Photographer in Dreamland

Oh Brother!

2011-05-18T14:26:00.000+02:00

Uncles: I got a lot of 'em. Here are two more O'Connor brothers. Plus my dad. Plus my aunt. Plus me.

Stevens's Day and the Holiday Visiting

2011-01-24T13:28:00.000+01:00

December 26 - 28, 2010
Did you know that in Ireland Boxing Day is called Stevens's Day, said like "stevenses"? Well I didn't, and now I do.
Suddenly there was a big thaw, and we drove over to Dun Laoghaire (said like Dunn Leary) for a walk. We weren't the only ones who had got this notion, and the streets were full of people strolling around, enjoying the mild weather, walking dogs, and trying to transport themselves along the treacherously slippery sidewalks and roads. It seemed the snow had melted and hardened into a smooth icy surface that made it very difficult to walk or drive, uphill especially. We tramped through the slushy and snowy areas where we could get more traction, but watched a bunch of men helping a driver try and get up a hill for... well I want to say a long-ass time. The car did eventually make it.

Later in the week we visited my dad's friend, Eamon, who has spent a lot of time protesting about the Irish government and economy, and comes up with the most fantastic slogans for his sandwich board and posters. My favourite was "Bankrupt, Bollixed, and Bewildered" but he is in the papers with other ones, and they're always really creative and great!

Finally, I went to meet up with the women I've known the longest - we all lived on the same street when I lived in Ireland as a little girl! It was a big reunion and it was great craic... as well as a lot of discussion about fathers who tried to teach their children to speak Irish (let it be known that I was the only party present who doesn't speak Irish!).

December 25th, 2010

2011-01-19T18:28:00.000+01:00

Christmas Day, Denis and I looked out at the snow-covered city... Much to my surprise, and little to his, Denis pointed out people heading down to the swimming spot in front of his flat for the annual Christmas Day swim! Of course I grabbed my camera, we bundled up and went down to gawk in amazement. One woman said on the news they were claiming the water was 3 degrees. Madness (see more photos here)!

Dad's flat viewed from the swimming spot on Dublin Bay:

For our Christmas dinner, Pops and I made steak and potatoes and mushy peas and mashed carrot and parsnip goodness. T'was delicious. And we had a big Toblerone.

Scenes from Around Dublin

2011-01-13T19:59:00.002+01:00

December 20-24, 2010

The snow came like mad on Monday. Everyone was snowed in, slipping and sliding all over the place, broken ankles, the works.

I went to Portarlington, outside DUblin to visit another old friend, Debbie, and spent the night in the country laughing, playing games, watching videos on MTV Christmas, and generally sitting by the fire with friends, as well as 3 dogs, 2 birds, 2 hens, 1 cock, 2 donkeys, and a lemon, which Debbie swears is an orange, and which Niamh says used to look like a lime.

In the morning they gave me three freshly laid eggs to take home to Denis. The eggs in Ireland, I have noticed, have VERY yellow yolks. Yellower than in Toronto. On a side note, when I lived in Cuba I noticed the egg yolks were very pale, hardly yellow at all. True story.

Shop lady in Bansha, Tiperary; very chatty, told us the news of course, as well as a story about the tiny wren that stops by her birdfeeder, that's so small it looks like a mouse.

"Curmudgeon's Corner" in Mulligan's Pub. What would a man do without his local? (and yes, by the time the bar was packed, it was mostly packed with men)

Then on to The Cobblestone, where you'll catch a session with traditional music any night of the week.

Political already

2011-01-11T17:34:00.001+01:00

Thursday, December 16, 2010
After a lovely dinner with uncle and cousin, Neil and Dan (who picked me up at the airport), I spent the next day jet-lagging in my dad's apartment, and Tuesday night at Seamar's place in Booterstown... Talking, eating hors-d'oeuvres, and drinking white wine.

Denis arrived in Dublin on Wednesday morning, and already by Thursday night we found ourselves attending an interview with Garret FitzGerald, former Prime Minister of Ireland from 1981-1982, and 1982-1987.

The interviewer, who was supposed to be some investigative journalist, along with everyone else in the room, basically got her love on for "Garret the Good" and everyone sat around telling him how awesome he was... Then dad got up and asked GF if he paid tax on the 200,000 punt gift, forgiven to him from some loan or other back in the 80s. I literally heard someone behind us mutter "Jesus Christ". They didn't like us, that's for sure. We didn't stay too long after for refreshments.

Dublin at Christmas, at night.

Italian food, and discussion with Denis and Don.

Traveling via Gatwick

2011-01-11T16:37:00.003+01:00

Dec. 13, 2010

Arrived in a village called Horley, outside Gatwick Airport, England. Was picked up at the airport at 7am and stayed over night in Gables End Guesthouse, hosted by delightful pair, Joseph and Mary. The next morning flew to Dublin.

New boots!
My room in Gable's End

My birthday

2009-12-22T07:05:00.001+01:00

Monday, August 10th.

Saturday was my birthday.
Hey world: I’m 29 years old!

My friend P. helped me organize a goat. Some rangers showed up with the goat still alive, and I took pictures of them when they killed it, skinned it and quartered it. It was so interesting. I had thought that after seeing the whole thing live I would want to turn vegetarian, but I didn’t. In fact I wasn’t even upset or grossed out. I even petted the goat and tried to comfort it prior to its untimely death.

I thought the guy leaning on the goat was just holding it down, getting ready to cut its throat, until I heard a muffled cry, and realized they were doing it the Maasai way: suffocation. They do it this way to save the blood so that the blood doesn’t spill and go to waste. It takes longer, that is my only regret. Afterwards they cut the skin and expertly pushed between the skin and the body, and it pretty much came right off. I was mesmerized.

We had a party and made half the goat on the BBQ, called Nyama Choma, and the other half into a stew. Fridah baked me three cakes, we had really good sound system playing Kenyan music, almost 3 crates of beer, wine, soda, perfect weather as usual. After singing happy birthday to me, I had to cut the cake for everyone. One of my friends spoon fed me a piece, I spoon fed my neighbour Sam, he spoon fed someone else, and on it went. Then out of nowhere they appeared with a big bucket of water and some towels… obviously it got dumped over my head – a tradition for the “bath day”. Apparently someone felt inspired to dump a bottle of beer on my head also. After changing, we all made a train and danced around the camp, ending in a circle. Then I had to go in the centre and take turns dancing with every single person one on one. Finally after all the ceremonies were finished we all just danced and partied in my field until the sun went down.

I feel so lucky to have had the chance to be here in Kenya, making friends and seeing so much. Having a birthday party was literally the icing on the cake!

Saving Beauty

2009-12-18T00:34:00.009+01:00

August 5th, 6:28 AM

Today I am going to take pictures of the team attempting to rescue a blind rhino, Jamili, who fell down into a steep, 25 metre ravine.

A couple days ago literally, we captured Jamili’s photo for his update, and talked to S. the ranger who takes care of Jamili. (The rangers patroll certain blocks of the conservancy on foot to make sure none are in danger, as they are an endangered species. They often get to know the rhino in their block quite well, and sometimes have watched over them since they were born.) The rangers give me information for the rhino updates saying things like “Jamili is now 3.4 years of age and is in good health; He is very close to his mother and follows her everywhere…”

S told us that Jamili’s mother Nashami, recently gave birth to her second calf. Following the rhino tradition, Nashami chased Jamili away on his own so that she could nurse her new arrival. Almost instantly, however, S noticed that Jamili’s behaviour away from his mother was out of the ordinary, and communicated to the radio room that he suspected Jamili might be visually impaired.

Jamili taken a couple of days before the accident.

Right, Nashami standing guard in front of her firstborn son.

The very same day Jamili fell down into a steep, 25-metre deep ravine. Miraculously alive but trapped, Lewa personnel spent the next 24 hours devising a plan, cutting a path in the edge of the narrow gorge, and then assembling as many hands as they could muster.

(Where Jamili fell down from)

Together with the head of security John Palmeri, the head of wildlife Richard Moller, and Lewa’s former CEO Ian Craig, our highly qualified vet Dr. Chege rallied together the Capture Team, rangers, guards, and anyone else who could spare the morning. The Capture Team has extensive experience in translocating wild animals. Other volunteers included staff members from the accounts and marketing department, visiting consultants from the US, and local people from the nearby community. Together we were able to rescue Jamili from the depths of the crevasse and he has now been successfully translocated to the nearby Ol Pejeta Conservancy for further monitoring.

Getting Jamili out of the ravine was an ordeal. After discussing and planning, the vet ran everyone through their instructions and a practice session of how they would be working to help Jamili to the top of the cliff.

Then Dr. Chege went down to where Jamili was and darted him with a tranquilizer. Once asleep the team covered the rhino’s eyes with a cool, wet towel, and worked to strap him up from behind, putting ropes on his legs to help him inch forward. Once ready, the vet then administered a small dose of the reversal drug to help Jamili wake up. We waited… Nothing happened. They decided to give him a bit more. Only 5 ml at a time, because once he woke up fully there was no going back…

It worked. Jamili was drowsy but with pushing support from behind and pulling support from above, he took a few steps before he slumped back down, needing a rest. After a few minutes another small dose was given, and a few more steps were taken. Another dose. Another few steps. It was a slow process. The sun was getting high in the sky and everyone was saturated in the fine, red, dusty soil kicked up with every step. On and on it went like this until Jamili was finally on a landing that was flat enough for his moving crate to descend.

The hill was so steep that the tractor couldn’t haul Jamili’s crate down, so more ropes and more manpower was needed. Still, Lewa’s working party didn’t give up. We had come this far. Finally Jamili was positioned in front of the crate and the ropes were removed from around his tired, battered body. Dr. Chege gave him the final dose and as the rhino fully awakened he was guided into the box, and the door shut quick before he could let us all know how he was feeling. The tractor hauled Jamili up the remainder of the hill, with a jogging procession of rangers placing round bars underneath for it to roll on.

From there it went very smoothly and you could tell they had experience with this sort of thing. Once up, Jamili was carted onto the Ol Pejeta Truck and finally ready to go. The Capture Team headed off to see Jamili to his new home and the rest of us, covered in dust, sweaty, tired, unused to the hard fieldwork yet feeling triumphant, wandered back to our vehicles.

Mom, can I get my ears pierced?

2009-08-14T13:48:00.004+02:00

A couple weeks ago I got to witness a rhino being ear notched. Ear notching is a medical procedure where the vet makes an incision in the ear of the rhino, creating a permanent and unique pattern that is used by Lewa personnel to identify each individual. Once notched, the rhinos are more easily recognizable by the rangers, and thus more easily protected and monitored. Rhinos are notched according to their ID code, so that no two rhino can ever have the same pattern. Although it is an expensive operation, being able to recognize individual rhinos is critical to their protection and the gathering of pertinent biological data. From the research perspective, being confident about the breeding performance of individual rhinos is important for predicting overall population trends.

Finding the rhino in question and getting close enough to dart it was the most time consuming part of the process. For rhinos the vet does darting on foot. Elephants you can approach from a vehicle but rhinos usually run away. But HELLO: darting on foot is dangerous! Accompanied by an armed ranger, the vet must approach from downwind and hopefully once darted the rhino wont charge. I have heard stories of when rhinos did charge and the vets and the rangers all had to make a break for it, diving into trees, etc.

