For the eyes.

Writing from a houseboat in the Holland.

Carpe quickyinternet. Taking the opportunity to post some photos we would have liked to have posted many moons ago.

We begin with our trek up (and down) Mount Kenya:

1. Day 1. I fed the wildlife. Biscuits. *Moves dirt around sheepishly with toe.* But my trespasses did allow me to take several dozen photos of these little brown birds. Mountain somethingorother. Here is one midstep. Cute, eh?

2. Day 2. The peaks! I think the one we climbed, Point Lenana, is hidden... Please note the lobelias.

3. Day 3. Old Man's Beard Moustachios in the vertical bog. Manchu and French? Or is it Belgian?

4. Day 1. Ostrich lobelia! Our favorite. This little one in particular was one of the first we saw. They grow much bigger. Upwards of 7 feet (no joke).

5. Day 4. Chameleon. A beautiful thing, no?

Next, tidbits from Nanyuki to Lake Bunyonyi:

1. A scorpion uncovered near Lake Baringo.

2. Kylie, Limo (our "nature walk" guide) and the cliffs. We climbed up (an easy bit) for a soul-at-peace view of Lake Baringo at sunset.

3. A giraffe amidst the greenery of Hell's Gate National Park (Lake Naivasha).

4. Tea time at the Tea Hotel (Kericho). Worn charm.

5. Tea!



6. A sitatunga - the world's only semi-aquatic antelope - in Saiwa Swamp National Park. Poor beasts. 2 square kilometers is all they have left...

7. Bougainvillia in the first of the outdoor showers (Marich Pass).

8. The river running behind our favourite camp (Marich Pass).

9. Sunset on the Ssese Islands.

Time for bed!

More tomorrow perhaps.

Best,

Sancha.

Wirlwind through Tanzania (aka Kylie ate goat)

poa kuchizi com ndizi nani frigi

Likely butchered that a hundred-fold but it's something about being as cool and clean as a banana in the fridge...oh my.

It's been awhile since we've written and we've of course had many adventures in the meantime, so I think I may address them in list form and we'll see how long I last in this stuffy internet cafe where I have limited arm movement due to my dress and have seen a number of mosquitoes circling above.

1. After a 21h (yes, that's right nearly an entire day) bus ride from Kampala to Arusha we disembarked only to be swarmed by touts and after steadfastly refusing, donning our bags and tromping off in what we believed to be the right direction one of them took "pity" (pity being naturally laced with ulterior motives that we were too exhausted to care about) on us and walked us to our hotel (very cute, bright and clean Catholic hostel). After a day of hunting for tours we found ourselves, two days later, at the base of Mt. Meru with two rather fit couples, one German and one British, in their 30's/40's. Mt. Meru was a lovely, lovely climb, though it didn't quite measure up to Mt. Kenya overall. We spent day one hiking though cloud forest, day two doing a similar hike only to find SUNshine! at the second hut and climbed up Little Meru (3800m) in the afternoon. The next morning we set off for our summit hike at 3am and it was absolutely beautiful. We followed our guide Godwine up first to rhino point and then up along a ridge around the ash cone from the volcanic blowout and up to the peak (Socialist peak, 4566m). As we neared to the peak the sun was rising and we could clearly see Kilimanjaro in the background, it was a stunning hike and strikingly different going up and down despite it being along the same path. After making our way back to saddle hut (Godwine complimented us by writing "extremely fit" in our comments sections) we then headed down to the first camp to spend our last night and hiked out the next day.

Kylie is losing paaaaaatience....

2. Off to Lushoto in the heart of the Usambaras there we
a. Ate delicious food at the Irente farm
b. Looked out over the Usambaras and down a 1500m drop to the valley below
c. Met Eddy the Ediburgh rugby player from NZ who joined us on the rest of our Usambara adventures.
d. Spent a day at the Mkuzu waterfalls (the sun came out!), swimming in ice cold water, sleeping in the sun, spotting chameleons, and Eddy believes he saw a green mamba that skirted across his shoeless feet...
e. On our third day we set out for a day hit to the Mzumbai forest (some of the only virgin rainforest in the area). We first took a daladala to Soni, then to Bumbuli and then walked along the road. And some more. And still some more. We kept asking and everyone kept pointing along the road so we kept walking. After a few hours we finally came to some forest and kept walking in search of the guesthouse that was rumoured to be hiding in its depths. When we came across the guesthouse we were surprised to see that it was a perfectly maintained colonial home with wood floors, massive bathrooms, down comforters, a usable hearth, and absolutely no one except the care taker inside. We decided that we couldn't pass up the opportunity to spend the night and sent Eddy off to the market on the back of the caretakers motorcycle to fetch us the ingredients for dinner. We took hot water bucket baths in the enormous bathtubs, curled up next to a roaring fire and pondered over how this place could possibly exist. (note: the Swiss owner up and left in 1981 and hasn't been seen since but somehow it's still being funded and is run).
f. Next day we returned to our home at the Karibuni lodge in Lushoto for a satisfying dinner of beer, buns, and peanut butter. Day after, Dar time!

3. Experienced first real African traffic jam in trying to get back into Dar's city center after cruising out of town to get our Dar-Nairobi tickets (so soon!), we did make our ferry on time.

4. And here we are on Zanzibar, a gorgeous town despite being full, full, full of tourists. We've had a lovely day and a half just wandering the narrow, maze-like streets and eating and snacking all day long (dates, coconut, fresh bread, bananas, coffee, spiced cookies). The sea is gorgeous and we're heading to the beach tomorrow for a couple days of swimming, frolicking and sunning ourselves. We've just come from the fish market where we dined on skewers of red snapper, shark fish, kingfish, prawns, tuna, fallafal, casava, salad, and drank cane sugar juice with ginger and lime (yummmmm). We of course finished off with a banana chocolate zanzibari pizza, essentially fried dough with banana and chocolate inside and covered in sweetened condensed milk and chocolate sauce.
Oh food.
Alright, I need water, and some stretching, and some fresh air and packing.
Take care, much love, and hopefully I will be seeing you all soon!

