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100percentforsure · 6 years ago

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Taylor and Emma Take Nairobi pt. 1

It’s been exactly a week since we landed, and I know the memories that feel fresh now, will eventually dissolve as new ones take over. I’m back from Kenya and feeling the “can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop talking about it, will never be the same” kind of way, and doing my best to 1. go easy on myself and 2. do something productive with the energy. Big trips are good for things like this - they shake up what you think you knew and cause you to step back and reassess how. you. are. living.

When Emma brought the idea of this trip to me a couple weeks before we decided to take it, Kenya had not been on my radar. Emma was born there, so it would be a homecoming for her, a totally different tone - the crux of the trip being what was likely a final trip to her ayah, Susan, who is 93. This was not expected to be a glamorous, restful vacation, nor one riddled with stories of drinking and late night escapades. This was going to be a heart trip - travel that takes you where it wants you to go. Fast paced, no sleep, lots of tears. Keep in mind, Emma and I had not yet traveled together. Having been friends for nearly ten years, we knew each other’s hearts and ways, but were certainly taking a gamble on the rest of it.

We planned it quickly with help of Rose Muya, Emma’s godmother and Nairobi native and owner of Timeless Travels agency - a powerhouse of a woman who chooses words carefully and prefers to question rules. She speaks slowly, surely, beautifully and I have taken on her “Mm”s that she folds into conversation that encourage you to continue talking, as well as a sort of auditory tag committing the new information to your memory. She smells of Joe Malone Orange Blossom and Nectarine, is beautiful, wraps scarves in her hair, wears a red lip and nail, and has a house built in 1952 lined with books. She was our guiding light in this adventure, a home base literally and figuratively, who told us we had nothing to worry about at every point of this travel to take on the burden of worry herself. When Rose came into the picture, it became painfully evident that this trip was written in the stars. Everything was all too easy.

Before I start, know this. In Africa you cry a lot. I cry a lot generally, but I was banking a cry, in some capacity, about once a day. Things are raw, you feel safe to cry, you have chosen to be awake over sleep, and everything is so new and foreign that your brain is on overdrive. So you cry. You cry every day. The hardest I cried was leaving our first guides at Ol Donyo; James and Jeremiah. The second hardest I cried was leaving Rose Muya’s house. Body heave cries, something escaping your body cries. You are SO TIRED after these cries. But you are in Africa so you carry on.

We leave SF with a goodbye to our ride, the ever selfless Kenny Feezor, a commemorative picture, some Gott’s burgers and grey hounds and call to Rose Gallagher (”if you keep throwing around ‘Nakupenda” like that you’re going to come back with Kenyan husbands” “....cool” ), and sleep through our 10 hour flight to Amsterdam. We barely make our connecting flight, but do, and around 10pm the next day, we land in Nairobi. I cry on the landing. We are now in Africa, but not exactly day 1, so I will start my story here, at day 0:

Day 0

There are animal decals all over this airport. The paper in customs feels different than ours - thinner and like wax paper. There are lots of Euro/ African couples with beautiful children. I will try and convince Emma that “these visas are a scam” (not true), Emma will console my customs fear with a pep talk and a kiss on the cheek, which will cause the lesbian couple behind us in line to think we are also gay and start talking to us about Amsterdam’s Pride Parade. We don’t have the energy, post 24 hours of flying, to correct them. We start using “Nakupenda” right away with our driver Joshua (arranged, of course, by Rose), learn some baseline Swahili, and arrive at the house, neighboring the Muthaiga Country Club (yes, that one) and the world’s embassies. Rose greets us. She feeds us passion fruit, shows us to our mosquito netted rooms, we take a quick handheld shower, and tuck in.