After the rhino had been darted it still had a lot of energy. It started running away, and had to be followed by a spotter plane in the air, that was shepherding the rhino away from areas of the conservancy that the vet wouldn’t be able to access once the rhino went down (i.e. thick forest or steep valleys). The rhino finally began to slow down in the perfect spot: a clear, wide, dried out watering hole. The rangers tied ropes around its ankles because they didn’t want it to fall over to one side, instead then wanted it to sort of just sit down with its body in an upright position. As all the people available pulled on the ropes to slow the rhino down, but it was so big and strong it just kept walking along as if nothing was happening, as if it didn’t even notice. Finally after the tranquilizer kicked in, the team got the rhino into the right position. They covered its eyes with a cool, wet towel and proceeded to carry out the operation.

It was a crowded scene because there was a film crew there doing a promotional piece on the conservancy, and the vet’s intern had her brother visiting. That’s the thing with veterinary outings: they’re exciting and everybody wants to go. I know I do!

Getting prepared:

Looking at the booklet to find out which pattern this rhino will have:

Out to the field to dart on foot, as a rhino bystander walks by:

Big, strong rhino doesn't care about the tiny people:

The towel makes the rhino stop walking around because it can't see:

Finally down, we have to be quick:

Marking the pattern:

Why am I standing a meter away? Because I am a scaredy-cat, that's why.

About to administer the reversal drug, everybody back to their vehicles!

Get up, stand up...

The vet car cleaning up as she wanders away:

Rhino Updates

2009-08-11T06:26:00.002+02:00

Thursday, July 23rd.

The first work assignment I received here in my internship was to investigate, take photos and write up factsheets for all of Lewa’s programmes. Once I handed them over to Elodie for editing I started working on something we call Rhino Updates. Let me explain:

Lewa is a not-for-profit organization and one of the ways it gets funding is through the adopt/name a rhino programmes. For a certain amount of cashola one lucky donor can name their own rhino anything they want! What they get in return includes, but is not limited to, not one but two (2) electronic updates per year telling them all about their rhino. You’re probably wondering what in the world these updates could possibly say, and I am about to tell you. They offer information about where their rhino likes to hang out and with whom, what their rhino’s favourite pastimes are, all about the rhino’s personality, and anything else that makes the rhino in question unique or different from the other rhinos.

And where do we get thus info, you ask? We make it up – NOT! We go out to the field to take updated photos of the animals in question, and interview their rangers, of course… More specifically, I, “Kate the Marketing Intern”, go out in the field with a driver and a translator to talk to the rangers. What is more, we have started to also take portraits and interview the rangers about their own lives, what they have achieved since beginning to work at Lewa, and what they think/feel about the organization.

Just to clarify, Lewa has 150 personnel on their security team and this includes highly trained rhino monitoring rangers. They work in pairs and patrol a 2.5 kilometre block every day looking for the individual rhinos that wander that territory, as well as any other animals who could be injured, unusual occurrences, and of course signs of poachers etc. These guys are trained and are excellent trackers who can spot things that even when they point to it and say “30 metres to the left of that tree, behind that rock…” I am still amazed that they saw whatever it is they’re pointing to. I tell you, seeing the way they look at the ground and at tree branches or poop or whatever, it’s just like the Prince Humperdink in the Princess Bride, or more recently Aragon in the Lord of the Rings (talk nerdy to me, baby!). If a rhino isn’t found within 5 days back-up teams are called in, and sometimes even aerial surveillance! I mean, to put things in perspective, there are 68 black rhinos living on Lewa, and that is more than 10% of Kenya’s entire black rhino population. These animals are critically endangered.

The black rhino are super kali (aggressive) and when they charge the rangers have to climb a tree at the speed of sound. The hitch is that the trees are covered in these wicked sharp long thorns. By the way a black rhino can grow up to 1.5 tonnes, and a white rhino can grow up to 2.5 tonnes and they can gain quite a speed too! In other words a charging rhino is no joke. These animals have bad eyesight, but good hearing and an excellent sense of smell. Being downwind is paramount.

Anyway, to make a long story a little bit bearably shorter, the rangers are awesome. And the stories they tell me are so interesting. I have learned LOTS (as you can see) about wildlife. Some of it is really unexpected too, like one day we came across these two white rhinos lying together in the grass. The female sort of got up and rubbed her head against the neck of the male. We drove a little closer so I could get a better angle but they were startled and stood up… And whadaya know? The male had the old fifth leg hanging out like nobody’s business! Yes, rhino foreplay! Minutes later we met with Naahashon Karimba who is the ranger in those parts, and he told us that these two are always together, and they are young but are learning how to mate. By the way did you know that rhinos average about 45 minutes for a session of lovemaking? That’s right, I said lovemaking.

SO here I am. I get to go out in the field and see beautiful things and talk to interesting people and take their portraits. I am truly happy.

Assignment # 3

2009-08-10T17:19:00.002+02:00

To change or not to change? What a fabulous question. Actually Larissa has excellent timing, because I was literally considering this very question the other day. I was pondering all the changes I have made being here in a wildlife conservancy in northern Kenya.

First of all, for all my fellow-hippy-chicks out there, unfortunately Unless you want ticks to acquire squatters’ rights on your calves, or anywhere else (heaven forbid – fa reals!), you gotta shave. That’s right. It’s not natural! they cry, It’s not fair! Well nature isn’t fair. It’s a dog eat dog out here. Or rather a tick eat mammal, or a spider eat fly, or a lion eat everything, Eee Tee See, as they say.

So I have started shaving my legs to ease the unending search for ticks. And the worst part is that once a cool breeze passes and you get goose bumps and your hair starts to grow back, it’s itchier than if you really did have ticks. It’s as itchy as the flea-bites that actually do cover my legs. Those, by the way are thanks to the adorable monkeys who play on line where my laundry dries. I am literally being eaten alive. It’s HOT!!!
That’s change number one in my books.
Secondly, I no longer see any spiders. I believe that once you emotionally accept them into your life, they just go away. Anyway when I do see one it’s like, not even a big deal. I’m very proud of myself.

But what about the deep emotional changes that Larissa is looking for in assignment number three? Something she mentioned a couple times was gender roles.

Now. Let me just say one day I was walking along Harbourfront in Toronto with Rudo, and I asked him to name my hobbies, which he did with the accuracy that only a dearly loved one can muster, and one of the items on Rudo’s list was “arguing with people about feminism”. After laughing my head off, I said with some satisfaction It’s True. So it comes as no surprise to say that I have had many a conversation with different people, man and woman, about the gender roles in Kenya, women and men’s social positions, expectations, dress, etc. or Eee Tee See I should say.

The thing is, the exceptional thing is, because I am a white woman many of those expectations do not fall on my shoulders. I can dress how I want, and act as I choose, and people, especially here where everyone is trying to act professionally, or at least within the bounds of the social norms of the organization, people just say “well that’s different, she’s a mzungu.”

Gender roles are very strict here in Kenya. I have not mentioned them in my blog, because, frankly, I have spent very much time discussing this with people, and feel I could write a whole book on the topic. It’s simply too much to even begin to deal with. What I will say is that I am an outsider to the max here in Lewa, and while (black) female colleagues were instructed to dress more appropriately after complaints were received in the office because they showed their calves, I have literally seen a [white] woman rocking the “butt cleavage” (aka plumber butt) and spaghetti straps, to no avail.

Here’s a story: if a woman in Nairobi were to wear a short skirt people wouldn’t be surprised if a man ripped it right off of her in public, with the thought that if you’re going to wear hardly anything, just wear nothing at all; or the old if you’re going to dress like a _ then you deserve to be treated like a _ (?!)

Needless to say some women I have met say the modern Kenyan woman is finding it difficult to make changes in this society.

Different Strokes for Different Folks is the rule as I keep noticing.

But let me tell you, gender relations are complex. First of all the roles for men and women, strictly stratified, do vary between tribes and generations. Examples include the usual: men go out and work, come home and sit until dinner is ready. Eat, go to bed, etc. Women look after all the cooking, collecting firewood, collecting water, shopping, cleaning, laundry, childcare-related activities… even if they also work a full time job. The first to get up in the morning, the last to go to bed, the plain treatment of wives here embodies the saying “women are the slaves of slaves.” Any given [Sunday] evening you see men idling on the corners. I ask my (male) acquaintance “What are all those men doing?” “Idling.” “But where are the women?” “They’re inside the house working.” “Why don’t the women come out and idle too?” “They’re too busy.” “So if they’re so busy why don’t the men go in and help them” “No, there’s nothing for the men to do. They’re not that busy.” That last answer was interrupted by another (female) friend listening to my questions, with “Because our country isn’t FAIR!”

Other traditions that I find interesting include the fact that hard labour and heavy lifting is considered women’s work. Carrying water and large bundles of wood – women’s work baby!

Then there’s the whole husband and wife thing. Divorce is highly frowned upon here, as people are 100% religious. At the same time it is kinda generally accepted that men are “cheaters” (quoted from chick-lit reading in the national newspaper, ok? Might I add that the article basically encouraged women to accept it and move on… And I got the feeling it was considered a relatively progressive article). In fact the only person I have met who is divorced (and not white) is one young man who did it because his wife cheated on him, and all of a sudden it was okay to get divorced.

I digress. I think at first all I could do was cringe. But after talking with many people, and seeing how men and women relate, I started to realize that people do what is normal. And in this whole wide world there’s no such thing as normal, is there? I told one friend that in Canada it is illegal to beat your wife. He was shocked, and said “But even if she does something to deserve a beating?” And this is a young man who is friendly and normal and fine.

The understanding I struggle with is not acceptance of things I disagree with inherently such as domestic violence. It is a learning process that is expanding my whole view of life and human relationships.

I have done the same exploration of this stratified and racialized system. I suddenly realized that my chef Fridah takes pride in her work, and maybe the guilt I take on over my white privilege is more demeaning than the privilege itself. For example, so I don’t want her to have to eat a separate meal – but would I expect a professional waitress or chef at home to sit and eat with me, their client/customer? Would they even want to? Please!

I am trying to look at the bigger picture here. Trying to change the habit of judgment. My TA Mohsen once told us that a thought is worth a thousand judgments. So here I am in Kenya trying not to judge. Trying to make a change.

Canadians!

2009-08-06T06:53:00.001+02:00

Monday, July 20th

I didn’t mention enough about all of my fellow Canadians that are here at the moment. First of all, Suzanne and Marc from York University are here studying elephant diet preferences in order to help develop a corridor for wildlife migration all throughout the northern and mountain region (if I’m not wrong). This means that they are working towards reducing human-wildlife conflict so that elephants can return to their original migratory range, without tearing up peoples’ gardens etc. Suzanne was in my internship interview and made sure that I met Marc, one of her students, before I came here so that when they arrived I would know people.

A BIG thanks goes out to these two for picking up all the stuff Rudo sent me, and also bringing me more chocolate than I can shake a stick at (as well as other goodies!). On Sunday I spent the day hanging out with these two lovely peeps. They are staying at Ngiri house. It’s not a lodge for tourists that come here, but where working-visitors often stay. And in my view it’s fabulous, and it has a pool. So of course I showed up in my inappropriately teeny bikini (I would like to note here that it has become inappropriately teeny due to all the good food depicted in an earlier post), and went for a dip!

