Day 1, Sunday, April 27:
10:15 a.m. I’m on a prolonged business gig in Nairobi, Kenya, Africa. Client has requested my presence at a 3-day executive retreat. Expecting a 2 p.m. departure, I check messages in the morning only to find that what I thought would be a 2 p.m. departure is now 10:30 a.m. Surprise! Frantic packing.
10:45: Clients show up (a bit late, thank God – on “Kenyan time”). A bus with a duct-taped window shows up in my hotel driveway. I ride shotgun with Andrew, an assistant photo editor who has just moved here from Mombasa. Behind me is Jane, mother hen of the whole crew. Off we go, headed six hours deep into the Great Rift Valley of Africa!12 pm: About an hour after leaving Nairobi, we pull off to the side of the road. We have gone up to about 8,000 feet in elevation, and come to a lookout point with stunning views of the Great Rift Valley. This is an amazing feature of East Africa with fertile valley, lakes, and soaring hills on each side.
12:45 p.m. We pass by huge settlement camps, current residences for Kenya’s IDPs (internally displaced persons). This is the U.S. lingo for those folks who were forced from their homes in the post-election violence at the start of 2008; much of the distress occurred in Great Rift Valley. (It is said that 1,200 people were killed across Kenya; the paper reported this week that 780 bodies went unclaimed and are to be buried in a mass grave.) For a variety of reasons, the IDPs still have not been resettled, and are enduring ongoing hardships like bad rains and failing shelters.
1 pm: We stop for lunch in Kikopay, at a small community of roadside huts that apparently cater to tourists and villagers. Green View Butchery is apparently the place to visit for the most freshly slaughtered (then roasted) goat. We eat with our hands, and it’s what I call a National Geographic moment. Not for the squeamish.
1:05 pm: I recall that Great Rift Valley is also home to Rift Valley Fever, a fatal disease afflicting lifestock that drove even many Kenyans to vegetarianism. Some who are reading this may know of my reputation as a picky eater; I’ve never been fond of gristle, fat, or rare meat and this stop was a test. Not since my famous horse-meat adventure of Singapore have my appetite and my social skills been so tested. My hosts are probably the most gracious I’ve had in 15+ years of consulting, so I’m concerned not to offend them.

2 pm: In the middle of nowhere, the bus stops. Kipkoech, one of the client crew, was raised near here and his mother still lives in one of the villages. (The father lives across the way, with one of his younger wives.) Everyone gets off the bus for a stretch. Shockingly, out of nowhere, mama appears for an impromptu family reunion. Smiles and warm handshakes and photo ops all around! This crew likes photo ops so I am fitting in well.
2:10 p.m. We pass a roadside sign that says “you are now crossing the Equator,” and it dawns on me that Kenya is near the Equator. (I usually don’t spend much time researching the geography of where I go, because I find it a little unsettling. Also, I figure, the important stuff will reveal itself in time – as in, proximity to Equator. Knowing in advance might have spoiled the surprise.) You can see a map of the region here.

A photo op is promised on the return trip, but does not materialize. I can confirm that it can be quite hot near the Equator.
5 pm We arrive at Lake Bogoria Hotel. I am told it is owned by Daniel arap Moi, the former president of Kenya, who hails from the region. (Google or Wiki him – I’m not getting into it here for political reasons.) Monkeys crowd the front lawn. We drop off our bags, take a quick tour of one of the pools which is fed by a hot spring (“constant 36 degrees Celsius”) and then hop back on the hot bus for a sunset drive through the nearby park which features geysers and hot springs. In the States this would be a national park for sure, but here there are no paved roads, and it seems like someone’s geologically interesting but unkempt back yard, if you had zebras and gazelles in your back yard.
5:45 p.m. The sun is setting and the park is near closing but we pay our entrance fee (about $1.40 per person) and drive into the park. We see some wildlife and on the shore of the lake are a million flamingos – not a great Kodak moment because it was dusk and I only had the cheapie camera, but still, cool to experience. After 20 minutes or so we make it to the hot springs area. We get out. Photo ops commence. Clients boil eggs in the steaming cauldrons of doom. There are no walkways or guardrails as in U.S. parks, thankfully, no one gets hurt. We get back in the bus and go back to the hotel for an uneventful dinner. I check into my “cottage,” am simultaneously horrified yet comforted by mosquito netting over the bed. I take my malaria pill, and have hardly any trouble falling asleep.