Water

Water. I suppose that is the theme of our Ugandan travels.
Since the rapids at Jinja, we have seen the surging rush of Murchison Falls.
Followed by the endless waters of Lake Victoria around the Ssese Islands.
And finally, the deep cool of Lake Bunyonyi.

Some days ago (I don't know when) we left Kampala in search of the Ssese Islands.
A matatu took us to Entebbe (the nearby airport town) from which we caught the ferry to the islands. A pleasant place! Very green and very friendly. Kylie and I *ahem* invested in olive oil and a bottle of white wine.

[Our camp cooking has been improving. Our first meal was a tasteless mash that consisted of tomatoes and partially cooked beans mixed with unsalted ugali. Mmm. Now, after some collecting, we've upgraded to some tasty things. For example, pasta with a tomato sauce that includes garlic and onions sauteed in olive oil (not no-refrigeration-necessary margarine). The other night we improvised a peanut sauce for our green beans. Not half bad!]

The ferry ride (4 hours long, not the single hour cited by the guide book) brought us in sight of a paradise. Endless water, lush green veg and tidy white sand beaches. Disembarking we were greeted by a young man holding a sign for Hornbill Camp. A short walk along the beach brought us there.

Not too much to write. Ky and I spent our days reading, walking and talking in the sunshine. Venues for reading included: a) reclining chairs, b) hammocks and c) the sand. I swam a bit too... maybe not the wisest decision as the shallows are host to Bilharzia - a liver parasite. Easily treated (one horsepill in 6 weeks that will make me ill for two days should set me right) but a bit disconcerting.

Ha! Noteworthy was the couple running the camp - Tina and Dika. An odd but fantastic couple.
She had the biggestfunniest laugh I have heard in a long time. Maybe best described as an inhaled guffaw? The kind of laugh that made others pause to have a listen.
Both man and wife were hilarious, but especially together. The time we spent at the little bar left us with sore faces from smiling too much. Fantastic story-tellers.

(Internet) time is short.

After the island Ky and I hopped over to Lake Bunyonyi.
Caught a bus to Kabale. A bus that was too full to accommodate another bum, thus we stood for a good couple of hours. The man beside me was rather large and kept taking swigs of his Bond 7 whiskey, but he was very helpful in directing us as to where we should get off to catch a connecting flight.
Beautiful lake. Very cool, very deep, and free of hippos, crocs and Bilharzia! Swimming in the morning, swimming in the afternoon and swimming at night. Bliss.

Next, Tanzania!

Best wishes.

Bits of Tid

Ahoy from Kamp-ooo-lala!

Kylie and I arrived this morning on an overnight bus.
And what a bus it was!
Began the journey from Kabale at 9:30 pm. Seated in seats 47 and 48.
We were (more than a little) dismayed to discover that the bus had a television. One music video was followed by another. Homemade-quality compositions in Luganda, Swahili, or English and most often featuring a generously proportioned lady (with a booty to keep time) in tight-fitting clothes.
Worse. (Or better?). We were then treated to Forest of Promises, parts I and II. The story (as far as I could gather) of a female police officer and her forbidden love for her convicted-of-man-slaughter charge who, naturally, saved her from the cocaine dealing ambusher. What more? She was engaged to the police chief. Many intense dialogues with furrowed brows. Ha! Evidently a product of these parts, but in English. Instead of subtitles in the local language, one man dubbed the whole ting... but not over top of the sound track. Rather, he spoke in place of the sound track. The result of which was a few seconds of frantic gunfire or impassioned speech interrupted by monotone translation.
And then the horn! Short three-note jingles sped up and blasted into the night air. Sent Kylie and I into a fit of exasperated giggles... until the lady seated behind curtly asked us to close our window.
Arrived, mostly sleepless, in Kampala at 3:30 am. Many passengers hunkered down in their seats to wait out the sketchy hours of the early morning. Ha! I grabbed the long back seat for a couple hours of shuteye, but was followed shortly by a man with hot sweaty feet... we touched.

Not sure how much ground there is to cover, but I would like to attend to some tid-bits. Following shortly, a few short stories.

To begin, The Midget, the Albino and the Woman with the Wandering Eye.
It took yours trulies two days to reach Murchison Falls to the North.
The middle bit took us from Masindi to Bulisa. (Did Kylie mention that?)
Bulisa = tiny town, but within 1/2 an hour we: a) bought water from a little person, b) were served beans (and beans only) by a lady with a wandering eye and c) passed by an albino on our stroll to the petrol station. Encroyable!

Next, for those who were at Mpala, The Recurring Incident of Edupu's Extraordinary Shirt, FTA.
Do you remember Edupu's special chemise? The one with black and yellow and fringes and texture?
You thought it was one-of-a-kind, didn't you?
Nay! We've seen it crop up here and there all over Kenya and Uganda! Sometimes black and yellow, sometimes black and blue, and other times red and black, but always, always stunning.
Who makes them?
Who sells them?
What marks a man to buy one?
Eternal mysteries.

On the menu, our excursions to Murchison, Ssese and Bunyonyi.

A la prochain,
Sancha Pants... and the other one.

Hello Uganda (and AK47s on bicycles)