Secondly, there are a couple of teachers, named Craig and Mark, from the UCC in Toronto. UCC is a private, boys-only high school that has a connection with one of the schools that Lewa supports called Ntugi. These guys are working on a most interesting project bringing laptops and wireless internet to the Kenyan school, and creating a joint curriculum where Canadian and Kenyan high school students can chat and blog online and learn together – it’s cool!
They were staying in the tents next to me, but this week Craig has gone to live with a teacher from Ntugi, and is experiencing the local flavour outside of Lewa’s gates.
Will keep you updated!

Don't mess with the Momma

2009-08-06T06:41:00.006+02:00

July 17th.

Today is Friday.
Actually the week flew by because it was exciting and fun. On Tuesday Elodie and Joanne decided to come out with me in the vet car. It was around 4:30 in the afternoon and we were looking for a hartebeest that was either not well at all, or we were looking for hartebeest bones. We drove around and basically decided that this was much more like a game drive than an action-packed vet-adventure. The three ladies were sitting in the back and the vet and his driver in the front. In the research car was another driver, a ranger and two local university students doing internships in wildlife research.

Well after 5pm Elodie decided that it was time for beer, and zipped back to her cottage to pick up her handy padded cooler full of Tuskers and a bottle of white wine. So we all sat on a hill and drank until the sun dipped below the horizon, talking and laughing to our hearts content. The students had to catch their matatu at the gate (Kenyan “public” transit – I don’t quite understand it so you’ll have to google it). But then I remembered that Mark, a Canadian staying at my neighbouring tent these days had arrived with a 25 of Tuskers, and I thought it only natural (this is after I accidentally smashed a wine glass, but I swear it was due to an unfortunate badly-timed hair toss and high winds, not drunkenness) that I should invite everyone back to the tents to drink Mark’s beer.
Upon arriving and greeting Mark, thankfully he seemed happy about this!
So we chatted and drank and had dinner and finally went our separate ways to bed.

Wednesday morning I was feeling fine. The vet invited us out again to watch this time the collaring of an elephant. Radio collars help researchers track elephants with a GPS system in order to learn their migration routes and help avoid human-wildlife conflict. I got in a truck and when we got to the site there were several other spectators, including two other guests from Canada. Because the ele was the head of a family a number of vehicles were required to help push the family away to a safe distance until the procedure was finished. This is essential because apparently if they aren’t far enough away when the ele goes down they circle her and don’t leave, so that we literally can’t operate and can’t give the reversal drug, having to wait however long for the anesthetic to wear off.

By the way, the head f elephant families are female. These creatures live to about 70 years old, have good memories, and are matriachal. Once the young males reach a certain age they have to leave the group and can only come back to mate. (Just as a side note) - continue:

We took some minutes getting into our initial positions. I was bummed not to be in the vet car this time, but hoped I would get a few decent shots anyway. The dart was fired and went in. But it was closer to the front this time and she The elephant) felt around with her trunk, pulled it out, inspected it a bit, and threw it on the ground.

Then we waited. The family had been around a watering hole and started to walk away down the hill. In order to separate the Mother from the family, once the positioning seemed right, the vet car drove between her and the rest of the herd. They didn’t stop, just slowed her down and turned as they passed. She took a few steps towards the car and paused. W were all watching and waiting. For the drugs to work, for the family to walk away, for something. Suddenly the elephant charged. She took a run at the vet car. They started driving. I think someone in our vehicle said “Oh look, she’s charging.” At that point, all I know is that several people including myself said “Oh Shit.” As I looked I saw the huge animal running FAST and the land rover bumping through the field as FAST as they could go. She was right behind them. From a side view she was about a foot away. Did you know that elephants are fast? You wouldn’t guess it because their big longs steps look so slow. But Mateas used to say if you are trying to keep up with an elephant you’ll find yourself running.

I couldn’t believe it. She was close enough to overturn the vehicle and she knew it. She bent forward and scooped upwards with her long tusks but the vehicle was accelerating. So was the elephant. She scooped once again. She was right on top of them. But Methenge a driver known seriously for his awesomeness in driving off-road was ploughing forward as hard as the vehicle could go.

For a split second a million thoughts passed through my head. I just had a sundowner with those guys Yesterday. And now I am going to see them die. I felt like crying. I said Oh shit.
Suddenly I realized that maybe I should take pictures. In case they didn’t die. I snapped a few without even looking through the viewfinder. I just held the camera up and snapped, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away and I thought to myself if they die I will never show or tell anyone that I took pictures. Shame on me.

Which means that? The next thing I knew the elephant was down. The charge had got that tranquilizer pumping through the her veins and just like that she was lying on the ground. Shit someone else said. Before I knew what was happening our vehicle was blasting forward towards the family. They took off running in front of us. Ok, we were off road so you can imagine blasting and running isn’t super fast and it is definitely not smooth.
But then they were going and we were stopped. I looked around and everyone was alive, the family had slowed to a walk and were heading down the hill to wait elsewhere, the vet was out with his crew, and so was I.

They quickly did what they had come to do. Another vehicle was watching the family. Soon it was time for the reversal, which worked after a few minutes, and the eephant was up once again, tentatively feeling the collar around her neck, but still glaring at all of us and looking generally pissed off to the max. Naturally. I mean, wouldn’t you be?

Once the elephant finally turned and walked towards her family the vet car left. They had places to go. People to see. We were doing I don’t know what, but I know that by the time we were almost at the road, guess who was blocking the road and looking like she hated all four-wheel drive vehicles with a passion? That’s right. Our friend.

We went off road to go around the family of elephants, and found ourselves in a hole. Now someone with field experience could definitely tell you what animal makes these holes, but not me. They are huge. Passengers had been shuffled around and only Joanne and I were left in the [open] back of this truck. I looked over my right shoulder, leaning forward to see past the canvas covering and saw the elephant. She was there. Standing with her back to her family, looking at us. Far enough away, to be sure. But close enough that I still told people later I saw the whites of her eyes. The driver and the unarmed ranger with us were whispering up front. The quietly got out and started searching for big rocks to put under the front tire. I looked again. She’s there. I said. She’s looking at us, I told Joanne. She looked. We both scooted to the left side of the truck, not that it would help If.

Ironically, we had just been talking about the charge, saying things like “I honestly thought they were going to die – ha ha ha – and I thought if they go into a hole, that armed ranger standing up through the roof – he’s going to die – hardy har (nervous laughter) wow that was funny…” Seriously that’s what we had been saying before we went into a hole. I went to look again and Joanne grabbed my arm. “DON’T LOOK!” She whispered harshly. We sat in silence. Not looking. Not talking. The guys sneaked back to the car. We radioed the others, they said. The other truck came back and without needing instructions we all jumped in and started to finally drive away. I looked at Joanne as the guys began describing what had happened to the others. “Let’s not talk about anything ever again” I said to her, not even wanting to risk a jinx.
We decided to take the long way home. After a valley and a hill, we looked out over the plains through the binoculars and saw that the whole family of elephants were around the truck.

And that was just the morning.

Luckily the afternoon was easy going. I went out in the field and took pictures of rhino from AFAR. I interviewed rangers and took some portraits. I got to see valleys and hills in Lewa that I didn’t even know existed. I saw cheetahs and took pictures of them and was blown away by their beauty and stealthy grace.

That night I went to bed and a thought occurred to me. I was so glad they did have room for me in that car. Those guys didn’t even know how close they were to death’s door. Only from other vantage points could we see. That and the guard who had been standing out of the roof. The elephant was too close to shoot anyway, not that he tried. I asked him later if he was scared. “You get used.” He said. They don’t say “to it” here, but that’s what he was saying. “I wasn’t scared, It was fine. It was fun.” Ha! I looked at him. He was older than some of the other rangers I have met. I could see he meant it. I guess I’m green. Take it for what you want.

Assignment # 2

2009-07-31T06:12:00.006+02:00

Assignment number two is to describe my surroundings. I feel, however, that many of my previous posts have already given an idea of the place I'm staying, my tent, my walk to work, the game drives around my camp, my field, my activities, etc... So I have decided to describe my home away from home through another medium, one that is close to this girl's heart: LUNCH!

Here is a selection of meals that Fridah has cooked for me in the last month or so. They are as delicious if not more than they look, and might I add dinner is even more so, often starting with a bowl of homemade soup (it's too dark to take photos in the evenings). I'm having a life-long love affair with soup by the way.

Chakula kisuri sana!

Fridah bakes all the bread for breakfast fresh in her oven, and even baked me a cake (randomly) a couple times. Fridah is a really talented chef and she rocks!

There is no there there.

2009-07-17T16:32:00.006+02:00

Random fun times leading up to the marathon:

Surprise birthday cake in the oven:

Tent city:

Surprise!!!

Sunday, July 5th,

Well they have finally gone. All my friends. Even Fridah is away doing the shopping coincidentally. The field is just a field. I watched the truck drive away and at the last minute tried to snap a picture. All that I captured was the dust rising off the dirt road after the “cono cono” truck had passed. “The snail” they called it because it moved so slowly.

The week of marathon aftermath went by so quickly. Everyone catching up on all the work that had been back-burnered. The crew packing packing packing up all the tents and equipment. They left in groups, unending goodbyes stretching out over the whole weekend, until today, Sunday. The day I sat on a couch in the middle of the field and basked in the sun, by a dying fire, reading and watching helplessly as the last 5 men packed truckload upon truckload back to the locker. I gave up my seat and watched from my tent as they hauled the sofa up onto the roof of the cono cono. Actually it took two attempts, the first one ending disastrously when the rope snapped and the wooden furniture crashed down, banging one man on the head. He laughed when he showed me the bump, so it wasn’t as bad as it sounds…

Packing up:

Saying goodbye:

The original crew:

The final load:

Me:

The cono cono rounding the bend - bye bye!

After the dust in the road settled, I turned around and looked over the field. My field. My home for the next two months. Alone. The monkeys had moved in the day earlier seeing as most of the people were gone. I took a few snaps of them eating from the taka taka, looking desperately from me to the pile of trash, ready for me to run at them, but eating as much as they could until the last moment. I walked past. Beautiful blue shiny birds were pecking away at the ground, at the ashes of the fireplace, finding goodies invisible to my eyes. And my newest neighbours, mongooses. Mongeese? Lots of ‘em running around ignoring the monkeys and also feasting.

The monkeys were happy as Larry that everyone was gone and had left so much good garbage. I wandered over to the dining room where two monkeys jumped off the table as they heard me coming. It was covered in piss and dirt. I looked at the kitchen tent flap and noticed it was open. I swear I remembered closing it, but I guess I hadn’t. Luckily the chicken wire door was shut fast, and no little buggers had gotten in – that would’ve been a nightmare.

So the monkeys are happy, how about me? I had felt for a second that I might shed a tear as the truck pulled away, and I stood alone, waving, probably looking a bit pathetic in my field. But then I also sort of felt a release. Making a whole bunch of new friends is tiring. Are you really yourself, when you are still in the honeymoon phase of friendship? I should hope so, but it still takes effort.

I know for sure that I want to start exercising, singing out loud, and maybe practicing belly-dance again. The only creatures watching me now are my furry and feathered friends.
And the staff housing is right there, but they take literally no interest in me. Haven’t for a month, why start now? I suppose, because I know myself, that I will at some point invite myself over to the staff area and wander about looking for new friends. But for now the prospect of vast amount of personal space is both daunting and liberating. You have to live each moment as it comes.