Day 1

Kendwa, Rose’s daughter, is up. She is under the impression we landed this morning (a LIE to get her to fall asleep the night before) and has enough eggs and toast on her plate to feed a collegiate linebacker. When I experience firsthand the energy this child outputs, I see where it all goes. Kendwa dances, she does impressions, she asks a lot of questions. Emma and I follow suit with scrambled eggs on toast, which we will have nearly every day for the next two weeks (a meal that will never be the same for me), fresh coffee and passion fruit over watermelon. Passion fruit will be the one thread tying this entire African adventure together as well - more to come on that. We learn this morning that monkeys don’t take women seriously - if one comes in the house, you have to fetch a male security guard to scare it off. We walk to the market, say hi to everyone and see someone cutting their lawn with a MACHETE, use the ATM, and head to the Karura Forest Cafe (”Oh my god, it’s Maxi!”) where we have a passion fruit patio cocktail and experience the rains down in Africa during our hike. We blare “Africa” by Toto and own the situation. Dinner at Muthaiga Club.

Day 2

Driver Sam picks us up from home around 11 for the babysitting experience of his lifetime. He has the luck of still teaching us about Nairobi, explaining to us nuances like “mother tongue” - where babies are taught the mother’s language, driving us through Karen-end (pronounced “Karende!”) explaining to us why there are speed bumps in the middle of the highway, and pointing out “very smart gates!” with some roadside vendors. He drives us to the Giraffe Center, which shares a space with the Giraffe Manor, but we are unable to secure a scam to get through the entrance. I rationalize that “this is okay’ as while at the center, I do not see any giraffes, at that particular time of the day. The giraffes are wild and still allowed to come and go as they please, with specific feeding times for photo ops I am sure they have learned over time. We snag our pictures, have Sam take us to a roadside market for kikois and the best bottle opener you have ever seen, and to the Karen Blixen house for tourism (”WE HATE TOURISTS!” -us, everywhere) and the garden cafe for lunch and coffee. I am exhausted but we are just getting started. It’s now time for us to head to meet Susan, at which point Emma gets quiet. It’s been 20 years since they’ve left each other, surfacing doubts you might expect - Will Susan remember me? Will she like me? But as we know, that is just not how these things go. We enter into parts of town where people look surprised to see mzungus (white people), and Susan’s granddaughter Knight comes out to meet us. Going on your own, even with a driver as good as Sam, makes getting lost incredibly easy. We are so thankful for Sam and the “way more than driving” job he signed up for. We see Susan, small and frail at nearly a century of life, but beautiful and incredibly stable. It’s so unusual to be around people who have lived that much life. We share pictures and stories and Susan prays for us, Sam translating the emotional exchange all the while. We Facetime Rose (”those were the best years of my life...”) and Ian (”What a beautiful man...!”). We venture down to the beautiful waterfall in the backyard of the slum, over a creek and through leaves as big as a person - where I will cry again when I realize how far from home I am and wondering how the hell I got here. We say a heartfelt goodbye to Susan, and a promise to return before we leave (a promise kept), before venturing to our next part of the evening - Emma’s father’s cousin’s house in Karen. Past 3 land cruisers and armed guards, Sam leaves us at a beautiful, private estate tucked beneath vines and overgrown vegetation, a gigantic backyard for entertaining, and horse stables. We have Indian food and gooseberry reduction with ice cream and share stories of the family, ending the evening with a proper migration picture-painting and discovering that there are two “Emma Louise’s” in the family. One of the guards drives us home at 1am, and after 3 hours of sleep, we get on a plane to meet our destiny at Ol Donyo.

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100percentforsure · 6 years ago

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Taylor and Emma Take Ol Donyo

With 3 hours of sleep and a 4:30am wake up call - we are late to leave. Our driver has been waiting for us for over an hour, but somehow is consoling us - “God will provide!” Rose says we will be fine, and we somehow are. As we are boarding the plane I meet Richard, an air traffic controller and giant of a human, and as I am Facetiming Josee, he gets in the shot to say hi, and offers to take a picture of Emma and I getting on our private plane. The happiness is palpable. 4 days later I will be crying to Richard as we hold hands on a layover, pre-Mara. This trip is too much for me.

The plane takes off, with only the two of us as passengers, and we start seeing animals IMMEDIATELY. I start crying. I can’t believe we are doing this. We put in headphones and do make up, sometimes you just have to feel like you are in a movie (wow are we tired!), and 45 minutes later, we land.

We are greeted by two boys our age in an open air land cruiser with nearly every item (water bottles, guide books, KLEENEX BOX) upholstered in green and beige canvas. There are zebras surrounding us. Is this real? I have not seen this much space before. We cannot stop taking pictures. (By the end, zebras are “whatever.” - simple plains game...)