Day 2, Monday:
9 am-5 pm: Yes, people, we are here to work! My clients have scheduled this retreat for managers to plan for the future. That’s all I can say or I’d have to kill you. I am scheduled to speak on the morning of Day 3, so I have to pay attention! And there’s no Powerpoint to rely on so I have to really get my act together.
6 p.m. The hotel sponsors a “bush dinner” for us. Yeah, more roasted goat. Actually the goat seems much better this time around. (Memo to self: bring Wet-Naps© on all future consulting junkets.) I pass on the fermented milk (moonshine) – lest anyone think I’m a wussy about such things, please note I did drink bootlegged vodka made in the Kibera slum in Nairobi. Despite recovering from bronchitis I have a beer. I deserve it! A coriander chicken dish turns out to be quite good. A highlight of dinner is the sudden appearance after dark of a troop of local villagers, dancing and singing their hearts out in (I guess) colorful native garb. They force many of us to dance with them which – even though this is not quite my thing – is actually somewhat fun. Photos were taken of me getting down with the tribe but oddly they have yet to surface. Will I be blackmailed by my own client? Stay tuned.
9:30 pm. I brave a gauntlet of frisky monkeys to return to my room. One woman in my client group revealed that she once visited a local park in Nairobi and a monkey jumped on her back and would not let go. So from here on, I’m nervous about the monkeys.

Day 3: Tuesday
6 a.m. I make a point to set the alarm to wake up and view the sunrise. How often will I get to see sunrise over the Rift Valley mountains? There’s a cool lookout tower thing not far from my room so I head up there. Decent photos here, memorable morning clouds and light starting to hit the hills.
6:15 a.m. I head to the hot springs pool for a dip. I arrive to find one of our team just leaving, and about 100 monkeys, going nuts with the remnants of last night’s party. It’s ridiculous! Beer bottles being tossed about, monkeys in the garbage can. I’m wondering, do monkeys hate water? If I put down my t-shirt and camera, will they take them? The venture is fraught with anxiety, but I take a swim, the water is really nice and warm and it’s a good way to start the day. On the way out, I shake my fist (holding camera) at the bold lead monkey and he takes it as a potential offering of fruit or something, and takes a few step toward me – extra rude and bold monkey! I scurry back to the room, unmolested.
7:30 a.m. Breakfast. Highlight: porridge, which I am later told is fermented. This would explain the lime sort of taste. Hmmm … looks like Cocoa Wheats, but isn’t. Another African culinary adventure. Also, I’m becoming addicted to passion juice even though I suspect this is out of a can.
8:30 a.m. The show goes on – I speak to the clients for about an hour. They seem to buy it. The A/C is sort of making my bronchitis act up and I start obsessing about six hours on a hot bus back to Nairobi, but also fantasizing about a hot shower back at the Holiday Inn.
11:30 a.m. Quick lunch, a photo op with a gigantic ant hill (after checking for presence of ants) and with a ferocious lion, and we are off on the road. We pass by the Equator again, then stop at a roadside hut for honey (apparently unspoiled by the pollutants that can plague Western hives) and freshly slaughtered goat – yes, the clients are stocking up and taking loads of it home. I love local customs! (As they say, “>doesn’t get any fresher, or I’d imagine, cheaper, than this.) Wary about the goat meat being stored in the luggage rack above me, and the honey packaged in old water bottles, we take off, and luckily there is no leakage of any sort for the duration.
5 p.m. Back in Nairobi. On cable: “Gorillas in the Mist.” (Yes! Now I can cross that trip to Rwanda off my list!) The hotel buffet has a delicious cream of spinach soup. Time for bed.

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Fun facts about Rift Valley:

• The Rift Valley has been a rich source of fossils that allow study of human evolution. The bones of several hominid ancestors of modern humans have been found there, including those of “Lucy”, a nearly complete australopithecine skeleton.
• As if I didn’t have enough to worry about with malaria, a cholera outbreak is currently reported in Rift Valley (this stuff elicits yawns from the locals), and it is the source of periodic breakouts of Rift Valley Fever.