My field:

All you ever wanted to know about the marathon, but were afraid to ask

2009-07-10T16:54:00.006+02:00

Tuesday June 30th
What a weekend! Well. Let me tell you.

As you may or may not know, Lewa hosts the international Safaricom Marathon every year on the conservancy. This year was the 10th year in a row. All day Saturday I shot pictures of the marathon start and finish line, and also walked around a bit and took pictures of the people enjoying the afternoon.

The starting line:

The hospital/recovery area at the finish line:

The male winner of the half marathon, Joseph Nganga:

Left to right: 3rd place, James Kigen & 2nd place, Johana Manyim:

Being at the finish line of a marathon was very interesting. Now, some people reading this know me well enough to know that the most running I do "voluntarily" is for the TTC when I'm late (probably a lot more running than I realize!). Well I have to say that watching people complete the half and full marathon under the beating hot sun and the clouds of red dust was really emotional and inspirational.

The female winner of the half marathon, Catherine Ndereba:

Some people looked like they had just taken a walk in the park (like it was not problem). But many more looked like they were about to die, or at least they had thought they were about to die. Several people would cross the line and just start to wobble, having to get support from the Kenyan Red Cross workers standing by. Others would just cross the line and almost stop on the spot. People would have to tell them to keep walking or their muscles would cramp up. Some people kept running right through and had to be physically stopped to get their medal and number listed (and so that they wouldn't plough right into the crowd).

A man who somehwere along the way acquired a small son:

One man I took a picture of was blessing himself. Another came through the finish line crying. Bawling out loud as hard as can be. At that point the MC (a national sports commentator dressed in his traditional Maasai costume) was standing next to me. We looked at each other, then he paused only for a split second, and said into the mic "Emotions are running high... The man is cRrying (insert rolled R here)... Tears of Jubilation..."

Torome Tirike, the MC:

This man is 79 years old:

The male winner of the full marathon, Benson Kaptikou:

3rd place in the full marathon, Githu Kariuki:

The founder of Lewa Ian Craig:

The head of security, John Palmeri:

The female winner of the full marathon, Lucy Mugambi:

My friends, Aloyse and Kitonga - teachers in the Lewa adult literacy programme:

People said this year was much hotter than the previous two years. At one point one of the motorcycles came through with a woman hanging onto the driver's neck. Apart from holding him, she was out cold (in fact I think there might have been a third person holding onto her from behind). It was intense.
I could see in people’s faces that they had gone as far as they could go, and I respected that. The day of I was like "okay now it's my new goal to run a marathon..." However, you'll be relieved to know that when I woke up on Sunday the desire was gone!

Another thing I wanted to tell you about was the kids' race. The children 9 years and above started early and ran 5 km. There were many local kids and others who had come with their parents, who were running the marathon, from all over the world. Lots of the local children ran in bare feet. Some ran in just socks. And you know what? They were the ones who won. And you know what else? They won Bata Shoe vouchers.

Children at the starting line:

The kids starting to run (seconds before the gun went off actually):

I didn't make it to the finish line before they arrived. I got confused and was lost in the crowd telling security guards that I was staff and just didn't have a staff wrist band... aaaaand I ran into a colleague who drove me to his house to have coffee and watch the marathon on telly for a few minutes. So what I am trying to say is that I missed the children crossing the finish line. But I was told that they ran as fast as they could for the whole 5-Kay and were literally crossing the line and passing out cold in droves. Apparently the local schools receive money so the teachers put a lot of pressure on the children to win. I guess it happens everywhere (the movie Spellbound comes to mind).

Anyway it was a very hot intense and exciting day. After the race there was a festival and then an enormous bonfire. You should have seen this place. Tents everywhere you looked. Music, people BBQ-ing. The British Army set up a bar and the bonfire, and had music and a dance floor, which I obviously stayed on all night! I ran into my friends and had a few beers ("Tusker" is the Kenyan beer BTW). It was So not like being on a wildlife conservancy.

Festival:

The prize giving ceremony:

Former vice President of Kenya, Moody Awori:

CEO of Lewa (who gave his entire speech in Swahili), Jonathan Moss:

Hilarious physical comedians, don't know their names but they were awesome:

Traditional dancers:

Children's dance contest (hilarious by the way):

A night in the wild:

And the next day while I slept off a hangover, everyone packed up and left on me.
Now the place is empty except for the crew in my camp, who are dismantling the tents and getting ready for their next job in Maasai Mara Park (AKA "the Mara"). In a week they too will be gone and I will be here just me and the baboons, who have moved in in high numbers to eat the leftovers I am told (I got Fridah to walk me to work this morning because I was scared of them. We literally had to walk right through the middle of them - and she had to throw a rock at one of them that didn't back off fast enough).

....Oh life in the bush, honestly. Discos, bonfires, baboons, who knew?

Marathon Preparation

2009-07-10T16:47:00.002+02:00

Thursday June 25th

Well it’s all happening. They talked about it for so long… the marathon.

After the gang leaves it is going to be boring and lonely. The camp is now full of guys, setting up tents and moving around. This morning I stepped out of my tent, with huge bed head (and my hair is already generally huge so you can only imagine), in my grey sweats, and long-sleeved Rolling tones Tee. Less than 10 feet away were about 6 men

Yesterday we were in a row, like a conveyer belt stuffing envelopes for registration, and today filling goody bags for runners after completing the track. When I returned from the office the village was actually a village! There were hundreds of people. In uniforms, like cops and military and also more women than I have seen in a long time, although the men still outnumber us by a long shot. Milling around, talking, security guys swinging their batons, workers rushing back and forth. M looked super stressed. His partner on the other hand was yelling and swearing and shouting at everyone, but since he’s always like that it wasn’t scary, in fact he was still making a few jokes, so I guess it’s times like these when you realize someone like him is the boss for a reason.

Tomorrow we will be in registration all day and I hear it’s a complete bore until suddenly everyone arrives all at once and then we will be running around until the end. Sounds like waitressing.

I waited around for dinner and tagged along to the Maredade camp (the VIP camp) where the family was eating. We brought this cute little girl names Sky who was a family friend. She was so quiet and good and sweet, but she was cold and tired, so I gave her my sweater. M’s girlfriend, and parentswere there, who are all super duper cool. Yes, I said super duper.

Anyway things are moving really fast. I can’t believe I’ve already been here almost a month. I miss my Rudo a lot, but I find that the Skype really helps. We chat at least once or twice a week, whereas when I was in Cuba we couldn’t even talk and it was the absolute worst.

Anyway I am going to hit the sack. Apparently it’s going to be a long night tomorrow once all the guests actually arrive!

Registration: Apparently a woman's job:

If an elephant falls in the jungle and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

2009-07-07T08:29:00.007+02:00

Monday, June 22nd.

I think the answer is yes. It makes a big sound. Ok, I was there to hear it. It was the craziest thing I have seen so far - I guess because it was unfathomable. You simply can't imagine it as it will actually be.

You may be wondering what in the world I'm talking about.
Well the tent next to me is now occupied by Doctor Debbie, visiting for two weeks from the US. She is a vet, and is here setting up an exchange (I think) with the private zoo she works at in the States and Lewa's vet, Dr. Chege.

Apart from having someone to talk to during lunch, Debbie also has the inside info on Chege, who works for the Kenya Wildlife Service, serves almost 10,000 km squared, and is THE busiest man I have ever seen!

When I heard they were going out in the field I practically screamed, Can I come! and I'll admit that I raised my hand high, like a child dying to get picked by the teacher.
The truck was full (the front, that is) so I sat in the back, where I've been dying to sit ever since I came here (people are always like - Don't be ridiculous white girl, sit in the front - although they don't say the 'white girl' part out loud). Of course first off I got a chunk of dust in my eye, but found the shades and was grand.

We drove to nearby Buffalo Springs Game Reserve, where some tourists had reported seeing an injured elephant. And let me tell you, when we found it there was a van of tourists there, cameras at the ready. I almost wanted to tell them "Out of my way, folks, don't you know who I am? I am here to take pictures for Lewa." Until one of them told me he works with Elodie all the time, runs his own photography safari tours all over Africa, and was taking photos for Africa Geographic. Ouch, I am so nobody.

So Chege loaded the dart gun, and told us all to get back in the vehicle. Debbie told me that one drop of that stuff would kill a human, which is why he stepped away from us to do that thing doctors do when the squirt a bit out of the tip of the needle before starting.

Sitting in the back of the truck my lens wasn't wide enough to capture the dart gun sticking out the front window, so I focussed on the animal, a female African elephant. I didn't know what would happen. I pictured the poor thing getting shot, and rearing up on her hind legs the way horses do in the movies, then galloping off into the sunset (although it wasn't yet midday).

He made a good shot. And the elephant moved around a bit, but really the wounded leg, which was swollen to twice the size of the other limbs, prevented her from moving much. She looked around at us and probably thought, That's it. Today is the last day of my life. This sucks.

We watched and watched. I wanted to look away. In fact I chanced a glance around at the armed guard, Muhammad, who was sitting next to me in the back. But only for a second - didn't want to miss anything.

Suddenly after a few minutes of silence, and waiting, BOOM!
She just fell over to the ground.
I was shocked. I don't even know how to tell you that an elephant is a large animal, and you don't realize the extent of it until you see one fall.

Okay, they said. Take this paper, and write down what we say in these boxes when we tell you. Great I thought, I am supposed to be recording important heart rates, and taking pictures? Write down that its original rate was 20, Debbie told me. How could she tell when we were 20 meters away? Apparently university pays off.

We went over and they started. Placed a towel over the eyes and head, poured water over it to keep the temperature down. Debbie started scraping the ear so she could attach the heart rate monitor through the elephant's thick skin.

Chege went around to the leg, and before he started said Can you get a close up of that?
I approached the leg. It was a hole with some white pus inside. I zoomed in as my stomach turned. Blood, fine, but pus... No. Just writing it makes my eyes water.

It was a bullet wound, but they couldn’t find the bullet. Chege cleaned out all the dead flesh and pus. He flushed and flushed with peroxide and a pair of scissors, and his finger. I was hiding behind my lens, snapping away, separated from the grossness by a wall of plastic and megapixels.

Then they injected the poor old gal with antibiotics. They found another bullet wound in the ear. A hole right through the centre of the lovely, big, grey, jumbo elephant ear. Who did this? What happened?

They did the same stuff over there, of course with Chege pausing periodically to say, Can you get a close-up of this? Me clicking away while stifling a gag. The other tourists were having a heyday. I was too. Debbie would tell me the numbers every now and again and I would juggle my camera with the pen and paper to write it down.

Finally they were cleaning up. I looked around. The trunk was propped open with a stick. She was snoring lightly (the elephant). They told me that the anesthetic puts her completely to sleep and if the trunk closed she would suffocate.

They injected her with the reversal drug and were like, Quick! Get back to the car, it could work quickly!
So we did.
We waited. We watched. She got up.

The thing is, they told me that elephants almost never lie down. Or if they do, it's for less than an hour. They are so big that they can crush their own nerves, and if you do surgery on an elephant and they don't get up they will die, just from being down. Imagine that!
So that's the crucial point.