So despite not much time passing since the last post we have been making quick progress, fueled in part by the startling realization that there is only a month and a week left in our grand adventure and that we have two whole countries to cover in that time! (well "whole" is certainly ambitious because it looks like we will be seeing very little of both Uganda and Tanzania). Nonetheless, as the title so states, we have come over from Kenya (the land of ugali) to Uganda (the land of matoke) after a quick day stop in Eldoret (supposed cheese capital of Kenya but we didn't manage to find the factory) to visit with Josephat from our field course, so lovely!
It took a full 10 hour day of traveling to make it to Jinja, our first Ugandan destination, after starting off the morning in a matatu bound for Malaba (Kenyan border town) with our backpacks on our laps and a swervy drive who did not cease to pick up passengers despite the obvious lack of space we were eventually transferred to another matatu (a little roomier but we were placed in the death seat up front though we consoled ourselves that our bags would serve as ample padding should we crash). Now, this matatu ride was going quite smoothly until we pulled into a gas station, another bus pulled up and almost as if out of nowhere a shouting match of the century began with men materializing from thin air. Almost as quickly as it had started it died down and we took off (though without a new driver and no word of the change). The walk across the border was largely uneventful and it was a nice change to stretch our legs.
Oh, but I lied, the crossing did go smoothly save for the border guard threatening to arrest Sanchters because her visa said two months and not three (woops, we forgot about that one) but we managed to get away with a stern warning after his "How would you feel if I let you go through and put your friend in prison" elicited only raised eyebrows and "really?"s. On the other side we wandered our way into Malaba (the 2nd!) and waited approximately two hours for our matatu (though I believe they are called taxis here) to Jinja. At first we were disbelieving of the price because it was about twice the Kenyan price for an equivalent distance but after consulting with other passengers we came to the conclusion that Uganda transport is indeed more pricey.
Jinja is a rather plain town, with plenty of hotels and tourist establishments but nothing much to draw interest other than being situated at the source of the Nile. Our driver didn't realize that we were stopping in Jinja and so only after we had crossed the Nile did I question whether he was aware of our intentions. Nope. Oh well we took a couple bodabodas to town (but not before serving to amuse a passing car stuffed with wazungu as we negotiated with a growing crowd of motorbike drivers). We had our first experience in a Ugandan restaurant (no we don't have that, or that, or that either...actually all we have is matoke and beans). We saw some cycling guards in teal uniforms with AK47s strapped to their backs (a first), discovered that roadside chapatis are EVERYWHERE and exceptionally delicious (and dangerous), discovered that Kylie's visa is not co-operating, and stocked up on 5 mangoes for 70cents Canadian.
The following day we took off up the Nile for Adrift's base and were rather overwhelmed by the amount of wazungu that swarmed the place. We spent the day watching people throw themselves off the bungee tower, reading, setting up tent, making dinner, feeling self conscious and having our first glass of wine (that we bought ourselves). The next day saw both Sanch and I free falling towards the Nile attached by our feet with a springy cord (we both launched ourselves and didn't have to be pushed, quite proud), making our way through class five rapids (highlights involved being smashed in the face with a paddle, not while being thrown from the raft but by our guide during our team cheer...Kylie hides her face in embarrassment, going over a waterfall, eating mzungu food, being smashed in the face with a raft and Sanch on top...it was a fabulous day). Go team Tutu.
So today finds us in Kampala, the capital of Uganda, after a bit of a confusing morning that involved the bodaboda driver dropping us off somewhere that was neither Jubilee park nor the center of town we managed to walk to the town center (at least he brought us onto the map). We spent the morning wandering the curvey-name-changing-mass confusion streets until eventually we found the coffee shop we were seeking and paid home prices for coffees that were as good as any good latte you can get at home (it's been awhile). We have spent the rest of the day wandering, eating Ethiopian food, and we're planning on finding ice cream (a hail storm prevented us from ice cream the last time we tried in Kitale...not joking), eating the best Indian food outside of India (reputedly), and watching Harry Potter...yup, that's right, it's a much needed western day for us. Oh, and dealing with visa...joy.
We have no idea what we're doing next, but we're picking up the pace a little bit to fit in everything we'd like, that being said we still like taking our time and finding the out of the way places so we'll see how this all goes.
Muchlove, take care, FTA

Poisho! Poisho nyoman.

Greetings from Kitale... again.
But wait! we had gone and now we have returned and inbetween we enjoyed many tings.

Premierement, Blarney's Guesthouse, half way to Makutano.
Barnley? Barnley?
The matutu driver (and a dozen other onlookers) puzzled. Out came the guide book (shame shame).
Yes, here: Barnely's Guesthouse, or, Sirikwa Safaris.
Ah! Sirikwa! Yes! Sirikwa!
The confusion erupted into relieved laughter. Silly mzungu, they seemed to say. Get in. Twende twende.

Sirikwa Safaris. A lovely garden getaway.
The lady in charge - 83 years old (and a little hard of hearing), but showing no sign of slowing.
She has lived around Saiwa Swamp all her life and built her house sometime in the 1930's. A house decorated with pewter beer steins and coats of arms. *Smile.*
On our tour of the facilities: Please do remember to shut the lid. It is a long drop and I have a rather silly puppy.
The puppy in question was one Jack Russel by the name of Ginny. Ginny was one of four dogs, and the dogs were counterpart to 4? 5? 6? cats - the biggest (and most persistent) of which was Huggins.
... And two horses who wandered about munching the lawn.
The lady's son, Richard, was also about. Tall, rakishly thin, and always a cigarette in hand. When he was [our] age he worked as a guide on Mount Kenya before becoming an avid birder (at a time when birding entailed shooting and shipping to museums in the U.K.).

From Sirikwa, we took a day trip to Saiwa Swamp.
Rose bright and early to reach the gates for 7 am.
The best bit? The boda-boda ride in. I climbed onto the motorbike behind Kylie and we raced along the red dirt road through lush farm land. Bumping along, the wind was cool and the morning sunlight illuminated yellow from over my left shoulder.
Our primary objective visiting the swamp was a sighting of the elusive sititanga (a semi-aquatic ungulate). Fait accompli! We spotted them from a wooden viewing platform that afforded us a lovely view of the grass sea.

Many thanks to Jane and Sven. They took pity on our state of car-fridge-lessness and fed us olives, macadamia nuts, avacado and tomato salad with fresh basil (Fresh basil!) and penne with mushroom and gorgonzola (Gorgonzola!) sauce and grated parmesan (Real parmesan!). And all this served with a brimming glass of red wine.

From Sirikwa we caught a lorry to Marich Pass in West Pokot.
Our first lorry. Quel ride! A little slow, a little bumpy, but, sitting in the cab, we were afforded the best view of the most beautiful stretch of highway. Green rolling hills patched in maize, tea, and (ghostly) evergreen forest.
Our driver treated us to a cob of boiled maize each.
The landscape changed from lush to dry. Acacias reappeared.

The campsite at Marich Pass was the best to date - peaceful, on the river, and shaded by so many tall trees.
The best bit? A cool breeze at dusk and dawn.
Vervets and goats. Goats. Mbuzi in Swahili. Kylie and I have become quite familiar with their colourful repertoire of sounds. Everything from a call that sounds like a crying child to a squelching fart noise that might be a sneeze.

