Camping: The Kenyan Way

I love camping. So when Karen told me she was planning a weekend trip to go camping, I was thrilled. I got up early to get in a nice long run before leaving. Thinking I would be late, I rushed to eat breakfast and pack everything in time. I should have known. I wasn’t picked up for at least forty minutes after I was ready. I was greeted by our driver and the adventurous group for the weekend—Karen, David, Rafiell, Sam, Alex, Linda, and Claire. Having not planned the weekend myself, I was still unsure of what we were going to see and would be doing.

Our first stop on the journey was high in the hills we were driving through. I was told the road we were driving on was one of the most dangerous in Kenya. In Kenya, roads are usually only one way in each direction. Lots of vehicles, trucks in particular, are very slow on the road so vehicles will go into the lane of oncoming traffic to overtake the slow vehicles. I have seen many near accidents, as cars are inches away from being hit by oncoming traffic. When cars do this on the road in which we were driving, they usually end up falling down the side of the hills. There are no railings or bars on the side of this road making any such fall straight down. We stopped at a lookout point to see the magnificent Great Rift Valley below. The area was absolutely beautiful with plentiful greenery. We could spot a few animals in the distance. I am always amazed at the beauty I find in places where so many people are suffering. It doesn’t seem right.

Our next stop was a church. David said it was the first built in Africa. Rafiell said it was the smallest built in Africa. Karen said it may have been the first Catholic Church built in Kenya. Needless to say, why this church was so important is unknown. The church was built in 1942 so it definitely wasn’t the first built church. The outside architecture was nice with an obvious European influence. Our group was the only one inside at first so we took many pictures. When leaving I wanted to get a picture in front of the church. Two buses of tourists had just unloaded so such a task was almost impossible. People were constantly walking in front of the camera as Karen tried to take a shot. I guess the manners of tourists don’t change regardless of the country.

Traveling for many hours in the car leads to some great discussions about differences in cultures. Today, we talked a lot about the differences between marriages in the States and Kenya. Divorces are very uncommon in Kenya. I think this has to do with African cultural traditions. In the past, marriages were arranged. The culture is headed towards more westernized ways, but some cultural traditions still remain intact, especially in rural areas. We drove through Nakuru, a decently sized town, and stopped at the local grocery store, Nakumatt. I have decided these are my favorite grocery stores to shop at in Kenya as they have the widest variety. I picked up some peach frozen yogurt, a whole container of it. I was explaining to Karen before we left the importance of smores in any camping trip. She laughed at me, having never heard of any such thing. In one of the candy aisles of this Nakumatt I found some marshmallows. They were pink and white and by the packaging I questioned how they would taste, but these would just have to do. I also picked up a few bars of milk chocolate. Nakumatt didn’t offer any graham crackers so I settled for biscuits. (Biscuits in Kenya are like the American version of shortbread cookies. Here, though, they are a lot more common and eaten frequently.) With the necessary camping supplies in hand, we headed back to the car to continue our journey. The peach frozen yogurt tasted as if someone had literally put a container of yogurt into the freezer. It didn’t taste the best. With hunger getting the best of me, I ate a majority of the container anyways. I also had my first encounter with paying to go to the bathroom. Even after shopping in the store, a bathroom trip was not complimentary. For paying to use the restroom I thought they would at least replenish the paper towel stock. Nope, they were out of that too.

As part of our weekend road trip, we were planning on stopping at the school of David’s sister. Most students in Kenya go to boarding schools from grade six and up. The students are at school for three months and then come home for a month before repeating the process. These boarding schools are public schools and have certain weekends where family members can visit. The school was located in very rural Kenya. We ascended into the hills, stopping to pick up some food to bring David’s sister. At one point the driver pulled off the road saying the car was overheating. We were “at the end of the world” (as Karen put it) with a possibly broken down car. I was just praying the car would cool off soon. Thankfully, the car cooled off and we were able to continue our journey.