But up she got. Looked around at us. And slowly limped away.
What else can I say? It was one of the most unusual and incredible things I have ever seen.

The journey:

The Elephant:

Going home:

Educational experiences

2009-06-30T15:17:00.019+02:00

Saturday, June 20th.

What a week! I have been so busy that I didn’t even write in my journal.
But I saw so much.

This week I went to 6 of the 12 schools supported by Lewa. Lewa's Education Programme provides schools with financial support, bursaries for students from primary up to university, physical infrastructure, educational materials and curriculum. It's a pretty big deal. What's more, they connect people with students who they can sponsor, and whose progress is monitored throughout their years of education. I believe you have to pay for highschool here, so many people end up dropping out.

In each school my job was to take pictures of the kids, the classrooms, the buildings, and any other developments of interest. I jumped into the education truck with Mercy and Samuel the driver.

Some of the schools we went to were SO far away, over roads that looked like…. Well not roads. In fact every now and then when we would be riding over some crazy terrain at a strange angle Mercy would say randomly “This is a rroad” (sometimes they rroll their Rs here), and we would all burst out laughing. Mercy and Samuel were hilarious. They turned up the radio and chattered on in Swahili and English, trying to teach me new phrases. They also picked up many hitchhikers, which I thought was really decent. Some kids walk hours and hours to get to school, so they would let them hop in the back. Others were men or women with babies, who were walking alongside the hot dusty road. Every time they stopped Samuel would say “Oh man” a la Bart Simpson, but you could tell he really didn’t mind, and I have to say I don’t think he would ever refuse anyone.

We were stopped in our tracks by a bunch of camels crossing the street, and I went crazy with “Awwww? Aren’t they so cute?” While Mercy and Samuel laughed and looked at each other.

As we drove through the communities surrounding Lewa we saw a man next to the road holding a cow. He had brought grass for it to feed on, but it couldn’t even hold up its own head. He let go and the head slumped forward to the ground. It was really sad.

We traveled way out into what felt for me like the middle of nowhere. Mercy told me that on her first day they were driving to somewhere really remote and they came around the bend only to find a Maasai man who had undressed and was about to take a wash in the nearby stream. Unfortunately the goats got frightened by the vehicle and took off. Now, livestock is of utmost importance to rural people so of course the man proceeded to run down the road after them. In the nude. The driver was embarrassed, but the man didn’t care… And Mercy said she was thrilled!

We passed a man sitting by the roadside, alone. He had a sign, and was selling his cow for 2000 shillings. They clicked their tongues and said What a shame, that A cow cost 20,000 shillings at least. There had been no rain. The livestock were dying. He was trying to salvage what he could.
On the way home we passed the same cow that couldn't lift its head. Just waiting to die. It was depressing.

But visiting the schools was definitely not depressing. Taking pictures was a unique experience in each school.

The first one was a nursery school, and defo the youngest tots of them all. They all crowded around the truck and when I got out they all wanted to touch me. Everyone shakes hands here as a greeting, and that included these taters. They all wanted to shake my hand. I tried to look at each of them in turn and shake their tiny little hands (with the faint thought of chicken pox and other little kid illnesses at the back of my mind I’ll admit it). But they were the cutest, sweetest little people! They were all smiling and fascinated by me. One girl took hold of my hand and held it for almost my whole duration there. Others saw my shirt hanging out from under my sweater and started talking about it animatedly. They lifted my sweater and looked up under it to see what this red and white shirt was all about.

The teacher got the kids to say the alphabet and numbers in English as I took pictures. I could have stayed all day.

Luckily that was just the first school I visited, and although I couldn’t stay all day, I got to go to 5 more schools during the week. At one school every time the flash went off the kids would scream and cheer like they just won the lottery. They followed me all around and wanted to be in every photo. When I would show them the image on the back of the camera (yay digital) they would shout and push to see where they were and cheer with delight.

The staff room:

The old school house compared with the new one that Lewa built:

In another school, with older children, they were super disciplined, and sat quietly until I was finished. I showed them the image and they all “burst” into soft whispers.

This continued throughout the week, Mercy, Samuel and I on our little missions. The older kids were shyer. They would stare at me and answer when I greeted them, but then collapse into a fit of giggles as I walked away. Only once did a boy ask me in English “What country are you from?” and “Is it your first time in Kenya?” He was just 13 years old or so, and very serious. I was impressed by his confidence, especially since it seems that people feel self-conscious to practice their English.

The final School was north of Lewa in the rural Maasai community of Leparua. This is a very poor area, where the school is often only half-full because the people are pastoralists and walk miles away to graze their livestock. Especially nowadays with the drought, the school has been almost empty.

Myself and Samuel on a rock on the way to school:

I went with Samuel and Aloyse, a young man who teaches adult learners. Most of them are women, because apparently it’s not very manly to want to learn. At the school I also met Kitonga, who is a Maasai elder (he’s in his thirties) and also teaches the adult learners. He told me all about the area and the community. Then Hussein, another teacher give me a tour of the grounds, and his take on the school’s history.

Kitonga and I in the school yard:

A committee meeting:

Hussein in front of the kitchen (note the outdoor stoves in the foreground). They provide porridge and other food for the children, whose families often survive on less than $1 a day:

Our truck:

The trip was really interesting. I sat in on the end of class, because we were so far away that Samuel actually waits and drives everybody back to Lewa. One woman in the front row, the eldest one I could see, looked directly at me and said “Hello!” “How are you!” I laughed and said Fine thanks, and went over to shake her hand. “She’s practicing her English on you,” Aloyse told me. The woman barked a few more phrases at me, and I answered. The other women laughed at her, but actually her English was perfect, and I bet they wanted to practice too.

Men on the left, women on the right:

Then they all sat for a while talking in Maasai. “We are trying to come up with ideas for an income-generating project,” Kitonga told me. As their discussion became quite lengthy I ducked out of the room and into the yard where some men were sitting around. “Listen to them,” one of them said irritably, “just making a lot of noise.”

I heard giggling, and found three teenagers peaking at me from around the edge of a water tank. They ducked out of sight.

As the class came to an end, I went back in for a portrait of the teachers. First they had to lead a group prayer. One woman stood up and rattled off a long sequence of sounds, words in a language so foreign to my ears. As the women spilled out into the afternoon sun, they rocked their bodies and started to sing in unison.

Aloyse, Kitonga and their class:

“Okay!” Samuel said, worried about getting home for his dinner. “It’s time to go!”

I got in the front seat with Aloyse, while Kitonga and a bunch of adult students piled into the back. As we drove down the mountain I turned off the radio. I could hear singing. They were all singing together in unison and in harmony in the back of the truck. A happy sounding song I thought. I love music, singing and dancing, and was exclaiming so to the guys. “They’re always singing,” Samuel said. “They would love to sing for you,” Aloyse said. “Next time,” I told them, “I want to sit in the back with them!”

A Lewa water project on the way home:

Us in the truck, without Mercy this day:

The Lewa School new nursery classroom, with donated furniture and goodies:

Please note that even boys in rural Kenya pose making gang signs in photos;)

The staff room:

The football pitch:

Teachers' quarters:

The school band practicing:

The adult learners:

The marathon production team at work

2009-06-25T11:44:00.006+02:00

Sunday, June 14th

While yesterday I was lazing around, this afternoon I finally went over to the other camp, where the team has begun to set up the VIP tents for the marathon. You see, I had made an attempt to visit before, but in order to actually get there you have to cross a small river via a log. The first time I did it I held hands with one of the guys, and I didn’t have my camera with me. Miraculously, I made it back all by myself! Actually it’s not that miraculous because it’s not a big river, it’s not very high off the ground, and it’s quite a nice log. It’s just that there’s one section that is more curved, and therein lies the challenge.

Life around "my" camp:

Please note these women's irons are plugged into a tree:

The kitchen tent:

See that tank? That's water. See the fire under the barrel? That's how you get a hot shower.

So: today I went over with my camera and took pictures of the gang setting up tents. It is a huge production – and they even got me to “help”. These things weigh 100s of kilos!

Setting up Maredade Camp (the VIP tents):

Then they sent in the real muscle:

Lazy Saturday

2009-06-24T17:03:00.005+02:00

Saturday, June 13, 2009

This is the route from my office to my tent. The fence on the right blocks off the workshop area that houses tractors and other big machines. It's an electric fence. This is literally the distance I walk to get to work (as in NOT far!):

Around the tent:

Today I went and spent the day at R’s house. She works in the finance department, and is a most interesting personality!

Her house is hidden behind some trees, and then some other houses, and then some bushes… Altogether an isolated place, but apparently that is the designated house given to her position, so what can you do. In fact, R told me that once a big group of baboons were fighting out in her yard from 10am until 6pm and she couldn't leave home for the whole day!

Anyway the place itself was very nice. I could tell she had decorated it herself, with long light curtains, and pillows; and when she told me she had gone to university in India it made a lot of sense. I was surprised, seeing as I live in my humble tent, to see a TV with music videos playing, a dvd player, a computer hooked up to the internet, an exercise bike, it was quite a big place too!

R poured me a glass of wine (it was early but what else are you going to do when you can’t go for walks because you might get eaten, and everyone but a few leave the conservancy for the weekends?). We sat in her living room and talked all day, as well as polishing off the bottle.

She told me about her life. R worked for humanitarian organizations in the Sudan for several years. Although she was in finance and accounting, she was still living life on the edge, in refugee camps, and looking out for land mines. She told me about this crazy spider bite she got, and she even told me about another woman who got a spider bite and was dead within 24 hours. It was a really tough life. She talked about how close people became because you had to look out for one another so much. That if you didn’t come out of your tent at the same time everyday your friends would check on you to make sure you were, well, ok I guess, alive.

R had many exciting and sad and shocking stories to tell. It made me wonder that she wasn’t actually traumatized by all of it, especially since it is all so current, isn’t it.

But we also talked about other things, life in university in India, with the other Kenyan students from her own tribe trying to look out for her, but really just being overprotective. And the racial and cultural relations and conflicts between the Indian landlords, and a couple of young single Kenyan women staying in their houses. We had a good laugh.

I like R because she is totally herself. You know when you meet someone and they are just genuine, not trying to be anything but themselves. They can teach us a lot about life, I think.

Later on, I went for a game drive with M, his family, and the Spanish women. We all relaxed by the fire in their lux camp that evening, and hablamos en español todo la noche.

Under the Kenyan stars at night:

Mutunyi Community

2009-06-24T16:40:00.002+02:00

Friday night

I went to one of the communities today with Jon. We drove along the main road, which, right now, is under major construction. He drove fast, and I – unlike most people it seems – put on my seat belt and hung on for dear life.

Because of the drought everything is brown. But the community Jon took me to was green. He has implemented with them an irrigation project, as well as agricultural training, where farmers get to go around and learn by seeing other farms that have mixed crops, as opposed to just one cash crop. This is to help soil quality, biodiversity, and of course to be less vulnerable to the ups and downs of the market.
The farmer and his daughter, who were both working away when we got there, let me take photos, and gave me fresh sweet passion fruit, that had fallen straight off the branch.

On the way we got stopped by many people who wanted to talk to Jon, a well-known face (and truck) in the area.Jon and the farmer in the background:On the way out I took pictures of the roads to show the difference between the new and old roads in the small community. With the money raised by Lewa the people had chosen to fix the roads, seeing as they literally lead the way to making everything else accessible – market, schools, healthcare, etc. Jon told me that now not only are people able to sell in their local area, but they are also producing enough to sell to the big market in Nairobi.