With our base camp at Marich, Kylie, Laurel (grad student hailing from Maple Ridge), and I headed up and into the hills to the Mtelo View Camp. 5 hours uphill left us a little wiped (Ha! Humbling to see barefoot elderly folk tripping nimbly up and down the paths like mountain goats. Poisho! Poisho nyoman.), but the sight of our banda and its pink door was enough to compensate.
And the hammock.
And the shower! Whilst soaping, one could glance upwards and have one's eyes filled with the glory of the surrounding peaks.

One of those peaks, looking impossibly far away, was Mtelo, a holy mountain.
Kylie and I started our climb shortly after 6 the following morning. Down to the river and then up up up through maize fields, bamboo forest, and alpine slope. A lone bamboo plant to mark the top and a rewarding view all all around. A hurried lunch of maandazi, chapati, and banana before we scurried down.
Back in the village, an elderly man seated on a bench pointed back at the mountain and asked if we had really been there. Yes! To which he responded (and as our flip-flop-sporting guide, Hillary, translated) Will I climb there before I die? To said elderly man seated on a bench: we climbed it for you.

Back at Mtelo View, we settled our bill, rested our legs for a bit, and then continued on down the mountain back to the pass. We scrambled down a "short cut" but only arrived shortly before dark. Kylie has mirror-image blisters on both heals and toes and we can't remember our legs ever having been so sore.

Alright. Thems be the bones. J'ecrit lentement and Kylie and I are hankering for some icecream.
She'll swoop in with some meaty tales one of these coming days. Perhaps hailing from Uganda?

Mucho amore.
A la prochain!

A couple forgotten tidbits

So, as we were walking back to the center after our last foray into the blogosphere we realized that we had forgotten a couple things and that it's probably best that we add them on sooner rather than later (or they may be entirely forgotten).

First, I have developed a bit of a pet peeve (Sanch suffers from this too, though I don't believe it tortures her quite as much). People here have a tendency to greet us after we have already passed. So, say I am walking down the street, man approaching, man approaching, passing, passed, "Yes, hello mzungu"...Seriously? Half the time I can barely make out what they're saying.

While making mandazi yesterday (delicious fried dough) Pastor came and initiated a joking conversation, the jist of which was that the more eat Kenyan food, the blacker we become. Therefore, the more ugali, mandazi, chapati, sukuma wiki, githeri etc etc we consume, and the longer we consume it the darker we'll get (forget about whatever role the sun may play, it's clearly the food). I presume that this can be extrapolated beyond Kenya and so we won't run the risk of getting lighter once we cross over into Uganda.

About a week ago we played an amazing soccer game. It was afternoon on a school day and the sky was looking a little stormy but we took the bright orange soccer ball in hand and made our way, with a trail of girls and boys, to the field behind the compound. Not ten minutes into the game it started to rain, it came down lightly at first and increased in intensity so that it was like a steady Vancouver shower. A number of the younger girls deserted at this point. The rain continued to come down and after a little time it was torrential. I believe the only time I have seen rain close to this in Canada has been once up at the cabin, it was as if we were standing in a high pressure shower and had to wipe our faces every few seconds in order to see. Of course the game continued until eventually the field was flooded, the roads to the center were flooding and it was getting late. Ah! How we miss soccer.

There exists in town a bakery, it goes by the name "Ala Carte Confectionaries" and aims, I believe, to mimic the atmosphere of a French or perhaps simply European bakery. The first time we ventured in we were both delighted and horrified at the selection and the execution of a number of familiar treats. Resting up on a high shelf is the most frightening of doll cakes, the cake part makes up her dress and protruding from this mass of icing and cake is one of the most disturbing doll faces I've seen in a long time. Anyways, we had much fun looking through the selection the first time we walked in, but above all else our eyes rested on the "chocoballs". Now, Sanch and I are self proclaimed sweet, and particularly chocolate, addicts and this particular creating instilled a sense of fear in our hearts, mainly because were were well aware that we couldn't leave Kakamega without trying it. Today, perhaps a week from our initial encounter, we wandered back into the bakery and bravely (there was a quiver and lack of confidence in Sanch's voice...no joke) ordered a "chocoball". Now, a "chocoball" is about the size of my fist, we weren't sure what was on the inside, our guess was stale cake, covered in chocolate and then decorated with neon green icing. Oh dear. We took it, carefully wrapped, outside and settled down on a bench and proceeded to break it open. It was surprisingly tasty, I'm still not quite certain what's inside, some type of chocolate/vanilla/nut cake stuff, but certainly better than expected.

Alright, I leave you once again, muchlove and take care!

Origami was never my forte

Nor was Simon Says for that matter...
Baking cookies? Now that I can do!

And why might this matter you may ask? Well since we last left you...at the Tea Hotel I believe... we have embarked on a couple of adventures that have brought us through Kisumu, homestaying in the unfinished cement and brick home of 68-year old mama Rose and then up to Kakamega where we have taken up residence in a care center for 48 orphaned children. I think we shall address some of our favourite moments in point form...

1. Making chapati with Rose. As we may have mentioned, chapati is one of our favourite foods, despite (or perhaps because) of the copious amounts of oil involved. Since Rose's lesson we have been privileged to partake in the chapati making process with Melvin (neighbour to the care center) and Florence (lady working at the care center). Though each has his or her own technique, the key seems to be...add more oil!

2. While staying with Rose we were invited to her sister's farm for a day. The farm is located on a lovely piece of property, has a number of fruit trees (mango, avocado, banana...), maize, beans, casava and a number of others I don't recall. After spending the morning chatting, taking tea, and touring we were called in for lunch. Now, when Kenyans gave guests for lunch they go all out and the table was covered with food dishes; rice, ugali, sukuma wiki (green), chicken, fish, beef, some other green. Now (side note, I have lost my vegetarianism for social occasions) I reached across to serve myself a piece of chicken, unfortunately, the piece that came up on my serving spoon happened to be the head. Delightful. Face might be a better word, because the entirety of this piece was overwhelmed by an open beak and a look of sheer terror as if this poor animal was frozen in fright in its final moments. Needless to say, I returned this to the pot and took another, more obscure piece.
I then reached for the same. The sauce was really tasty.

