Kissin' Kenya

When I left Tumaini Hope on Saturday morning, I hitched a ride with some of the older kids and a driver from the center who were going to get more water since the supply at the orphanage had run out earlier.  They brought me to the nearest village where I had to board a matutu to another town before changing to a different minibus en route to Karen, an upper-middle-class suburb outside of Nairobi.  The boys asked a man who was riding with his little girl on the first matutu to show me where to get on the second one I needed.  Sure enough, when we got to the transfer point, the man graciously helped me get where I needed to go even though he actually wasn't getting on himself.  When we arrived in Karen, however, I was completely lost as to where to go.  A motorbike taxi driver pulled up as I was trying to call the hostel where I was staying and they gave him directions on how to get there.  I'm glad they did because it would have been quite the hike to walk all that way.  However, the entire time I was on the bike I was afraid I was going to topple off the end due to the weight of the backpack I was wearing.  Luckily I made it to the Bush House and Camp in one piece with all my belongings fully intact.

Once I got inside the gated compound, I realized that compared to my first hostel in Nairobi, this place was a lovely retreat.  There was an open living room and a solarium used as a dining room that was surrounded by some beautiful gardens.  That afternoon I didn't do much of anything besides go to a nearby shopping center to pick up some things I needed with a Swedish guest who was also staying at the hostel.  He had been working in Ethiopia on research for a masters thesis so it was really interesting to hear about his experiences with the local tribes.  There weren't many other people staying at the house that night aside from the Swedish guy, a middle-aged Australian woman and an older Kenyan couple so it was pretty peaceful, especially since it was so far outside the center of town.

The following day, I took a cab and went to the Giraffe Centre in the nearby town of Langatta.  The center was established to protect the endangered Rothschild giraffe, which is only found in the grasslands of East Africa.  The seven or eight giraffes in this particular center were housed in a very extensive enclosure along with a number of warthogs.  There was an education center with an elevated feeding center that allowed visitors to get up on eye level with the giraffes and not only give them pellets to eat, but also give them a kiss on the mouth.  In order to "kiss" a giraffe, one must put a pellet between one's teeth and then have the giraffe lick it out with its tongue.  Let me tell you from experience after feeding giraffes via both hand and mouth--they have very long, slobbery tongues.  It was pretty much as gross as it looks, but I guess it's worth it just to say I've done it.  After hanging with the giraffes for a while, I took a short nature walk with one of the guides from the center to check out the local foliage before heading back to the hostel.

Bright and early the following morning (and without the benefit of electricity which was out at the hostel), I took a cab into Nairobi and boarded a bus to the city of Arusha, Tanzania.  It's about a five-hour drive, including a stop to cross the border.  While we were still in Kenya, an immigration officer boarded the bus to spot check all our passports.  When he first got on, he couldn't find the page with my visa and then after he handed it to me, I awkwardly couldn't either.  I finally found it and after he asked me a few questions about why I was in Kenya, he finally seemed somewhat satisfied that I wasn't some dangerous terrorist and disembarked from the bus so we could continue on.  One of the Kenyan passengers later made a comment that he thought they guy was about to pull me off the bus and interrogate me, which made me glad that I wasn't the only one who thought the officer needlessly gave me a hard time.  Then when we got to the border crossing, I discovered that as an American citizen, I needed to pay $100 for a visa instead of the $50 I had planned for.  I only had a bit over $50 in American dollars so I had to pay the other 50 in euros.  Unfortunately, euros are worth more than dollars so I actually overpaid by about $13.  In retrospect, I probably should have accepted the offer of a Canadian couple on my bus to do a currency trade of euros for dollars, but instead I panicked and just handed the guy the euro bill.  At least he accepted the money so I didn't get shipped back to Kenya.

Aside from these little glitches, the bus trip went relatively smoothly.  I really enjoyed watching the scenery as we drove by the mountains, scrubland and small Masai villages while in my head I sang "Nants ingonyama bagithi baba... Sithi uhhmm ingonyam" (the opening of The Circle of Life) feeling like I was experiencing something straight out of The Lion King (without all the lions.)  When we arrived in the outskirts of Arusha, I disembarked from the minibus (apparently a stop or two too early) and upon realizing I had no idea where I was, called Deo, who is the director of the center where I was volunteering.  Luckily my SIM card from Kenya still worked in Tanzania or I would have been screwed since I had no local currency.  Deo seemed rather concerned that I was in the wrong place, but he told me to wait right where I was and not to talk to anyone.  In the end I was perfectly fine and he arrived a few minutes later in a car driven by John, in whose home he had arranged for me to stay.  We stopped first at the center and then after finagling a bit on the price, drove to John's place where I decided I could spend a little more money than usual to stay for the week.  It turned out I actually had the house to myself because John and his family actually live next door and just rent the other house out to visitors.  Once again it was nice to be able to just relax in my own space and not have to worry about sharing with anyone else for a little while.