One of three Lewa Clinics

2009-06-23T06:27:00.003+02:00

Friday June 12

I had a lovely lunch with Jane yesterday. We talked and talked. She left for Maine this morning.

Chef Frida and I in our "dining room":Jane and Glory and I in Glory's office (that I share)
Jane with the security men (head of security, Jon, on the right):

After lunch I went to see the Lewa Clinic, and met Agnes, Fridah, and Francis: head nurse, lab technician, and attendant respectively.
I took photos of the clinic and talked to Agnes for a long time. She told me about all the work they do there. HIV and AIDS education, family planning, children’s health monitoring, support for pre- and post-natal women, preventative health, and even mental health. Apparently there is a lot of stress-related anxiety and depression, for women, for the unemployed, and also for youth, specifically with substance abuse problems and schizophrenia. I was so surprised, thinking all along that mental health was more of a North America problem! But people are really really poor. That is definitely depressing.
The clinics are busy and underfunded. She talked about the work they do in the northern community of Leparua, and the Maasai communities even beyond that, which they reach via the mobile clinic. She said she had been able to gain their trust and was slowly teaching them to come for examinations, and take chemical medicine, instead of herbs. The main challenge, she told me, was that of hygiene, which was the cause of many sicknesses, especially waterborne diseases.

Halfway through my visit two little girls were waiting to see the nurse. The young one, about 6 years old I think, was accompanied by her older sister. She was coming for a follow-up shot for Malaria. Long, gangly girls with big bright eyes and short hair. I popped my head around the corner and said Habari ya subui! Knowing full well it was afternoon, and I had just asked them how they were this morning. They burst out laughing - half in surprise that I spoke Kiswahili to them in the first place, and, in unison, corrected me right away: Habari ya jioni!

Agnes said I could take a photo of her administering the shot, but when the girl saw me, she said “I don’t want to cry in front of the mzungu.” So I excused myself and walked around until they were finished. I was nearby and I could hear the girl crying, but I could also hear Agnes talking soothingly and laughing with her. When I returned she told me the girl had said, covering her eyes, “you prepare everything and tell me to come in when you’re ready – I don’t want to see the needle until it’s the last minute.”
I took photos of the clinic, and took notes about the work they were doing there. While Agnes saw more patients (they see 500-600 a month!), I spoke to the lab technician. She talked to me about all the different and most common ailments they see at the clinic: Malaria, HIV, TB, typhoid and very often intestinal worms, causing diarrhea. Again I was told about the problem of hygiene with water; people using a local river for toilets, washing, laundry and cooking, etc.
She also showed me the TB hood, which is like a cupboard with a plexi-glass front (I think?), where they store infectious items. She said right now it isn’t finished being constructed and that instead she had been wearing a mouth and nose mask. All the hood needs is an extractor fan and a UV light, but they don’t have the money to complete it.
It’s dangerous for you, I said.
Yes, she said, Sometimes I am scared. The other day we had a bad case and we lost someone to TB.

It’s amazing what they do there at the clinic. It's the closest medical site within 25kms, which for people without a vehicle is far. But it is well-equipped, and the staff are excellent. Qualified, patient, caring, and hard working.
The place is Small. The treatment room is also the filing and records room, is also the observation room, is also the tea-room, is also the store for immunizations. And the attendant was sitting next to a pile of paper, slowly slowly inputting things into a small old laptop. They said they are also saving for a new computer, but for now it’s slowly, slowly.

How high is your tolerance for uncomfortable feelings?

2009-06-22T16:32:00.004+02:00

Thursday June 11th:

I have been in Kenya for a week, and I am not going to beat around the bush. Racism is alive and well in Africa. But in a totally different way than I have witnessed it so far.

Don’t think me naïve. I know racism exists everywhere in certain forms. It exists in Canada. I know people who are subjected to it, and I know those who perpetuate it too. I try my best everyday not to enact racism.

We all know people who say “I’m not racist – I have black friends.” But it’s not that simple. It never is, is it?
The system is made up of classes. A class system that is racialized. So people act condescending to one person and friendly to another; but the fact of the matter is, who you think you’re better than, and who you’re friends with is based on class, and while the “upper classes” may include black Kenyans, but I have yet to see the “lower class” include any whites.

I put classes in quotation marks, because I think they’re such BS. I don’t know if talking about this is PC, but it’s what is on my mind.
I have really been struggling with it. And I think that struggling with things that make you uncomfortable is one of the most important learning experiences travel can bring.

I have been thinking about Malcolm X a lot lately. I really wish I had brought my copy of his autobiography.
Over the week I have been sitting with my new friends, and have talked with them about racism and neo-colonialism. One person mentioned people who let themselves be oppressed. It reminded me of Malcolm X’s metaphor about the house slave versus the field slaves. And the house slave’s fear of losing what little he had gained, which was relatively much more than the people working the fields.
I wish I had that book with me now. I need to re-read it (Mental Note #1).

On a lighter note, last night I ate dinner with the owners of the production company, and their guests from Spain. They set up this luxurious camp with lights, and couches and a huge fire. It was just beautiful. They tell me that actually that is their normal line of work. There was a bar, and a serving area, and a big table and chairs. It was amazing to be under the stars, like something you would see in the movies. I haven’t seen Out of Africa (terrible, I know), but I have been told that this camp industry started in the colonial times.

I really feel like I am getting an inside look at a whole different world, one that I have only read about, back home in Toronto. It got me thinking about Larry’s book, which I still haven’t finished reading. It’s just hard to read about Africa, when you’re here, and there’s so much to see and hear and think about. I could write my own bloody book, if I could type as fast as my thoughts fly around in my head!

Dinner was pleasant. One of the owners had his son with him. An 8 year old beauty, with brown skin and the curly gorgeous hair that only a mixed kid can have. A smart little thing, that took a liking to me, but spent a good amount of effort trying to launch peanuts into my big hair when I wasn’t looking – what can you do? He had been in the car all day, had energy to burn.

We all spoke in Spanish. The women visiting were artists in photography and film, here to document in their own way the production and the landscape, I think (okay, so maybe my Spanish is a little rusty – or rustico as my sister would say).

After dinner I excused myself and said goodnight. I was about to enter my tent when I decided to go to the other fire where I usually stay. I could see light, and hear soft voices. P, the carpenter, was there with J. S was of course still working hard in the kitchen even after the lights went out. The first one up and the last to go to bed, but he said he was used to it. Instead of calling it “going to bed” he called it “resting for a while” which is what I tell myself when I am pulling all-nighters during exams. I sat and talked with them for a long while. J told me that she is also an actor on a local comedy show in Nairobi. Which explains a Lot.

S finally joined us.
He told me about his family, and his shamba (small farm). He would go after this trip and rest and work there, growing coffee and tea mainly, until the next camp job. We talked about the cash crops, comparing Canada to Kenya, and he told me that even though they finally had what they needed, land, water, production, the market was failing them. The market was flooded, and the prices were low.

I felt sad, as I often do when I travel and make friends with people who will work hard hard hard, all their lives - maybe harder than you or I could imagine - without the good luck I have had to be able to travel (Mental Note #2: I must write to my friends in Cuba and tell them about this trip). I asked S if he’d ever been to India, because he spoke with such fondness of India and his curries were so delicious. He laughed though when I asked and said No, no. He had never left Kenya. He couldn’t afford it. He would love to travel though.

It had been dark dark, but the moon, which is rising later now, was coming up, and by the time I walked back to my tent it was casting a bright clear shadow on the ground around me. I didn’t even need my headlamp.

Community development at Lewa

2009-06-22T11:16:00.001+02:00

Wednesday June 10:

I met with Jon, the head of the community development programmes at Lewa (excluding Educatoin and Healthcare). And he was totally on the ball. We walked to the Boma (the social area, where there is a shop, a canteen and a meeting room) and sat outside on a picnic bench. We talked for at least an hour. He first described all the programmes and activities to me that Lewa has initiated in the surrounding areas. Then I asked questions and he answered.

I asked him about participatory development and we discussed the differences he has seen in the success of projects when, in the beginning, Lewa would be in charge of everything, versus more recently when he has tried to involve the communities as much as possible in decision-making. Much more successful, and sustainable.

The conservancy wants to preserve wildlife, and this creates a human-wildlife conflict in terms of agriculture and grazing, etc. It was hard, in the beginning, for the local people to support the project. The thing that makes Lewa different from other conservancies, though, is that they have community development projects that benefit the people a lot. So by helping them with water, agriculture, building roads, healthcare, and education, they have gained the communities’ tolerance and approval.

In terms of fundraising, if you bring tourists to a school and they meet all the cute little kids that benefit from their money, often they would rather donate to the school than to the rhinos. However, if it weren’t for the wildlife conservation work Lewa is doing, the schools wouldn’t be there in the first place. But Lewa gives resources directly to the communities, they also indirectly benefit Lewa in return. For instance, the conservancy is surrounded by 147 kms of fencing that could easily be cut, but it hasn’t been. In fact when there were troubles with land and other conservancies in 2004, the communities around Lewa were actually looking out for this one, radioing in if they heard any news.

Jon said to me, “Every time these people see a plane land on the airstrip, they know it is bringing opportunities for everyone.” Maybe he should be in marketing!

Creepy crawlies

2009-06-22T08:56:00.003+02:00

Monday, June 8th, 9:36 PM.
Well. I was walking back to my tent after a lovely evening around the fire. Marveling over the absolute bright light of the full moon, I was thinking of all the poetic words I would write here in praise of moonlight, but when I hung up my jacket a huge brown spider ran by… Inside my tent, which is a FIRST.

Now there are big black spiders everywhere. In fact, it has taken a lot of effort and deep breathing for me to progress to where I am with the black spiders. I mean, I don’t want to get too personal, but usually when I go to the bathroom I need to be relatively relaxed. Relatively. But these black spiders are the size of the palm of my hand! That’s including legs, but they are not daddy long legs by any means, they have Big, spidery bodies. However I sit carefully, and think thoughts like “I come in peace” “I mean you no harm” which I am convinced allows them to stay still until I am ready to get out of there. It’s all I can do not to jump off the seat if they start running around!

So, I was sitting at the fire having a lovely time with J and P, and S, the chef. I finally had dinner with them, and got to taste ugali, which is like polenta and is the typical Kenyan food. And we talked about all sorts of things, and had a great laugh.

Yes and I came back to get ready for bed.
Enter the tent, hang up my windbreaker, and boom – BIG brown spider runs past and freezes on the spot.

I knew I would never get a wink of sleep unless I did something, so I went back to the fire and asked for help. P, the carpenter, grabbed a hammer and a bucket of “white spirits” (shellac?). I asked him if spiders were dangerous and he, very practically I might add, answered “sometimes.” We returned to my tent and looked for the mother. There it was. P aimed and hit right on. A couple times. He scooped up the puddle and the bits into the bucket, said “Lala Salema” and cheerfully walked out the door. Leaving me in the middle of the tent, practicing Lamas breathing to calm down and inhaling the residue of the fumes from the white spirit alcohol.