“Shall we start with coffee in the plains? And then game drive to the lodge?”

We touched down two minutes ago in the middle of a field and are now being served french pressed coffee and fresh chia seed muffins in the middle of the African plains. The boys’ names are James and Jeremiah, they are Maasai, only notable disguised in their Western-influenced attire by a few facial tribal alterations that you stop noticing 20 minutes in, and their superhuman ability to spot lions miles out and fight them off should the occasion rise. Their accents are beautiful, this place is beautiful, they are beautiful. Emma, seemingly reading my mind (as she does), asks:

“So when does the rest of our safari group get here?”

They tell us this is our group for the rest of our time here - Ol Donyo only does private tours. We scream. This cannot possibly get better. For the half hour ride back to the lodge, we see more zebras (their striping an optical illusion to confuse the lions who only see in black and white - James’ favorite of the animals), antelope, giraffes (”lousy moms”), and A LION PAW PRINT (Jeremiah tells us his dog was just eaten by a lion :((((). The boys have to get out of the car and circle it for us on the ground because we are so inept at noticing it ourselves. City girls. They touch on marriages (arranged, multiple wives if you have the means) and James’ scarring (beautiful asymmetrical circles on his cheeks, one directly below each eye - burns to trick contagious flies to land on instead of an eye where disease can spread), we tell them we will have so, so many questions - they say it’s fine. They have no idea.

Back to the boys. They have beautiful eyes, skin, teeth and hands, they are lean and move like athletes. They speak incredible English, with accents that are warming to hear. James is outgoing and sarcastic, he already grasps the nuances of American humor. He likes to be challenging and makes jokes about the car engine dying, being lost when it is night time and we are disoriented, Black Mambas, and where he is going to seat all of his wives in the car. He is incredibly comfortable and established in the craft. Jeremiah is only a touch younger, but feels as thought he was born professional. You couldn’t pull him out of it if you tried. He is soft spoken, but speaks deliberately, is controlled with his delivery, and peaceful to be around. He is lovable because of his sweetness. He is taller, lean, adorned in Maasai beads, and usually keeps a hand in his pocket when he speaks. He is Maasai in and out, a fierce protector of the culture. When he gets tired, his accent thickens. They are both incredibly optimistic - Emma and I believe, to a fault.

We pull up to the lodge with 12 staff members waiting to greet us. They pour us champagne, they explain how the lodge functions, with its onsite filtration system supplying re-purposed bath and shower water to fill man-made watering holes and effectively creating its own ecosystem. We fill out an equestrian form notifying the stables we know everything and nothing at all about horseback riding, sign our lives away, and are taken to our room. It is one of the most beautiful lodges I’ve seen - private pool and star gazing deck included. As we are settling in, we see an elephant approaching the watering hole, (the staff is so good at getting excited with you), and after a quick freshen up, Jeremiah is waiting to escort us down to the hideaway. In the hideaway Jeremiah takes the time to fill us in on Maasai culture - tooth popping (the middle bottom tooth removed for whistling), running, how they tell direction (bird’s nest placement in the trees). We have some lunch in the lodge overlooking the plains and see a giraffe-elephant watering hole showdown, followed by one of the best massages of our lives with angels Ritah and Winnie (more on them later - their head massage that made me feel like I was on drugs....“She massaged me like she loved me!”). I swim and drink tea and change into the most safari outfit I have.

The boys take us on an afternoon game drive and sun downer (happy hour in the bush), we see the elephants, make fun of James’ clear protective glasses, James comments on a “nice looking cow,” witness one of the most beautiful sunsets of all time, and make the boys take 800 pictures with us and of us that turn out looking like a low key Vogue shoot. Emma begins her habit of asking the boys “Is that a lion?” when she sees any animal, at all. The boys inevitably answer “No,” and then she has to ask them “Are you sure?” as though she has an innate gift at lion spotting (meanwhile the guys are clocking activity about a mile out with no assistance). This happens about 1 million times. We part ways but know we will see them right after dinner.