3. While sitting on the grass along the roadside outside the center (munching on groundnuts of course) we were approached by two young men who introduced themselves and while one then fell silent for the rest of the conversation, the other tried to get us to agree to take him as our Kenyan boyfriend. Unfortunately his English wasn't the best and we weren't quite in a sympathetic mood and so the exchange went something like this...
"So, I am...well, I am looking for a friend, I think you know what I mean?"
(Kylie and Sanch wide eyed and innocent) "No? What do you mean?
"Well, I am looking for a white man"
"Oh! Really? A white man? Are you sure? I guess if that's what you really want... you might have to keep looking..."
The conversation went on rather too long, I think we might have gotten the point across that he was mixing up his words by the end of it, but maybe not. Blessedly, it began to rain.
Another gem from the conversation:
"You don't look like Canadians, you have spots" (pointing to freckles/moles on our arms).
I've decided that, on similar occasions in the future, I'll claim to be a nun.

4. The kids are incredibly lovely, 10 year olds that wash their own clothes, that clean the entire center, that do crazy amounts of school and want to teach you Swahili when they get home.

5. We didn't have water at the center for a while. In fact the entire town, and the next town over were water deprived. No one is quite sure why but it is rumoured that the water company may not have paid their electricity bill. Go figure. What this situation meant was that water had to be fetched from the river. Fetching water is a task taken on by the girls and boys alike (though I'd say the girls have the monopoly) and involves walking not too far down a mud path and then down a mud hill (which turns into a mudslide with rain... mudmudmudmudmud), filling up a basin/jug/any container, placing it on your head, and walking back. Now, Sanch and I decided we needed to give this a try and so Maggie (one of the older girls) graciously agreed to take us (Or did Maggie decide we would go and we graciously agreed?) and procured two wide open basins for us to carry (the size of the opening on these was already getting me worried). So, we marched down to the river and as soon as we turned off onto the path the laughter started, now, if nothing else, traveling through Africa has taught me humility, it is impossible not to laugh at yourself when everyone else is nor can you help but laugh at yourself as girls half your size sway by with basins twice the size of yours filled with water on their heads. So we were met with laughter the entire way down and cries of "Wazungu, you're going to fall!". Somehow we managed to make it up the hill without falling; however, with the amount of water I lost I might as well have fallen. We eventually made it back to the center, exhausted, humbled, and with just enough water to wash off the mud we were covered with.
Ha! The second time I ventured down, I was given a narrow-necked jug and an old veggie oil container. Picked my way down the slope, filled 'em up, and made it back up... with a lot of sloshing and very muddy sandals (and a chorus of laughter from the women watching at the water's edge). And then one of the young girls offered to take the veggie oil container for me. And then, "Here. Take this basin. It is lighter than that jug." And finally, "Let me take that basin, you can carry this little flask." Humbling to arrive home with nought but a scant liter.

I'm sure there is a lot more but Sanch would like to write and it's not coming to me so perhaps I shall quickly describe the care center and be off...
The center, Friends of Kakamega Care Center, is associated with the Friends Church, a Quaker church located in Kakamega in Kenya. Because the government funds next to nothing it is incredibly rare to find any charitable program that is not associated with a church. Most of the 48 children staying at the center have been orphaned by HIV/AIDS and there are also a number of children who come for lunches on school days. The staff are lovely, the children are charming and we are enjoying being a little bit settled very much.

Yesterday (a Friday evening), the kids sat down to a couple hours of television - a Kenyan soap... and then WWE. Kylie and I were thoroughly disgusted, but they love it. Enraptured, cheering uproariously at every greasy take down. There was a 400+ pound wrestler who elicited the weightiest (pun intended) response.
The wrestling left me sour, but all was reconciled when two of the younger boys, Armstrong and Michael, reenacted. Kylie and I glanced over to see that Armstrong had picked Michael up and turned him upside-down so that the latter's bum was in close proximity to the former's face. Funny enough on it's own... but then Armstrong proceeded to beat on Michael... with his chin. Michael let out a pained wail with every attack.
Kylie and I laughed so hard we succumbed to a fit of coughing. (Odd that we've both contracted colds on the equator? Well, Kylie (weakling) contracted it, and because we eat peanut butter from the same utensil...)

We also really enjoy hearing from you guys too, even if we don't get a ton of internet time, we would more than love to hear how your summers are going and what's new in Vancouver and the other side of the world.

If any of the Floridians (FTA) are reading, let it be known that if America wins the Confederation's Cup (Heaven forbid), I will cry salty and bitter tears of woe.

Muchlove,
Kylie and Sancha.

Oh Kenyan Internet

So, I had the goal of simply editing Sancha's last post, unfortunately, after waiting approximately 10 minutes with limited patience for the "editing" page to load, I gave up. Moral of the story, this post is a continuation of Sancha's last but it comes before.

Here goes the tale of the matatu madness...

The journey from Lake Naivasha to Kericho was quite the adventure taking a grand total of three matatu rides and covering a fair amount of distance, it was a full day affair. The first matatu of the day was a well worn vehicle that sounded as if it was on death's door the entire way from the lake into town (it did cross over at one point but the multi-talented driver hopped out and "fixed" the problem in a jiffy). Once in town we were coralled towards the booking office and successfully bargained to cut their proposed cost from 250Ksh to 120Ksh, go team, (so much for fixed matatu rates). The second ride wasn't so bad but did involve a couple of very adorable children crawling over me and ended with about half a blue lolipop (and gum) splattered down my pants. The third matatu ride was more remarkable for what ocurred before we even made it onto our transportation. Upon our arrival at the dreaded Nakuru matatu station we were immediately swarmed (as expected) by a number of men demanding where we were headed to. When we replied "Kericho" they all began trying to take us in different directions (towards their company's matatu) and shouting at each other and proposing ridiculously high prices. Eventually, Sanch and I decided that we couldn't deal with this at the moment and would take a breather for tea and as we attempted to walk away an all out yelling match commenced between these men (by this point numbering up to about 10). One green-shirted-one grabbed my arm and attempted to drag me and push me into a bus (at this point Kylie was not a happy camper and previous mild amusement vanished) and Sanch took the opportunity to run (literally booked it) away from the madness (unfortunately in the wrong direction and towards a dead end). Eventually the other men forced the green-shirted-one to let go and Sanch and I walked towards the exit (still followed by a boistrous swarm). At this point it was rather amusing, until, in their oblivion to anything around them, a little girl got caught up in the mess of men, was nearly hit by a matatu and then kneed in the face. Sanch and I escaped (though followed for three blocks), had a picana (mango juice!), and (with the help of a lovely server at the Charity Cafe) managed to catch a matatu without encountering any of the same men. Thank Goodness.