I can deal with the scary sound of the wind blowing the tent. I can deal with the dark walk to the bathroom at night. Growling lions, fine. Monkeys, a pleasure. But spiders, and ticks, which everyone says are common, and which I keep imagining I have acquired, are a Problem for me. Capital P.

So here I am. “Spiders are small and they are more scared of us than we are of them, and even the dangerous ones don’t want to crawl to you and attack you on purpose. No, we are coexisting here at Lewa. I am okay. I am okay.” (that’s what I had to whisper to myself after Peter left, when I was still huffing gas)

Anyway, time to think happy thoughts. I will be here for three more months. Only my mum can read this and know what I must be feeling, as it was she who would run to my room and wipe the tears from my face when I had nightmares about spiders as a child. A sob story, you say? I’ll be the first to admit it.

Happy thoughts. I thought about what we talked about around the fire tonight. Lots of things. They are big laughers and jokers, these Kenyans. Maybe it is just this gang, but I can appreciate it.

For example, one of the guys bought a new fridge, and needs to move it to his house up in the country, but there’s no electricity there. So there was a lengthy debate about whether he should use a generator or a solar panel, as well as many jokes about what one could do with a big fridge (who knew?). It turns out that someone else around the fire uses a solar panel, and that is the way to go! I was surprised, but not too surprised, because other places I have been to, Cuba especially, also use solar panels much more than we do at home. And if you have a spare battery you can even charge it for the cloudy days.

On and on, we chatted by the fire.
People told stories about the longest walks they ever did. In 1965, one man walked kilometers between two towns all in one day. When he said he couldn’t walk again for a week everyone burst out laughing.

Well that has distracted me, and I am feeling better. I really like that gang. I am so glad that they’re here. It’s like a different taste of Kenya inside this utopian zone. Although they sometimes talk about heavy stuff, they always intersperse it with a few well-placed jokes, and they are smart and lovely. I am so thankful that I have made some friends.

Tu-onane kesho (see you tomorrow).

Assignment #1 Plus

2009-06-19T07:38:00.009+02:00

Sunday night

Assignment # 1
I have decided after much procrastination to tackle assignment number one. In reality, I am seeing and hearing so much that I think and talk about culture all the time. It doesn’t feel enough to try to summarize and write it down in one go.

Really I thought what Larissa wrote summarized the typical Canadian. I definitely share the qualities of being used to personal space, a germ-free envrio, and politeness (as in even when your dinner isn’t fine and the waiter asks you “how is everything?” you say “it’s fine.”). But as well, I have realized being here (where the first thing people see about me is my whiteness, which I think is related to Britishness) that I have a whole different culture as well.

When I tell people that my mum is Indian they say “Oh so that’s why you have that dark hair!” And my dad is Irish, and I was born in Ireland. So the fact that the Kenyan people love to tell stories (and they’re good at it too), and laugh and joke around – I can really appreciate. And maybe due to my own travels, or because my dad's connection with Latin American culture (who knows the reason) I learned to be warm, and to actually touch people, like, physically – which I am learning is not a universal sentiment!

Also it turns out that to be mixed is very Canadian. I guess this is part of what Larissa would call embracing diversity. Telling people about my parentage, and that my partner is a Slovak, and that my mum’s partner is Polish, always gets a reaction. And when they ask me about cultural practices in Toronto I find myself saying “Well, it depends on the community, like the Chinese people do this, and if you go to Little Italy, it’s like that…”

I suppose this whole blog will be about my culture, and other peoples’ cultures, because all I can do is observe and record what I learn. These are some of my musings so far:

The Rains

We are waiting for the rain.

In the last two years the rains haven’t come. Maybe a shower here and there, but not the full rains that Kenya depends on. So everything is dry and brown. The animals are dying, wildlife, and cattle. I have heard that cattle are dying by the hundreds. And that’s why we saw so many cows walking by the road on the way here. And the tribes in the north are fighting over land for grazing and farming. All because of the rains. Everyone is praying that they will come in July ("winter") although the long rains are in November and the short ones in April.

Laziness
A woman I met – who will remain anonymous, and not a Kenyan – told me that Kenyan’s are lazy, that they do the bare minimum. But they work hard all day, and they wait on her breakfast lunch and dinner.

People walk for miles in the hot sun, women carrying firewood, and men with their packages on their bicycles. They hand wash their (and OUR) clothes. If anything is the opposite of lazy it’s doing the bloody hand washing, trust me I know because I did it for three months in Cuba last year!

These proclamations have made me examine the meaning of the word lazy. What I think is that people have different priorities here. They’re not overweight, sitting on their asses, lazy. They know what is worth spending time on, and what only requires the minimum, in terms of importance for them.
Maybe other nations would be happier if they reprioritized.

Campfire Stories
Last night I sat at the fire with the team again. They share this space with me called “the village”. They are setting up tents and infrastructure for the marathon. They also work setting up high-end camps: with kitchen, full beds in tents, and chefs, and everything. Many of the gang have worked for years for different companies doing this. It is a big industry, in Africa, a legacy of when people used to visit in colonial times.

Anyway, it is very windy these days and so last night they were reminded of this story: A twister once came and touched down right on top of a luxury safari camp. Right on top of the tent in fact! The whole tent was lifted up by the wind and tumbled around in the air. The tent contained a four-poster bed, a desk, chair, wardrobe, suitcase, and the woman sleeping in the bed!!! They said it must have weighed at least 300 kilograms! The whirlwind lifted the whole kit and caboodle into the sky and tossed it round like clothes in a tumble dryer.

When it came down they went in and looked for the woman – where was she!? I asked, Was she alright? She was still in bed, reading, someone called out from around the fire and got a few laughs. But seriously, she was wrapped completely in the sheets, totally tied up inside, and had been protected by the bed frame. She was fine. Can you believe it?

They said she was so traumatized that when she came out of the tent, which was a complete wreck, she zipped it up behind her and the couple flew home the next day.
Did they sue? I asked. No. But then they had heard a story of someone who did get sued once by some Americans because they didn’t see any lions on their trip. How about that!

The Maasai Boys
Last night there were two new guys at the fire. Sitting off a little bit. They were younger than everybody else, and were wrapped in blankets as if they were freezing! I mean it was cool, but not that bad (coming from a Canadian, mind you). M and J, my new friends, told me they were from a town in the West that is 35 degrees Celsius at night and up to 50 during the day. They had never left their village. Once the team was there on a project and had hired locals to help with the building. They were impressed with these two lads, and got them to come along with the three new lorries that arrived yesterday, I think.

x

The guys went to bed early, and the people were chatting about how one of the guys said he hadn’t been in a car for years. It had even been their first time to Nairobi, and then up to the north and the mountains. The team good-naturedly joked about them, but I heard them saying – they are hard workers, and I REALIZED that they were saying this contrary to what someone had told them about rural folks.

The Maasai here are like the First Nations people in Canada, in that they are romanticized by outsiders like me, but discriminated against by many Kenyans for being rural and traditional.

J mentioned that one of the guys had been to school, and she knew this because his ears weren’t cut. So I asked what that meant. She explained to me that everyone goes to primary school usually, but often if you wanted to continue you couldn’t get your ears cut. Cutting and stretching the ears is a tradition that some tribesdo as an important rite of passage. However, the schools are run by missionaries, and don't allow the practice if you want to get an education. So those who want to have their bar mitzvah, Holy Communion, or however you want to look at it, have to drop out of school.

I couldn’t believe it. At the same time I could totally believe it, and I told them about the residential schools in Canada. How many First Nations children were forced to go to boarding schools where they weren’t allowed to speak their languages and when they finished school they couldn’t talk to their own parents, because they didn’t speak the same language.

They then told me about the different tribesmen that worked at Lewa and how they were really important and top guys, but still held onto their culture. Mateas told me that many rangers from all over Africa come to Lewa to learn tracking and other skills from these men because they are so skillful.

Around the Homestead

Well today I slept in. Jane came to my tent and we hung out, looking at pictures, and talking. She is an amazingly interesting woman, very artistic, and just open-minded and open-hearted.

Here are my cheeky little neighbours - who will steal the food right from under your nose if you're not careful, (and within an arms length of a big stick):

Those are my socks!

Although this monkey looks like she's checking herself out, she is actually staking the joint to see how she can get my lunch:I think am finally getting used to the sounds of my tent blowing in the wind. You cannot understand how much it sounds like someone or something skulking around either inside, or just outside.

My tent:

Life is so funny. Isn’t it amazing how we adapt so quickly.

Game Drive

2009-06-15T17:05:00.005+02:00

Sunday June 7th.

Our guide was amazing. William is of the Maasai tribe, and went to school for wildlife management. He knows all the names (scientific & common) of all the things pictured here... Unfortunately I don't. But he told us stories of all the mating habits, housing, hunting, even poo. A veritable David Attenborough!

Can you guess what this first one is?

I must be part of the giraffe family - check out those stems!

The Eurasian Roller:

Jane and William searching for game:

Taken by Jane:
See William's beads, typical Maasai handicraft - everyone wears them.
William learned a lot of what he knows about tracking and wildlife in college, but he also learned a good deal from shepherding with his father when he was growing up.Wild hartebeast in the distance:

Rare: a human encounter.

Not so rare: an elephant encounter.

Jane and I on the Savannah.This is an anthill. A relatively small one compared to some I've seen:
Black rhino mama and baby:
White rhino mama and baby:And as the sun sets, the moon rises:

And the creatures come out into the dark!

Feeding the rhinos

2009-06-10T16:31:00.003+02:00

June 6th, 10:08 PM

Can words really describe everything I saw today? No.
But I will attempt to describe some of it. The rest will be said in pictures.
First let me mention that Right Now a warthog is snorting and squeaking very nearby.

Anyway so yesterday was my first day at the office. After introductions and a description of the planned work for me, Elodie let me know that she had set up an outing for the next morning (which would be today).

So at 8 o’clock this morning I met Jane from Maine, who is also staying here for two weeks. We headed out in a ranger roverdriven by Ngori, a ranger who has worked here for 11 years, and Abdi, a volunteer who is a wildlife management major, hoping to get work as a ranger in the future. The plan: to watch the rangers feed. Jane and I squeezed in the front seat and Abdi sat in the open, back part with bales of green hay.

Mount Kenya:
We drove around for hours over wild terrain looking for Stumpy, a 41-year-old black rhino with her 2 ½ month old calf. We saw many other animals along the way, as well as beautiful vistas of Mount Kenya’s peak and the Lewa grounds (which are huge by the way!).

Ngori feeding the rhinos:
Finally we found the old gal (apparently 41 for a rhino is quite elderly), and took pictures as the rangers quickly threw down the hay. They told us that Black rhinos are territorial, so that even when it rains in another territory they follow the rains like the other animals, they just stay put. Abdi also told us that black rhinos are dangerous, whereas whites are more docile, so while I got pictures up close of the white rhinos, the the black rhinos kept their distance, and when we came close they hit the “road”.