Emma and I have a romantic dinner to the roar of lions, pack some thermoses, and hit the night drive. It feels like we are at summer camp for adults. Night drives are another freedom afforded during your time on a private reserve - there are no curfews, there are no rules to stay on the road, so your new boyfriends take you out in an open cruiser with a couple flashlights and filters and you hope for the best. Emma has expressed a major phobia of being attacked by the lion on said night drive, but about 30 minutes into our first one I will look over and find her completely asleep. We see so many animals, hyenas, especially - but we do not see lions. As an intermission, the boys take us to stargaze; one of the most fantastic skies I have witnessed. There is a different view of the stars and planets on that side of the world, James familiar somehow of all of them, and Emma and I lay on the ground to soak it in. We call attention to how we are essentially replicating that scene in the Lion King and, to absolutely no one’s surprise but our own, find out the boys loooooovvvveee The Lion King. “A bunch of royal dead guys are watching us?” After some more tooling around, and frantic combing of the landscape with flashlights, and more speaking of maa coming to terms there’s nothing out there tonight, we realize this is not the night for lions. Tomorrow is another day.

Day 4 - Best Day Ever

Our 6am wake up enters our room with fresh coffee. Today, we riiiiiide!!!! We wolf some food at the lobby, go with the boys to the equestrian center, which has been ransacked the night before by elephants. We meet Becky, who fits us and judges our ability with a few rusty laps around the ring - a quarter through lap 1 we are at a canter (a cause for celebration with Emma’s horse). We meet out in the plains with back up (hands from Ol Donyo, and their bigger horses) and are made immediately aware of how very in the wild you are. Giraffes and plains game are so close, and you realize you are essentially just riding another version of them. My horse is trying to push the pace, stop to eat grass, or fake pee so he can more grass, Emma’s is on perpetual holiday (were we riding each other’s spirit animals?). We learn a bit about Becky, who has given up her music career in London to follow her dream, 4 years in the making! to live in Kenya and work on the reserve. You really can do WHATEVER YOU WANT IN THIS LIFE. We enter from the bush onto the plains and once again in this great life of mine, I am met with the opportunity to ride a horse, fast, through a truly beautiful and incredibly open landscape. It takes my breath away.

We approach a gorgeous table set in the middle of the plains, and see out breakfast being cooked for us over an open fire pit. It is so picturesque it is unbelievable. We have coffee, eggs benedict, parfait, and some bubbles, and after some talk about boys, and some more bubbles, James gives us the nod. We gotta get to the boma.

Emma hops in the front of the cruiser to ride shotgun with James, for a reason I’m still not even sure of today, and the course of the entire trip changes. I take the back, back row with Jeremiah. And the four of us go on a road trip. We see ostriches, giraffes, pumbas, bustards (”B-U-S-T-A-R-D....”), but more important than the wildlife and landscapes, we enter our own microcosms with the boys during our hour ride. Oddly enough, each of us paired with closest match to our personality types, resulting in easy, flowing conversation and guards absolutely dropped. Out of respect for the boys and our friendship with them, most of what we talked about, will not make its way here - I have no fear of forgetting for the remainder of this lifetime.

We reach the village and without much (any) warning, the group of two women at the entrance begins to multiply and James looks over and says “Go! Go dance.” I don’t know what else I was expecting to happen, or if because I was so used to observing everything interesting over the past few days from a cruiser, but in we went. It is unusual to have people singing that in such close proximity, in patterns that make sense to them but not to you, and soon you have necklaces being draped on you and you are dancing, you are laughing, and you are very, very happy. The women started grabbing our shoulders with an extended arm (their right shoulder, to our right shoulder) as a sort of hug, of appreciation of acknowledgement.

We enter into a circle to introduce each other, There are about 15 of them and 2 of us, with Jeremiah translating and James taking pictures and talking to the village children. We try each others names out, and Jeremiah tells us a bit about their personalities - (one is the leader of the women, one is the funny one, she was basically the hype man of the dancing part, and one of them was straight up called “the fat one.” We laughed). I am able to replicate the pronunciation enough to be referred to as a “White Maasai” and am OVERJOYED. They find out Emma is from Nairobi and lose their shit (Jeremiah tells us later that they said ”We can tell from her hair!” - dead). They all want to know if we are married or have babies, we say “no.” And the CHIT CHAT BEGINSSSSS! I say I want a Maasai husband to mix things up a bit and am nearly led to a hut to marry someones son. I don’t know who intervened to stop it but I still wonder to this day....