When arriving at the school, we made quite the entrance. We were really late, there was a herd of us coming in this large van, and we honked the horn for people to move as we drove in. David’s sister immediately jumped in the car with us, so happy to see her brother. All of the attention wasn’t drawn to us until I stepped out. Being in such a rural place, many of the students attending the school had never seen a mzungu before. I greeted David’s sister (she looked surprised I was with them) and sat down on our makeshift blanket for the lunch. As I was sitting there, a little boy, maybe three or four years of age, approached me. He looked mesmerized by my white skin. I smiled at him. Still with a bewildered look on his face he moved closer. I finally stuck out my hand to shake his and greeted him with, “Sasa.” Even after my greeting there was still no response. After another minute of looking at me, the boy reached out and touched the skin of my arm, wondering if I was real or something. By this time the entire group was laughing. I was trying to contain my laughter as well. The boys’ parents called for him to return. I’ve never experienced anything quite like that before.

I asked David many questions about the boarding school. He explained how his parents wanted his sister to go to a private school closer to home, but she really liked the school here. Part of the reason was her role as a prefect. Prefects are leaders in their classes and help to discipline other students. I am surprised a fellow peer can help discipline. At the school, I realized how happy I am that public schools in the States are not boarding. I don’t think I would like to spend so much time away from my family or even be divided by gender. Boarding schools also limit the activities students can be involved in. There aren’t any clubs or sporting teams to participate. This takes me back to how thankful I am to be living in the States. Some of David’s sister’s friends came up to meet me as well. I felt like the local celebrity. While leaving, we put up the roof as if we were going on a game drive. Visiting hours were over and the students gathered at the flag pole. The group encouraged me to wave at all the students. Unsure, I made sure they participated in it too. As I stood up and waved, I saw a flood of waves back. I couldn’t help but laugh. Who knew a mzungu visiting a boarding school would attract so much attention?

Back on the road, the journey continued. I felt as if I had spent the majority of my day in the car. Night was slowly approaching. A rain in the distance cast a rainbow near where we were driving. Soon we hit the rainy spots. Karen started talking about all the food and supplies the men had forgotten to purchase. A lesson was learned of never putting men in charge of things. The camping trip was turning comical—rain, no food supplies, and darkness falling. We reached the gates to the national park and started on a bumpy road to the campsite. We were told that the campsite was about thirty minutes away. Along the way I could see pools of pink in Lake Bogoria. These pink patches were flamingoes. Making sure I got a picture with them, we stopped to car. In the rain, I stood outside as Alex tried to photograph. With improper lighting and weather conditions, the photographs didn’t turn out great. I would have my photo if the flamingoes were to disappear overnight. Lake Bogoria is known for their hot springs. We stopped at one of the locations. In the dark, all I could really see was steam rising from the ground. We would have to stop again in the morning.

Finally, after a long day of travel (almost ten hours), we arrived at the campsite. I thought the guys had been to this one before, but apparently not. This campsite was by far the sketchiest one I had ever stayed at. There was no electricity. The toilets were holes in the ground. I was better off just using the bush. Camping the Kenyan way, meant goat slaughtering. David insisted this event was something I couldn’t miss. I reluctantly went, experiencing Kenyan culture to the maximum. I will spare you all the details, but the event was sad. I know animals are where meat comes from, but watching the animal die so we could eat it was a culture shock. Karen ended up taking my camera for pictures as I hid behind her, not wanting to witness the suffering animal. Watching the slaughtering gave me that much more dedication to being a vegetarian. Slaughtering animals is common for Kenyans, however. Often times they buy live chickens off the street to slaughter in their kitchens. Our cultures are so different.

The men being in charge of the food, meant they forgot a vegetarian option for me. Karen made her tomato, avocado, and onion salad, and I consumed that for the night. The way Karen and Sam were able to cut vegetables in the pitch darkness was amazing. They obviously had experience doing so at home. The salad I ate was consumed by my hands and I couldn’t even see what I was putting in my mouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had consumed a few spiders or other critters. As a tradeoff to watching the goat slaughtering, I encouraged everyone to try the smores I made. We now entered territory I was familiar with. I think most people enjoyed them, as we went through a full bag of marshmallows. I thoroughly enjoyed the familiarity of the sweet tastes. Before I went to bed I couldn’t resist but doing the typical Parent Trap mountain lion call with two sticks to scare them all away. It was a joke, even though there were wild animals roaming all around. The remoteness and unfamiliarity of my location made me slightly scared to fall asleep that night. The tents we slept in were set up by the campsite and consisted of a mattress with some sheets. After a while of restless tossing, I was out.