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.