After the madness of the day of matatus Kericho and its lush green fields of tea did (and still does) seem like a haven of tranquility (for a city at least). The Tea Hotel, whose lawns we are camped on, is a fine old colonial establishment that is perhaps a little past it's glory days. The stone walls and terracotta roof tiles have aged graciously; however, the wallpaper is peeling and the green velour seating arrangements are quite faded. The pool is a questionable green colour and the pool-side furniture is showing signs of rust and neglect. Regardless, it appears to be an attraction for wealthy Kenyans and a number of wazungus. In addition to its faded charm the Tea Hotel is host to a number of interesting characters, which leads us on to the next story.

This morning, upon her return from showering, Sancha received her very first marriage proposal. Ever (congratulations are in order). It came from one Mr. LJ Simon, one of the workers at the hotel, and it came in the form of a very eloquent letter. Now the catch, Sanch has spent perhaps a grand total of 5 minutes talking with this man, but apparently that's of little concern, she would clearly make a suitable wife. And so, in response to this proposal, we crafted a letter of reply (with our morning tea and chapati) nicely explaining the impossibility of the situation. Oh dear, it appears that the question of marriage is appearing a little more frequently than we would wish and we may soon be crafting for ourselves a set of fictional husbands.

Alright, that's all for now, we shall see if I can attempt to post some videos but I have little faith in both my abilities and those of this computer/ internet connection! So this is taking ages, I think the video is a no go.

Muchlove Kylie

Greetings from Kericho! The tea capital of Ken-Ya!.
Pourquoi the capital? The never-fail afternoon rain showers. We have spent two nights on the camping lawn (joyously acacia thorn free) of THE Tea Hotel (there's also THE Coffee Hotel in town) and it has rained 2 for 2. Tentie (as she will be known until we baptise her with a yet-to-be-determined snappy Swahili name) has been holding up quite nicely.

First off, another short (but perhaps the best) hippo encounter quip.
A couple of nights ago, Kylie and I were situated on the shores of Lake Naivasha. The sun had set, we had filled our bellies with tasty tasty msg chicken powder noodles and were at last enjoying a steaming mug of our own kerosene stove brewed tea. Amidst our chatting about this and that, I slowly became aware of a steady sound... 
Munch munch munch... the rhythmic motions of a sizeable set of mandibles. A nervous glance over my right shoulder.
Kylie, I'm not sure, but I think a hippo might have snuck up on us. 
Silence. We listened. Munch munch munch.
We both turned, slowly, to look. Sure enough, less than 10m away, the bulk of a lone hippo, intent on mowing down the camp site's lucious lawn. Silence... and then humming. Better not to have a surprised hippo. Kylie and I ventured a giggle. 
You know, I would be more frightened if there wasn't that low electric fence between it and us.
The hippo continued on its path and passed with nary a glance in our direction. Phew.
... and then the power went out...
I suppose that means the electric fence is no longer electric?
Moving slowly, Kylie and I made ready for the night, pricking up our ears every once in a while for munching sounds.
The lawn mower did return, within ear shot before eye shot, moving parellel the fence but in the opposite direction. Funny. 

And now Kylie and Matatu Madness. 

The Hippos of Lake Baringo and the Tilapia Adventure

Just a quick update that Sanch will later elaborate on...or just write something completely different.
We're back in Nakuru, a crazy, busy, bustling city (Kenya's 4th largest), and are once again holed up at an internet shop a couple doors down from our lodgings.
We have returned, once again, to Amoody's, our lodge for the evening. This "charming" place costs us $1.70 each per night, is rather dingy, has both an eastern and a western style toilet (both squatters), and is full of older Muslim men who are rather prone to hacking quite loudly, wandering about in towel skirts, and chewing mirra (plant stimulant). Amoody's is of course opposite a mosque and so we get daily ceremony broadcasts as well as calls to prayer multiple times throughout the day (starting at 5am) from the loudspeaker that is aimed directly at the door to our room. Lovely. We just got in this morning from about five rather blissful days up at Lake Baringo. After a rather trying matatu ride up there (the Nakuru matatu station was an incredibly draining experience, so busy, so unorganized, and swarmed from every single direction), we arrived at Roberts Camp, a stunning campground on the shores of Lake Baringo. Some highlights include (yes! list time!):
1. Hippos grazing outside of our tent, the first evening I woke up to pee and crawled out of the tent only to catch a number of hippos about 30m away grazing along the shore.
2. Walking up to the top of the fault line that defines one side of the Great Rift Valley, running from Egypt to Mozambique.
3. Tea and chapatis at the Bahari Lodge in town, there is a lovely open top room that looks out onto the lake and a couple resident cats.
4. Swimming in one of the few areas off shore where it is too deep for hippos and crocs to take up residence. As part of the great tilapia adventure (as Sanch may or may not recount) one of the locals of Kampi ya Samaki led us to this lovely spot.
5. One month anniversary with Kenya, celebrated with a meal from the Thirsty Goat! Mmm Moroccan meatballs.
6. Joining some British kids at the camp for an all out campfire breakfast of sausage, bacon, toast, eggs, tomatoes/mushrooms/onions...they came well prepared.
7. Our first meal on our 450Ksh kerosene guzzling stove.
8. The staff, last night we ate dinner, listened to Kenya lose 3-0 to Nigeria, and watched the normally joyful staff get more and more depressed as the game dragged on. Also, some of the best soccer commentary ever, part English and part Swahili and definitely engaging.
9. Catching a ride back from the camp to Marigat with a lovely British couple on the roof of their Land Rover...and him sweet talking the police at the roadblock (roofriding isn't legal, but apparently they were convinced that we were safer on the roof than walking... or didn't care).
10. A spot of kindness from a notably tall man who helped (scepticle and on guard) us into an already-on-its-way and comfortable matatu. A seamless transition from rooftop to 14 seater.

