Ostriches and Corruption

It has taken a while for me to access internet, so I apologize for those of you who thought something may have happened to me on the way to Kapenguria! It has been a long few days of traveling and getting my bearings. But I am alive and well, maybe more than well. The internet here ranges from non-existent to decent, depending on the cloud coverage, but I will try to update when I can. Anyways, here is a run-down of my time here so far…

I left Minneapolis Thursday afternoon, and after two stops in Chicago and Amsterdam, made it to Nairobi Friday night, Kenya time. I even made a friend on my last flight, an Austrian who is about twice my height and speaks an incredible amount of languages. His father works in Nairobi.

Michael met me at the airport with four other Kenyan men, who I like to think of as my bodyguards J and we went to his friend’s house on the outskirts of Nairobi to stay for the night. His friend used to be a congressman, so the house was very nice for Kenya and it even had a hot water shower! We ended up staying there Friday and Saturday night so I could rest before the long ride to Kapenguria. On Saturday, while we were at the market buying groceries, Michael casually mentions to me that we will be going to an ostrich farm. Oh, and that I would ride an ostrich. Yes, that’s what I said. It’s the only ostrich farm in East Africa, and you can buy anything from ostrich eggs to baby ostriches and ostrich meat. An egg costs about $30 and can feed a whole family. The things are huge, and weigh 1.5 kg, or about 3 lb. We also ended up staying there to eat, so I had the chance to eat ostrich. It tasted like chicken (I’m not kidding), and was seasoned kind of like Korean barbecue is.

 Before it started running. Those things are fast!

                                                                                Ostrich meat

An ostrich egg, sorry I'm sideways but it wouldn't save rotated...

We left the next morning at 4 a.m. to try to beat the horrible Nairobi traffic, and I had my first experience with how bad the roads can really be. The roads downtown Nairobi are quite nice, but in the outskirts (where we were staying), they are literally dirt with huge crevasses that you have to dodge while you also dodge oncoming traffic, pedestrians, and bikers. Because we left while it was still dark, I saw quite a few remnants of traffic accidents that had happened throughout the night due to the bad conditions of the roads. Kenya does not have an emergency number like the States does, so if someone has an accident and no one comes along to help, they are out of luck. One of the cars we saw still had someone inside, and I had the awful feeling that he did not survive the accident.

I also had my first taste of the corruption that can be found in the police force. There are several roadblocks along the roads, some equipped with strips of nails to ensure that everyone stops. Policemen stand at these sites and ask vehicles information about their destination, reason for traveling, etc. The roadblocks without the nail strips usually only stop taxis, but the highway patrol are different. They stop every car they can, and use any excuse necessary to get money from passengers. Michael had just bought insurance for the truck. They had already paid, and had the receipt, but the insurance sticker (that they use on the windshield) takes 3-4 days to arrive. Since they had to go to Nairobi to drop off Rachel, the girl who was here before I came, and pick me up, they could not wait for the sticker. So when we were stopped by the highway patrol, they threatened to take us all to the police station unless we gave them 20,000 Kshs (or almost $300). I didn’t even have that amount of money, but eventually they accepted 2,000 Ksh (about $30), which is quite a lot in Kenya. They said it was the “fine” for not having insurance, even though we DID have insurance, and would not give us a receipt. In other words, it went right in the patrolman’s pocket.

After almost 11 hours of traveling, we finally made it to Kapenguria, and to my temporary home. It has been great hanging out and talking with Michael’s children and wife, and I have begun to learn a little Pokot and Swahili. Pokot is the language spoken in Michael’s home and around me most of the time. It is a tribal language and not many people speak it. I will write more later about what it is like where I am staying (and post more pictures). But rest assured that I am being well taken care of. I am grateful to be able to experience Kenya in this way and to have such good company around me at all times.

A volcanic crater in the Great Rift Valley

Transportation, Kenya style