Yikes! What to do? How to arrange something special from halfway around the world? For some occasions, ordering FTD just doesn’t cut it.

I put on my thinking cap. I was going to be in exotic places. On one end was Dubai, United Arab Emirates, where I was to spend 24 hours on a layover en route to my other business. The place is dripping with money, and unusual characters. Wealth is everywhere. You may have seen the place on the Discovery Channel, or likely in the news. It would be my 5th trip there.

On the other end was Nairobi, Kenya. You might also have seen it in the news, with post-election violence that rocked the nation earlier this year, and even this week (as of this writing, Tuesday April 8, newer incidents were reported after the coalition government failed to reach agreement on cabinet positions). Despite all this, it’s a place of people and scenery that can be quite nice.

I knew I’d be encountering unusual and exotic people along the way. Dubai in particular is a polyglot of nationalities, en route from one foreign land to another. Why not enlist them to help wish my mother, back home in Indiana, a Happy Birthday?

It turned out to be an adventure, and an education. I met people from more than a dozen countries. Almost all were happy to cooperate, and in fact lit up when told of my request (requiring translation on several occasions). Turns out, a birthday milestone is a birthday milestone in any culture.

I met a Moroccan dwarf, a German nun, Masai tribeswomen from rural Africa, and seemingly well-off Arabs in traditional garb. (Click here to see my Flickr album of all the photos.) A family in the Kibera slum of Nairobi, with whom I was sharing homemade vodka (a little scary but fun), broke into a rousing rendition of the “Happy Birthday” song. (The photo above was taken of me, taking a photo of them, by my guide, Noor Khamis.) My few rejections included an Indian woman who ran away from me in the spice markets of Dubai, and security guards at the Dubai airport and in my client’s Nairobi office tower, who flat-out refused due to security or employer concerns.

Several of the conspirators asked to see a photo of my mom; I showed a copy of their anniversary photo that I had on my iPod (caused quite a stir doing this in the slums – the cost of my iPod probably could have paid to run water pipes through several streets). “No way can your mom be 70! She looks great.” I told them I agree!

The first guy I approached was a businessman from Kerala, India. I had just been in India for a few weeks last fall and we exchanged small talk about his home city (known for the best ayurvedic massages and other spa treatments). After I snapped his photo (which turned out to be too blurry from interior cabin light in the aircraft), he said – obviously thinking I cooked it all up as just a prank – “You know, I really do wish your mother a very happy birthday indeed.”

Me too! Happy birthday, mom!
(Click here to see my Flickr photo album of international well-wishers mentioned in this article.)

QUIZ 1: Identify each of the following as either a city in Kenya, or a geographical location in the Star Wars universe:

1. Eldoret.
2. Kamino.
3. Lamu.
4. Naboo.
5. Mombasa.
6. Mos Eisley Space Port.
7. Broglio Space Port.
8. Kiminini.
9. Endebbes.
10. Coruscant.
11. Trans-Nzoia.
12. Endor.
13. Kipkelion.
14. Molo.
15. Sotik.
16. Kessel.
17. Dantooine.
18. Nakuru.
19. Hoth.

OK, smarty pants, before we get to the answers, here’s another test:

QUIZ 2: Identify each of the following as a character in the Star Wars© universe, or a personality from Kenya politics, media and history:

1. Mwai Kibaki.
2. Lama Su.
3. Finch-Hatton.
4. Obi-Wan.
5. Raila Odinga.
6. Aga Khan.
7. Bail Organa.
8. Barack Obama.
9. JarJar.
10. Woka.
11. Beru.
12. Kwendo Opanga.
13. Mon Mothma.
14. Blixen.
15. Zipporah.
16. Solo 7.
17. Han Solo.
18. Amidala.
19. Sebulba.

For the answers, keep scrolling …

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ANSWERS TO QUIZ 1: Cities in Kenya include Eldoret, Lamu, Mombasa, Kiminini, Endebbes, Trans-Nzoia, Kipkelion, Nakuru, Molo, Sotik, and yes, Broglio Space Port (this is an actual location in the Kenyan city of Malindi, and I’m not sure if it’s an actual space port or just named that for fun). All others are planets or other geographical locations in the Star Wars© universe.