We head in to a smokey, dark hut to meet the leader of the tribe. She is a calm woman, speaks slowly, and feels like a mythical character. She has a shaved head, layers and layers of beaded necklaces, and hands that look like they belong to someone 20 years younger. We ask a million questions with Jeremiah translating, at one point a child comes in, only identified by a pair of arms flying in from the doorway stage left, to deliver a baby goat. Like, in a, “You forgot this I’ll leave it here” sort of way, but he did it as an ambiance-move which we LOVED.

Maasai women, like lions, are the ones you don’t sleep on. They build the houses, keep the houses, have the children, raise the children, prepare the food, manage the valuables and the money. Maasai have arranged marriages and in some cases, multiple wives, so her husband on this day, was watching the cows and was then going to stay with his other wife. Very different.

Then we meet the children. The only way I can describe it is as a frenzy. They are SO CUTE, joyful, and sometimes you just feel them touching your shoulders, touching your hair, they try to crawl into your lap. They don’t want anything from you, just lots of affection (this is across the board - you often see adult men holding hands down the street in Africa). Lots of laughing, high fives, and a few English phrases they have learned and want to try out. One of them you hear a lot is “I’M FINE!!!!!” which is so so funny to hear from such a tiny little voice. It typically follows a “Hello!,” not dissimilar to their “Jumbo!” and response of “poa!”... which also means “fine.” Lotttsssss of laughing. During this segment, Emma takes the “pic of the trip.”

We buy some beautiful Maasai necklaces from the makeshift marketplace, horns, bracelets, things to help us remember - the boys help us negotiate and pick out a few items. It really does start to feel like we are a team. And just like that, it is time to leave. But like most of this Africa trip, the only way you can reason leaving this amazing place is because another one is right around the corner.

The guys take us to a roadside spot with the same landscape we have seen most of the day. Red dirt, trees, shrubs, standard protocol around here - and lay out a picnic blanket and comfy oversized pillows. They play some Kenyan music, and pull out tins of food, one, specially labeled “Taylor and Emma, from Chef Kelvin.” We open it. The tin holds only passion fruits, both greens and purples, halved, and with their orange jelly insides dripping out. These had and will continue to be Emma and my obsession for the greater part of the trip. We are surrounded by angels. We lose it. We eat lunch, ask about the guys favorite meal, “Meat! Milk! Blood!” and find out that they never drink water and sometimes just don’t really eat at all. More confusion on our part. We finish up and all help pack up the car, and I don’t know why this was such a turning point for me, but this was when I knew we were all friends. Not Emma and I on a trip, but the four of us enjoying a day together. We take our usual spots in the car and carry on to the next portion of the day; “the drug deal.”

As we peel out to the main road, me with a Tusker in the back seat with Jeremiah, Emma up front with James, who is wearing her recently purchased Maasai necklace, the guys ask if we want to go see the town. Of course we want to see the town. We also want to try and score some Khat - a chewable root the boys made the mistake of telling us about with similar, stronger effects than coffee. “I don’t chew khat,” says Jeremiah, who in about half an hour, will definitely be chewing khat. We don’t think this is a part of Ol Donyo’s featured activity list, but, when in Kenya, you must do as the Kenyans do, and Emma and I are fulling interested in abusing our power as guests. While James and Jeremiah are asking townspeople for a lead, James dips into a local bar (”A bar! Can we go in?” -me, “No, girls aren’t allowed.” - James), and finally, as we give up and pull onto road, we see a man with a bundle of sticks and WE HAVE LOCATED KHAT. The adventure is complete. We each chew a stem, it has no effects whatsoever, and now, it is time to go home.