That's all for now,
Muchlove, FTA

Kyles and Sanch.

The Tale of the Tilapia.
We begin at the beginning, at Bahari Lodge - a none-too-busy rent-a-room in Kampi ya Samaki. Kylie and Sancha have settled down to an alma-warming breakfast of tea and chapatis.
(Which, if I may digress to say, appears to be the great Kenyan culinary tradition = scalded milk and an unwavering dedication to the fry pan. I ordered charcoal grilled chicken today for lunch. Mmm bbq. But, alas alack, not bbq. I'm quite sure my drumstick + breast never saw a lick of smoke, but instead, a vat of veggie oil.)
Very nicely situated we are, overlooking the town and a tin roof from two upstairs windows. A cat here, a cat there, when we are happened upon (?) by Limo and Alex - cousins and locals. Limo and Alex introduced us to Bahari Lodge the morning prior and that evening took us for a fantastic nature walk. (Big brown scorpion, small black scorpion, spider, carpet viper, goat, goat, goat, a foot race (which *ahem* Sancha won) and a fantastic view of the lake.)
We talk. We talk of Kylie's vegetarianism, pepper and lemon diets, trophic levels, global warming, the 4 to 1 ratio of women to men in Kenya (?) and the speed of Y-chromosome spermies. Quite naturally we round out to the topic of fish and, yes, Kylie and I would like to try some lake fish. Tilapia. Fried? Bien sur.
Out into the town. Jambo. No tilapia here, no tilapia there. Asante. Limo arranges with one mama for our return at 3 o'clock. At that time there will be tilapia.
Kylie and Sancha return at 3 to the designated spot - an outdoor kitchen under the big tree on the corner. Greeted by Robert, a cheery fisherman. His mum is the lady in charge. Tilapia? No tilapia. But we do have mudfish. *Pan to a wok that bubbles madly over an open flame.* Mudfish are big, too big. What Kylie and I would like is something smaller. Robert informs us that he has time for a walk. Out we go to the neighbours in search of the increasingly elusive tilapia.
Jambo. No tilapia here, no tilapia there. Asante.
Kylie and Sancha are just about ready to give up on Tilapia. Robert, would it be possible to buy a smallish piece of mudfish from your mum?
Yes. But first let us go down to the lake. It is Saturday and the children did not have classes and will have been fishing. Maybe they have caught tilapia.
Onwards.
There aren't any children at the lake, but there are a couple of fisherman. After a short exchange Robert informs us that maybe they will have tilapia in 10 minutes. In the interim, would we like to swim? (Sancha had mentioned her love of lake swimming on their way over.) Kylie and Sancha glance at one another. Why not?
Robert jumps in first to demonstrate that the water is deep. Kylie and Sancha empty their pockets and follow suit. A few minutes later they are joined by another two swimmers, Raphael (That's an Italian name.) and another (whose skidaddles away before giving his name).
The lake is beautiful, the water yellow with its silt load, golden in the sunshine. Pleasantly cool in the afternoon heat. Islands dot its surface. (One of which is inhabited by one man, his 5 wives, and their 28 children.) Rain is falling on the hills to the north.
Bliss bliss bliss.
Time to go. Walking alongside Raphael, Sancha is delighted to hear that he love[s] the Canadian ladies. And, if she and Kylie return at say... 2 tomorrow, he will show them his house.
Walking past the fisherman (without mention of tilapia) Robert translates a joke. One of them finds Kylie very pretty, but, alas alack, he will have to work another 20 years to afford to marry her! Har har har.
Back to the big tree. Back to the wok. Sancha and Kylie buy the middle third of a mudfish. Ksh250. We only have Ksh220. Grudgingly (?) Robert says that that'll do. Rafiki! Rafiki! He assures his mum that we are indeed just friends.
Robert walks Kylie and Sancha back to camp and details the preparation of fish stew along the way. Fry onions, add fish, veggies, and a cup of water, boil for 5 minutes and enjoy.
Thank you, Robert, for taking us to the lake. It was beautiful.
Karibu. Karibu.
Kylie and Sancha hunker down to a spot of lake-side homemaking. A pot for the stew and a pot for ugali, both sizzling (but not quite boiling) over the fire. Pretty good! Beats the butterless and saltless bean-ugali porrige-mash of the night before.
In the name of delicacy, Kylie and Sancha do not return to the lake.
Le fin.

Field school, Mt. Kenya, and onwards, FTA

Habari!
Finally, a bit of time to sit down and recount some of the amazing adventures we have been experiencing.

Field school was quite neat (BOG, BOC, JMIPP, SYLN,FTA) and we saw an awful lot of wildlife, enough to come close to satisfying our nerdy biology selves. Apart from the cheetahs (and Sanch missed out on the leopard) we have seen nearly every member of the charasmatic megafauna that you associate with Africa. We met some very awesome people on our trip, both from UBC, the University of Florida, and the University of Nairobi, and Todd and Jake (our instructors) kept us constantly entertained with their ridiculous back and forth conversations. The lovely Nat, a masters student from UBCO is staying on at Mpala for three weeks of smammal research and upon hearing our plan to climb Africa's second highest mountain, decided to join our little adventure.

Last wednesday morning Nat, Sanch, and I said our goodbyes to our fellow classmates and got dropped off in Nanyuki, a large-ish town, with perhaps not the most pleasant of atmospheres, but it served our needs quite well. It was then that we met the man, Joseph, who was to be our guide for our Mt. Kenya adventure. We worked out the details and trustingly forked over the cash for what we predict to be one of the largest splurges of the trip. Joseph also introduced us to our cook Josephat (more on this saga later). We spent the evening stocking up on snacks (chocopower!), packing, and eating curry in a bag (Sanch and Nat asked Marina's if they did take away, they did, it consisted of veggie curry in a plastic bag and tinfoiled ugali and chapati), yum!