ANSWERS TO QUIZ 2: Karen Blixen and Denys Finch-Hatton are characters in “Out of Africa” which takes place in Kenya. Raila Odinga and Mwai Kibaki are the current co-leaders of Kenya. Woka, Opanga, and Zipporah are editors I am working with at The Standard newspaper. The Aga Khan is the spiritual leader of the muslim world and is the owner of the competing newspaper, The Nation. Solo 7 is a street artist I met in the Kibera slum. Barack Obama is Kenya’s favorite expat son. All others are luminaries from the Star Wars© universe.

Congratulations to anyone who scored 100%! You are well prepared to attend either a cocktail party in Nairobi or a visit to the next Star Wars© convention!

• The captain of our hot-air balloon reassuringly announces he is professionally trained and has hundreds of flights under his belt. I’m just hoping he’s not the driver of an Egyptian cab on his days off.
• I’m surprised the basket of a balloon can (more or less comfortably) hold 20 passengers and several crew.
• The views of the fleet of balloons, and the blasts of flame inflating them, are impressive, especially against the Egyptian sunrise.
• While not soaring directly over the tombs, we do get some amazing side views of the dusty, ruins-strewn hills.
• Once aloft, our final destination, and even time in the air, is uncertain, up to the winds or lack thereof. A nice surprise after the regimented nature of the rest of the tour. We have a decent enough breeze today, instantly soar to our restricted height, then get down rather low.
• A surprising highlight is the view of farm life from not so far off the ground, floating silently as locals greet each other in dusty lanes, workers chop sugar cane, and so on. I think of the cool views a balloon ride might offer of the farmlands around my Indiana homestead.



• I take more photos than I previously thought I could take in 35 minutes. Even manage to switch from regular to telephoto lens – not easy in our crowded quarter of the basket, but makes a big difference in some of the shots.
• As we land, more than half a dozen balloon crew race through the fields to meet us and stabilize the basket as the pilot deflates. We get out. We’re in the middle of farmland nowhere, it’s getting hotter, and I want to board the tour van to head back to the boat for breakfast, but the balloon company stages a hokey 15-minute celebratory dance to commemorate our safe landing (and maximize guilt for tipping). As always, I try to ignore the touristy hub-bub and look for local color, especially kids, to photograph. One kid sits pensively on a fence, not joining in the others’ begging for spare coins, so he quickly becomes my favorite. After a few snaps, he notices me and his demeanor gets a bit icy. I stop. Later on, I take a few pix from another view, and sneak around the hokey dancers to slip him a couple of dollars – fair enough modeling fee. He seems surprised and thrilled to receive something without having asked.

Link: obsessive Flickr album of the hot-air balloons, sugar cane fields, ruins, etc.

I take a single room on the M/S daVinci, a tour boat based out of Luxor, operated by a U.K. travel firm. Most of the passengers turn out to be Brits – fun travelers overall – and a small splinter group of German tourists. Fine print in the tour contract reveals the reality of Nile tour boat travel – some rooms have fair amount of engine noise, or even generator noise when at dock. And most of all: “The 5-star designation given this ship is from the Egyptian tour boat rating system and is not to be confused with international cruise ship star rating systems.” Fair enough! I’m not expecting The Ritz! The boat turns out to be pleasant enough. There’s a marble lobby, a polished staircase. So it’s not the Queen Mary – it’ll do just fine. A big attraction was the promise of 10 guided day trips to temples and such, included in the passage, with no extra fees or hassles for admission or tour guide. (You do tip the guide at the end, but this turned out to be a big convenience, not having to hassle with entry tickets at temples and such.) In addition, some fun-sounding optional premium trips, like a balloon ride over the Valley of the Kings, were offered.

One peril of the single traveler: finding people to cling to for camaraderie, conversation, travel crises (sunscreen anyone?) and drinking. A key determinant to who you’ll hang with is the table you get assigned to, randomly, on the first day, for ALL meals. By chance, I happened to float in for the first meal call just behind a couple of gays, former Americans now working and living in London. Bingo! A fun trip is guaranteed. Whenever possible, traveling singly or even as a couple, try to seek out and latch onto the gays if you want an entertaining travel experience.