The ride home conversations doubles in intensity from the ride there. The combo of Tuskers, Sauv blanc, and comfort level has led to Emma and James arguing about gay marriage in Kenya and Jeremiah and I discussing some equally heavy topics in the backseat. This was one of my favorite hours of my favorite day. The front seat a hotbed of debate, I kept finding myself distracted talking to Jeremiah, as James is wagging his finger in the air at Emma yelling “I’ll tell you something!!!”! I don’t know why but I can tell he got this from his father and it makes me LAUGH. At one point, one of us brings up “You guys say ‘100 percent, for sure’ a lot.” And it sticks. We will be chirping this phrase for the remainder of our short time with the boys. It gets big laughs, every. damn. time.

Earlier on the trip, the boys told us a story of being chased by a lion while riding into work on the motorcycle they carpool in on. We say we want to ride motorcycles, specifically their motorcycle, “The Chinese Gazelle.” They agree but think they need another motorcycle so the four of us can go out together. Then they say some things in Maa and laugh, to which Emma and I pipe in “ENGLISH PLEASE!!” and they make up some lie about securing the bike.

We pull up VERY LATE to the lodge, with the staff waiting for us, feeling like we missed curfew. We have completely lost track of time for our outstanding massage with Winnie and Ritah, but all is forgiven as we are “on Africa time.” We end up asking Rich, the manager, to please let us sign some waiver, ANY WAIVER, to let us ride motorcycles, and he says “absolutely not.” We threaten to take motorcycle rides in Nairobi, from strangers, instead. He says we can’t do that either. We threaten to basically kill ourselves, and he doesn’t seem to care (just kidding). We are heartbroken, but get over it as it is massage time, and peel out of clothes, take a quick shower to wash off the dust, and settle into our paired massage tables set up in our bedroom. We put on the fan, a sound that is nostalgic and soothing for me for reasons I am not sure, and all is well in the world. We talk through the whole massage with the girls. We start to talk about childbirth, about men, about women. They both start telling us stories that would blow you away - about the cultural stigmas and expectations when you have a child, and about the strength of women in Africa. They are in a league of their own. Deep in conversation well after the end of the massage, the girls join us on the patio to gaze over the landscape of Chyulu Hills, appreciate it all, and give us the best best hugs. Winnie pulls Emma aside, tells her “You have to be strong.” There are many more tears.

Our angels leave the room, we relax, I take a dip and take an outdoor shower. We head up in our robes to our rooftop and watch the blood-red sunset, we slowly get ready for our last dinner and night ride at Ol Donyo

We are escorted to dinner (this is standard - you flash your flashlight out of your room when walking anywhere at night, a Maasai grounds security will chaperone you to the main lodge. The only English they speak is to ask “What is your name?”.. it is very sweet) and instead of the main dining room being set up, are escorted through a clearing with 4 outdoor fire pits surrounding a set table with Maasai shukas draped over each chair, lit candles everywhere, and antler chandelier hanging from a tree - all else pitch black in the night. We are sat with a couple from San Francisco on honeymoon (who we had seen earlier in the morning gracefully running sprints with Maasai escorts in the plains - beautiful), a Chinese tycoon and their helicopter pilot (had landed hours before directly on the property), and Ol Donyo management. At one point in the evening, we pull Chef Kelvin aside for a quick thank you that is cut short, and revisited later with a passed note from the boys. Feeling too much like we were back home with the light small talk at the dinner table, we pack some thermoses and meet up with the boys, who are waiting for us in the truck for the night drive where we will finally, FINALLY see a lion.

Half an hour into the night drive, James sees the flashlight catch something. We reverse the car, cutting through the some brush and sure enough, are greeted by a simba. The reality of a cat that could eat you, being a few feet away, in the middle of the night, starts to dawn on you in new ways. You lose them when the flashlight cuts out and it is .... frightening. We observe on our own for 20 minutes, totally quiet, except for the lion lapping up at the watering hole, and the boys say we have to radio the lodge so other guests can see him too. Five minutes later, the San Francisco newlyweds pull up and the husband, trying out new joke material in the most interesting of settings, yells out “Is that a mongoose!!?!?” Everyone laughs. This joke will also remain for the rest of the trip. Having now seen what we came here to see, the rest of the night drive becomes a combination of more deep conversation - even more nuanced to the boys and their lives a continuation from today’s drive. I am met with the sad, sinking realization that we only have hours left with these boys. Of all the boys in the world, these ones. As we pull up to the lodge for the last time, I remember James leaned back against the truck with his little poncho and his arms crossed, telling us matter of factly that we are “the best guests ever.” We exchange ‘Nakupenda’s’ and ‘Lala Salama’s’ and hug, really hug, them both goodnight.