Stumpy and her baby - she is very skinny for a rhino, and the rains haven't come, hence the need for feeding. See how her backbone is curved, as opposed to the white rhino, which has a second hump on it's back:

Taken through the car window, when they decided they'd had enough of us:
We also saw elephants, zebras. ostriches, impala, waterbucks, a hawk of some kind (actually lots of different and beautiful birds), gazelles, and other deer-like creatures.
White rhino (see the wide mouth that distinguishes it from the black rhino):

OH MY GOD how could I forget – we also saw lions! They were the SO impressive. We found a couple sleeping under a tree shaded from the midday sun, and we drove right up to them. The male just rolled over and went to sleep, and the female looked at us lazily and then did the same – they didn’t give a hoot about us… They must have been full.
The people at my camp told me that lions are only a danger around here at night. I have heard them “talking” at night to one another. It’s not a full roar (Jonathan, the CEO, said if it were the ground would practically shake), but one was very close to my tent for two nights, and then you could hear others farther away answering back. Jane asked me what it sounded like, but the only way I could describe it was like people with Very deep voices having sex. That is SO not accurate, but what can I say?

Anyway, after that terrible description, the lions we saw really were majestic Really, and not like the lions you see in the zoo. They were amazing.

Later on I walked over to Jane’s cottage (and almost walked into a giraffe). Jane works in accounting and finance for the Nature Conservancy, and she is also a pastel and coloured pencil artist at home. She and I had a lot in common and I really enjoyed her company, as she did mine. Tomorrow we will be going on a game drive together.

After dinner I went to sit by the fire of the team who are setting up for the marathon here. There will be a huge marathon here on the 27th of June, so this production group comes in and sets up tents and infrastructure. They are a great bunch of people, who have done work for films, and rich people just camping, and all sorts of events.

Anyway that is my long update. Perfect timing, as the electricity just turned off (thank goodness for batteries!).
Lala salema (good night in Kiswahili).

Nairobi to Nanuki

2009-06-08T12:01:00.009+02:00

June 4th, 6:29 PM

I am now sitting in my new home, my tent. Yes, I said tent.
But I’m not talking roughing it, by any means. I have a four-poster bed for crying out loud! And a wardrobe. And next door is a lovely shower with hot water all the time, Frida tells me. Frida is my… wait for it… chef. Oh how she chuckled when I asked her if she needed any help in the kitchen.

So where to begin.

I slept in due I suppose to the jet lag. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the Aero Club. They have a backyard patio from which you can view the small planes landing and taking off:
I got really excited and went to fetch my camera, but unfortunately by the time I was set up Elodie had arrived, so we hit the road.

Sort of.
Let me just say that traffic in Nairobi is INSANE. I have to admit that at first I just thought Elodie was a crazy driver, but after a while I realized that you have to be aggressive to get by in that town. Town? It has 5 million people. Our first route was totally at a stand still. And Elodie picked me up in a BIG black Jeep/Land Rover/Range Rover (okay, so I am not so observant when it comes to car brands).
Big as in I would describe getting into the thing as “climbing”.

Driving through Nairobi was really interesting and cool. First of al there are tons of people out and about. Elodie said they walk everywhere. She said they can walk really long distances, and really fast. There were what I would classify as makeshift markets all over the place. For all I know though, they are permanent infrastructure.
We even passed through an extensive market area built on top of train tracks. Elodie called it the not-so-nice part of town, and someone there was blasting Shakira, which I love.

The picture below is a small market in a village we passed:
As we got further and further from the centre, I noticed lots of people on bikes. Doubling, like I had seen so many times in Cuba. Carrying large loads of I don’t know what. Huge sacks, or lots of smaller ones. Things you think would never be transportable on a bicycle that’s for sure. I saw lots of children walking often in pairs or groups, all with shaved heads, in their uniforms, little cuties. Some really tiny little kids. I also saw lots of women carrying big packages. VERY LARGE. Like bundles of firewood. I mean I learned in school that women collect firewood, sure. But I am talking like logs loaded up on the back. Or huge bundles of grass. And babies too. Though not at the same time, at least I don’t think so.
We drove and drove. I didn’t take many photos because taking them out a car window is always a disappointment. But the view was everlastingly interesting. We passed through villages. Lots of people out and about all the time. Lots and lots of people, did I mention that? The buildings were all painted in bright colours, similar to villages in Ireland, but also painted with ads everywhere.
People looked good. I don’t know, I saw a lot of people smiling at one another. I saw a father with a bunch of children, and he lifted one of them up in the air and they were laughing. I saw a man driving a donkey-pulled cart. On top of the pile of cargo on the cart was sitting a woman and she was smiling and laughing as they talked.

We stopped at an airstrip after a few hours for food (see above). Afterwards, we stopped in Nanuki for gas. Then she went inside to buy onions and told me to shut my window and lock the doors. Men came to the windows to sell sunglasses, batteries, anything you could want. I just smiled and said no thank you, but Elodie told me that she said, “Leave me alone!” to one boy and he said, “Fuck off” so then she actually chased him shouting “What the fuck did you say to me!?”

The man asked us for 30 shillings (about 50 cents) as we were leaving, for parking. Elodie told him she wouldn’t pay. As we drove off we saw that he was actually about to put a device on the wheel of the car, like a boot or something. She explained that they were probably frustrated that she never paid for parking, but she wouldn’t pay because she didn’t know where the money was going, except into his pocket.

Just as we exited the centre of town and were accelerating on the main road a woman spotted us and ran towards the car. She was middle aged, missing several teeth, and she just booted it into the middle of the road. Elodie swerved and hit the horn. But there were other cars around and she couldn’t swerve far enough. She also hit the brakes, but we were already going pretty fast. At the last minute the woman seemed to snap out of it and swerved herself. I think, although due to shock I am not sure, but I think I yelled either What the fuck, and/or Jesus Christ. We didn’t hit her. But she was close. I saw the whites of her eyes, and usually I only use that line as a joke. My hands were shaking, heart pounding. Poor Elodie was shaking and cursing. She said the woman was pissed drunk. I didn’t know what to think.
From Nanyuki to Lewa the road was bumpy. Elodie told me it was 60kms but there were huge potholes. Although I have to admit, after her description I thought they would be worse. I mean I have ridden down some roads in Costa Rica that I swear were really dried up riverbeds. Anyway did I mention that Elodie is an off-road racer? The woman has got mad driving skills.
This bus had to drive half on the shoulder to avoid the huge potholes:
We even had to swerve over to the right-hand (wrong) side of the road!
Finally inside Lewa's gates - it is very dusty because the rains didn't come:

Nairobi.

2009-06-08T06:57:00.006+02:00

June 3rd, 10:58 PM

Left Toronto yesterday at 5.45
Flight to Amsterdam was OK.
I slept for most of the flight. Fitfully, but at least I got some winks.

Schippol Airport by the way, Fabulous.
Every type of store – but literal highway robbery, obviously.
They have these reclining leather seats that you can rest up on, which I did. I took a self-portrait so everyone could share my joy.

The flight from Amsterdam to Nairobi, was great. Daytime flight. I slept for the first couple hours and woke to an offering of food. Tasty, not bad at all food.

The map on the TV screen said we were just flying over the Mediterranean and the north coast of Africa to the Sahara desert. I had a window seat and it was a clear day. Sure enough I saw the aquamarine water and the red-orange earth meeting and going back as far as was visible. As we flew south I saw the desert open out beneath me. First what I thought were rivers (in a desert? Well I only thought that for a moment, ok). Cracks in the earth, dry clay, huge wiggly lines splitting off one another like veins on the back of a leaf. Black on sand colour.

Farther and farther we went, and let me tell you that is a big desert.

It wasn’t lines anymore, just sand colour. After a couple hours then I could see dunes, just like the desert in the movies. Wouldn’t want to crash into that.

Later, I looked out the window and saw the ground was covered with trees. Old old mountains, worn down by thousands and thousands of years of weather. Lumpy ground covered with trees, like a green rug thrown over everything. Dark curving lines of rivers here and there.
After a while the trees became more sparse again. What looked like an enormous river was off in the distance, (running north-south, and east of our path) was it the Nile? I don’t know my geography well enough to tell. Big though, as in if not a river then a great lake. And off of it more tributaries, splitting off and splitting off again like the cracks in the dried up desert. More and more and more lines cutting through the land. The water was light coloured reflecting the sky, but the rivers looked like they were outlined in black because of the trees that lined the banks.

Africa is HUGE.

Slept, woke up, food, tea, water orange juice.
I was sitting next to a couple of nice young women, Borna, a public health masters student from Chicago going on an internship to evaluate HIV clinics, explained the plot of the on flight movie to me as we both watched “Mall Cop” with no sound.
Finally we were making our descent. The sun was down in an instant and Nairobi sparkled with the lights of major traffic jams.

The airport had been a concern in my mind, but when I arrived it wasn't half as scary as the descriptions I had received. Bought my visa, changed a little money, got my baggage, went through customs and searched for my driver, Samuel.

Samuel was friendly, and we chatted easily as we drove – yes on the left hand side of the street – to the Aero Club, the aviation hotel at Wilson airport in down town Nairobi. Their kitchen was closed but he got them to make me chips and went on his way, home to his two kids and wife, after a late night pick up.

I tasted my first Kenyan beer, Tusker, 4.2%. The bartender explained a tradition of the club bar to me, where mobile phones are prohibited inside, so if your cell rings and you answer someone can ring this big bell hanging behind the bar and the culprit has to buy everyone else a drink of their choice. He said at that point most people go from drinking beer to the more expensive stuff, of course. You also have to buy everyone a drink if it’s your birthday, or if a pilot just passed his exam, and various other events that involve the ringing of the big bell.

Well now I am lying under my mosquito net, eyes closing, about to sleep. The crickets are a chirping outside, and I am in Nairobi Kenya, signing off.

Preparation

2009-05-05T19:36:00.003+02:00

So I'm going to Kenya.

I have been accepted to do an internship with the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy, through the York International Internship Program at York University. This is so exciting! Where do I begin?

My first step was to email family friend, Larry Krotz, and make a date for dinner. While the families are always looking for an excuse to get together, the real reason was because Larry has not only been to Kenya before, but he has written a book about his travels and work as a journalist, entitled "The Uncertain Business of Doing Good: Outsiders in Africa". The second step of course, was to open the book and start reading. As a student of International Development Studies (the industry that loves to hate itself), I have mixed feelings about being a privileged person visiting the Global South. In terms of Africa, this book quite honestly describes many of those feelings.

I love to travel. I was born in Ireland and grew up in Canada. Since I was a baby we've been traveling all over Europe. But it wasn't until I was in Ecuador a few years ago, that I realized what poverty really was. At first, I felt ashamed to have so much, when I saw people who, materially, had so little. Sure I had to save up, max out my credit card, put in extra hours at work... But the fact was that I had, and still have, the opportunity to go anywhere and do anything, and other people don't.

When I travel, what does it mean?

Am I supporting economies, learning, contributing my skills and spreading knowledge? Or am I reinforcing colonialism, consuming other cultures for my pleasure, appropriating styles, helping homogenization, patronizing with my 'outsider's expertise', and taking advantage of goods that are inexpensive because they are made by very poor people? I guess I'm doing all of those things. I'm trying to be conscious of myself. For now I hope that's enough. I am learning as I go. And I'm still going.

Don't get me wrong. I am super-excited about my trip to Kenya. Apart from it being a dream come true as a photographer, an outdoorsy person, and a traveler who soaks up other cultures' music, dance, costumes and customs... It is also an amazing learning experience in terms of the internship position. I have enjoyed and gained so much from my classes and my academic experience in general. But in the end, the best way to learn is to do, and if I can also contribute my skills, this trip will be just the type of challenge that I love.