Mt. Kenya
Day 1: We got picked up from our hotel in the morning and were carted off to the gate of the Sirimon route (about an hour drive outside of Nanyuki), the car was older than all of us (1978) and managed to fit all our gear and 8 of us, despite being clearly meant for a few less. Our group consisted of Sanch, Nat, and I, Joseph (our slightly sketchy guide who may or may not have been stoned the entire way up), the very sweet Josephat and Michael (cook and porter respectively), and Ben (surly porter who's only redeeming feature that first day was a thumbs up as he stormed past me). From the gate we hiked for about three hours with a break for lunch, winding up an old road surrounded by some very neat vegetation and huge swatches of burned areas. The plants started getting awesomer and awesomer as we made our way up the last hill to our home for the night, Old Moses camp, at 3,300m (note to self, look for a book on Mt. Kenya veg). We spent the afternoon hanging out and exploring and later met a group of four hiking poled (insert jealousy) americans who are all students involved in Kenya in one way or another (interning vet, school aid foundation runner, interner at said foundation, and traveller). The evening went well with a delicious meal until one unfortunate exchange, which is really best recounted in Nat's words which I unfortunately don't have on hand but I will try my best.

We were sitting down for dinner and it went something like this:
Nat: "Hey Joseph, do you think we could get our sleeping bags now?"
Joseph: "Your sleeping bags? (long pause) Aren't they in your bags?"
Nat: "No"
Nat (inside thought): "Are you f* kidding me? We're at 3,300m, it's freezing, and it's not even dark yet, of course they're not in our bags, when would they have gotten in our bags"
Joseph: "Oh my God, oh my God, not in your bags? They must be in the office, I must have forgotten them"
Kylie, Sanch, and Nat: raised eyebrows...oh really...
Nat (inside thought): "No f* way they are in that office, the office is the size of a cupboard, we were in the office, there weren't any sleeping bags in there"
We ended up getting a couple blankets each, filling our nalgenes with boiling water, and wearing every layer we could find.

Day 2: After a sleepless night due to the cold and the howling wind that sounded like it would rip the roof off of poor Old Moses, we got a 6am start some ugi (cornmeal porridge of sorts), fruit, and pancakes. Fortunately the wind sounded a lot worse inside and once we got going we had an amazing day of hiking down and up valleys surrounded by some truly amazing plants that I cannot describe (but I will try, and in a few months time there will be pictures). These plants look like they are prehistoric and many have inflorescences that tower over me, some are fuzzy (think a cross between cousin It from Adams family and the muppets), some are water filled, even the sedges and grasses are stunning. We arrived at Shipton's camp (4,200m) at a timely 2:00pm and spent the afternoon alternating between oogling over the towering peaks, the vast valleys, and the adorable rock hyraxes (favourite animal so far, like Mr. and Mrs. Beaver from Narnia). Luckily our sleeping bags arrived and we were all coping pretty well with the altitude (despite Tod's horror stories) and eventually had to force a pill down Sancha's throat to get rid of the nausea. We went to bed ridiculously early because...

Day 3: After once again not sleeping we roused at about 2:00am and were setting off into the dark by about 3:20. We blindly followed Joseph up to the peak, taking it slow so that we didn't get too out of breath due to the steepness and the increasing altitude. The stars were amazing (Nat pointed out Scorpio, first time!)
and we could see Nanyuki off in the distance. As we approached Point Lenana (our final destination at 4,985m) we could see the amazing colours of sunrise and by the time we made it to the top (6:30) the sun was rising on the horizon and made for a beautiful view of the valleys and the nearby peaks. Of course it was freezing and windy at the summit and we lasted perhaps 7min before hopping down off the rock ledge and making our way down the back of the mountain. It turns out that the Naro Moru route down required us to skirt a glacier and pick our way down an icy snow covered ridge (that dropped off on either side). Unfortunately Nat's afraid of heights and the slightly sketchy situation did nothing to calm her nerves. We finally made our way off the ridge, down a scree slope (2 hours of death of me) and down to McKinders camp (4,300m) in time for a 9:30am breakfast. The camp was beautiful and we then set out for some more hiking. We spent the rest of the day wandering through cloud-filled valleys (more amazing plants), the never-ending vertical bog (requires pics or google to explain) and finally through a bamboo forest. It was an exhausting day of hiking (total of about 11h, many kms, and many vertical meters on the move) and required an awful lot of focus such that when we arrived at the Bamboo Lodge (3,050m) we shovelled down food and napped, absolutely exhausted.

Day 4: After waking up at a leisurely hour we packed up and spent the next three hours wandering through the bamboo forest towards the gate. We got to take our time, chat, and right near the gate Joseph spotted a chameleon for us (so awesome)! We hopped in a minibus that was waiting for us, stopped at the equator to take the tourist picture (there is an entire row of shops numbered one through about 30 set up around this sign), before getting dropped off in Nanyuki.

I'm currently holed up in an internet cafe in Nayahururu, it's quite lovely and shady (from sun, not sketch). Yesterday Sanch and I took our first matatu ride and were pleased to find out there is an enforced limit to passenger number and price (quite certain this doesn't hold true in Uganda and Tanzania). We spent the afternoon wandering around and housed ourselves in a cheap, if somewhat iffy guesthouse (LP describes the bar as a spot for late night carnage...not entirely sure how to interpret it and we didn't wander from our room to find out). We decided that for this evening we would splurge on camping in the isolated and empty (but perfectly manicured) lawn of the touristy hotel (hot showers!!!!!!!)
We spent the morning wandering and trying to get our hands on a stove that may be conducive to transport, it's proving to be a bit of a challenge, one lady tried to convince us that a stove that would take up half my pack would be perfect.

That is incredibly long and doesn't come close to covering everything we've been experiencing. So far it's been amazing, we've been ripped off a little, have dealt with visa from across the ocean, have figured out how to phone home, are stared at constantly, often yelled at, but have met some really neat people. We have yet to decide where we're headed to next (task for this afternoon), but this summer certainly promises to be full of adventure.

Muchlove, FTA
HBFT

Kyles and Sanch

Testing...testing...

Hey all, I take off for East Africa in just a few hours and this may be my best bet at connection with the outside world for the next four months. I will be hiding out doing an ecology field course in central Kenya until the end of May, after which time Sanch and I will take out packs to our backs and set out across Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania until our return at the end of August.