath", he kept telling us as though that was the best advice for panicking under water. Then we were on our way. "Let's do this!" he shouted, and we paddled toward the mysterious drop-off. "Paddle, paddle, paddle, now ALL DOWN IN THE BOAT!", he instructed and we all sat tucked in and watched what was coming. Down we went and into the arch of the biggest TWO waves I have ever seen ahead of me. Silently we were all in awe staring up at two crests coming from two angles, like the ship that sliced the water was invisible, and we were in its place. I swear there was time for all of us to realize this amazing thing we were about to hit, and then I heard one "Oh my God" from Katie. BWOOOSH. Water coming at me from the right. So much I didn't know when to breathe though I'm sure I did. Then, that's all there was... water. Did we flip? I'm not sure, but I can't feel my grip on the boat anymore, oh and my oar is gone, in fact.. I hear nothing. I can't believe it, I'm under... the water rushed across every part of my body, fast moving and thorough.

I felt a strange peace and calm, even a warmth, like a ball of dough, lightly being tossed from hand to hand. I've been under a while, I was able to realize, but I knew I had to surface, so I just waited. Pop, my head hit the air, and I struggled for a breath but whhoooom, oops, I'm under again. Now, I'm panicked, my arms are flayling, I need to get up! Why am I under again? Oh God, I didn't even get a breath, I can't get to the surface, I need some air, and I don't know what to do!! Shit, when am I going to.. and I was up again and in my face was a kayaker. Thank God, he's going to tow me out. "You're okay!", he shouted and POOF he was gone.

I'm okay? More water hit me again, and I went down, but came back. I couldn't keep my head up and I could not catch my breath. Choking and panicking I grabbed the the top of my life jacket and pulled it down. Oh, it's too big, as I thought in the beginning. Finally, my head was above the water and I remembered my lessons and put my feet ahead of me letting the river take me. But now it was calm, and I heard Juja yelling, "SWIM!", and saw him standing atop the capsized boat, so I started working again. Oh, I'm trying, I'm trying. I could see the rest of my crew, but the boat was so far away. I finally reached the raft, and Juja flipped it over for us. We helped each other up, and then I saw that Emmy was still working her way across from where I had come. We had both been on the same side. The side that as Katie put it, "Didn't stand a chance".

The boat flipped over us, and the others were able to hang onto the boat and their oars and got through the rapid quickly. We were sucked under, and taken far, all the way through. Tony was also on our side, and although he made it back to the boat quickly, he came out with the only battle wound from an oar meeting his face next to his eye. He was okay, as were we all, unlike many other rafters we picked up. Some just never smiled again, and wouldn't even really talk. They were in shock, and wanted off the river soon.

But their wish was granted as after one more rapid we broke for lunch. The experience was absolutely awesome. I am doing that again. It's been a rough couple weeks trying to write. I apologize for the long email after so long, but so you all know, this has taken me several days to write, as the power goes out way too often. For days, I've been starting over, then saving, then giving up and coming the next day. Thank you for your patience in reading.

Love to you all,

Emily Sara