Beyond the land excursions and meals, the trip was a winner with an extremely calm and relaxing sail along the beautiful banks of the Nile (including photo op surprises like this), warm breezes, minimal mosquitoes, nice warm pool under a blazing hot sun, perfect for enjoying a trashy Arabian romance tale picked up in the onboard honor-system book exchange. Traveling through the Nile lock system, both at night and at day, was interesting. It’s really a great way to take a trip back through ancient Egypt under the watchful eye of experienced tour guides and avoid a guaranteed boatload of aggravation dealing with baksheesh crazy opportunists at every turn (for which Egypt is widely known).

Links: Nile scenics photo album. Aboard the Davinci and people met.

• In Kenya, to state that I am from Chicago, Illinois brings an immediate, positive and warm reaction from many people who know it as the current residence of part-Kenyan Barack Obama. Will you vote for him? Will he win? What about this Wright affair? Will it do him in? Would America ever really vote in a lady president? All are questions I’ve been getting. (Kenyans are intensely interested in their own politics as well, owning a particularly young democracy, and politics consumes the entire front page of the major papers each day, and a good deal of daily conversation.)



• In Egypt, Hamed (above), the driver of an airport shuttle lit up when he realized I was from the U.S., but asked with concern, and a raised eyebrow: “Are you for Bush?” Seemed like a trick question, but I figured a quick NO! was the best way to go. Who out in the rest of the world, and especially the middle east, would want you to be for Bush? I find in such situations I end up apologizing on behalf of our national system that allowed an idiot to be (erroneously) kept in office. I promise to do my part and vote Democrat in the fall. This leads to an impassioned plea for me to be his pen pal via email, so he can practice his English. Everyone wants to get ahead.



• Also in Egypt, at the gorgeous, sacred Muhammed Ali mosque in Cairo, a confrontation of a different kind: Yo-yo (his nickname), above, a young man who appears to be in his mid-20s (turns out to be 19), approaches me, starts speaking in Spanish. He is training to be a tour guide (as is half of Cairo, it seems) and is also studying Spanish, as the tour guides here know that carving out a niche with a certain nationality will increase demand for their services. He wanted someone to practice Spanish with. After loosening up for a minute or two, I dove into my broken basic-level Spanish (dusted off from a remote area of my brain, left there after my winter in Argentina) and had a nice 10-minute conversation. When they learn you are from the U.S., guys like this often get a wistful sort of look in their eye – obviously, they have discovered it can be an easier, more prosperous, more exciting type of life, filled with opportunity of all kind. (Thank you, Hollywood.) Finally he asks: “What is love like there?” Well, what do you tell a young man from a country where certain kinds of love are punishable by death? You feel dumb saying, well, it’s more free there, but maybe that’s just what he wants – confirmation of things he’s read or seen on the web, something to dream about or aspire to. We part ways, and every one of these encounters reminds one to be a little more grateful for the freedoms we do enjoy.

Other links:
My photo album from Cairo’s Citadel and gorgeous Muhammed Ali mosque.

Seemed to me like the African equivalent of riding a mule into the Grand Canyon. For years, I had a major case of Brady Bunch envy after viewing the episode where they did that. But was it just too touristy? Too cheesy?

Once in Giza, seeing the herds (packs?) of camels around the awesome pyramids, I couldn’t resist. This is my chance to one-up those damn Brady kids. Seeing small children leading the camels around made it more irresistible. (What some would call child abuse, I see as a cool way to keep Egyptian kids out of the gutter! Who wouldn’t want an after-school job at one of the Great Wonders of the World? The school part might even be a stretch, but still. When I was a kid, I baled hay, boxed chickens, and sprayed DDT on the neighbors’ cows, but sure never made any tips like this kid is hauling in – even if it probably all goes to the old man. There’s a food crisis in Egypt, and it’s all good to me.)

After photo ops at the largest pyramids, my Egyptian guide, Shaima, takes me to the camel pen, where one is offered a 20-minute or so trek among the ancient structures. She handles the negotiations. “We will not spend more than 100 Egyptian pounds!” (This is $20). “Including tip!” She’s a no-nonsense kinda gal. She leads me to a particular man, his camel, and his boy. I ask the boy his name, and he shouts, “Ali Baba!” I ask the camel’s name – “Michael Jackson!” Yeah right. I mount the beast, Shaima snaps some photos (she’s good and has a sense of humor), and off we go.

A minor sandstorm appears. Michael Jackson is making some thriller moves; I have to hold on tight, often clutching the saddle (saddle?) with one hand, my Nikon with the other. The views of the pyramids are amazing. The boy asks me for my camera. Warily, from 10 feet above, perched on my wobbly hump, I hand it down from its strap. Ali Baba lets loose the camel’s rope, and starts snapping photos like he’s Richard Avedon. “Pose this way! Hold your fingers like this! Look to the right!” He’s obviously done this before. A little pro who knows where his baksheesh is coming from.

The camel is walked, with me on it, for 20 minutes or so. Ali Baba speaks to Michael Jackson in a secret Egyptian language that only boys and beasts know, ordering him (her? I didn’t look) to stop, turn, get down on its knees to let me off. Photos galore were taken, by me and the boy. At the end of the line, the camel is lowered and he kisses it, and implores me to do the same. Sort of grossed out by Michael’s horrific gums and teeth, I fake it. Then, naturally, Ali demands baksheesh. Ignoring Shaima’s limitations on our budget, I give him what I think was $5. (Just having come from Kenya I’m still confused about the conversion rates, so who knows.)

I notice Michael Jackson has spit on my camera lens. Big nasty glob of camel spit. Nice. Truly a day of peril for the Nikon.

I realize I’m not where we started. A small parking lot is a short distance away. Ali points and shouts something like: “Bus! Bus!” I’m not sure if I’m to flag down a separate bus, wait for my driver’s van, or what. Feeling a bit stranded, I wonder how in the heck I got here, and how I will get out – this would end up happening a lot on this trip. Eventually I wander around a half dozen minivans, find that my driver and Shaima have made their way here, and board for the next stop – the Sphinx! Just all in another day’s African adventure.

Links:

My photo album of the Pyramids and the camel ride.

Part 1: An observation deck 20 feet above a partly fenced area holding giraffes and warthogs, similar to what you might see in a U.S. zoo, but unlike home, you get super up-close and personal with the animals. You get to feed them, you can touch their snoots, they wrap their amazing long snotty tongues around your fingers (yes a Purell© high-alert situation). I lucked into finding a touron who took a photo of me in focus! Fun to watch the little kids shriek with delight as the elongated lovelies ate out of their hands. (Fun fact: giraffes have four stomachs.)
Part 2: OK this part rocks: Across the street was a “nature walk,” not really heavily advertised, but I asked at the ticket counter, what is the deal with the nature walk. “There is a 25-foot dominant male named Jock roaming freely in there. You can go in there with a guide.” Seconds later, my pleasant volunteer, Eunice, showed up to walk me through the trail (she studied marketing, wants to go back to school for second degree – “it is needed to really get ahead in Kenya”). We plodded through the scrubby woods in search of Jock, to no avail for 20 minutes. Then, eureka! Jock appeared before us – or rather, his gargantuan behind did. “Don’t walk up behind him, he could kick you in the head and you could die!” Eunice said as she proceeded to throw food pellets at his butt to get him to turn around. He refused. Shortly, another ranger happened by, who climbed into a tree to shake the branches to startle him into turning around on the trail, which he did. Seriously amazing to be right next to an animal like this, like something out of “Jurassic Park.” And Eunice brought food and I got him to eat out of my hand for a fairly long while. This would so not be allowed by the FDA, OSHA, the FBFA, or any other governmental agencies in the U.S. Ha! Another fine reason to leave the house – and the country.
Tip for Eunice: 200 shillings. (I’m constantly vexed about whether I am being cheap or not. I guess I am but I’m also always confused about whether a tip is encouraged or even permitted.)
Helpful web link for grade-school term-paper writers: Check out this interesting article from the BBC.
Side trip: Had the driver swing by Karen Blixen House and Museum. She had a farm in Africa, got syphilis, had an affair with Robert Redford – bless her heart, this woman lived. Rent the movie (“Out of Africa”). Not really worth 800 shillings ($13.50) – no one ate out of your hand with a slobbery tongue or threatened to kick you in the head with a meaty hoof. I can cross this off the list and say I supported Kenyan tourism at a time when it was endangered by international distortions of political strife.
Fave photos: local Muslim kids silhouetted while feeding giraffe