Emma and I return to our room and head up to the star gazing lounge. She and I, laying under the African stars under a mosquito net with hot water bottles at our feet, start telling each other stories - details of our individual conversations with the boys (”That’s only because it THREATENS YOUR MASCULINITY!” ”YES....THAT’S TRUE!!!”), looking at all the pictures of the day, sharing videos and recordings we have taken. We find the boys on social channels, friending them both.Trying to hang onto them. It feels like the only way to keep the happiness alive - the hope of staying in contact with them. It our best day ever. At 2am, we blow out the lantern on the roof and head down to bed.

Day 5

The sadness is palpable. We write each of the boys a letter that we really, really mean, pack up all of our things, wolf down a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, and greet the boys for a final drive before our 8:30am flight. No one is making eye contact.

It is mostly quiet. Bless their hearts, they are still trying to teach us about the fucking animals. We don’t care. We keep trying to tell them “our new guides will be terrible!” and they keep telling us no, that they will be great. So positive its embarrassing. James points out Mt. Kilimanjaro and the Chyulu Hills behind us and says, “These two mountains look at each other every day, but will never meet, but we had the chance to met each other.” We don’t even know what to say. We are handed a note from Chef Kelvin, apologizing for stepping away at dinner the night before, and am left wiping tears from under my glasses.

We get to hell, aka the airstrip, and James kills the engine. We say we are going to miss them, so much. James says we will meet again, “If not in this life then it another.” The knot in my throat swells. Something comes in from the radio, the boys whisper in Maa quietly and then turn around and tell us, “There are cheetahs nearby. We are going.”

We are screaming as we rip through the plains in the land cruiser, at a speed it was never intended to travel. Going what feels like 80 mph, we have our last adventure with the boys - another chance on the planes; a bonus round. Emotions are volatile at this point, so it feels like we have won the lottery, knowing at any minute this plane is going to come looking for us, and there is a much welcomed chance we may miss it. We approach the cheetahs, the most beautiful of the animals of Africa, with full bellies from a recent meal. They are graceful, the size of large dogs, and with tails that look like balancing features of a mobile. Their eyes are unbelievable. It was amazing to see them, and sad to have to drive away.

Back at the airstrip, with our final minutes left with the boys, Emma and I recap the trip, ask some final pressing questions that Emma videos, and Jeremiah jumps for us. It’s a sacred act, a ceremony for junior warriors to show off athleticism and “for funs” - but the basis of it is to impress the girls.“The higher you jump, the more ladies you have....” I could probably quote the event in it’s entirety because Emma snagged a secret video and we have rewatched it on our phones 100 times, easily. He is a sight to witness - lithe, graceful, controlled, after 10 high jumps, not a sign of fatigue. We understand the appeal. We ask James to jump and hear a muttered “No.... I am not allowed....” We laugh. James is married with two children, his wife would be pissed. We talk about off-topics concerning our new trip with new guides (”Concerning yesterday’s questions... just ask them about the wildlife....” - Jeremiah, to which James answers “Or they will ask if you trying to get them fired!’”), how we need to learn to run for next time (Jeremiah comforts - ”We will train you. We will train until you are the best.”) and how next time we will go on a bike ride together and take motorcycles out. We moan about not having enough time here.

There is silence and the boys say they can hear the plane. Emma and I think they crazy, with our wrecked, American ear drums, and sure as hell, a couple minutes later, the plane lands. I am not okay. Emma and I are holding hands. Jeremiah is somehow driving the car for the first time ever so I don’t think the guys are keeping it together either. With nothing else to say, James mutters, “Well, here we are.”

We get our bags and everything is a blur, I leave their notes on their seats, we are hugging and saying bye and nakupende-sana and I’m just trying not to cry. The air controller asks “Are you Emma and Taylor?” all I can do is nodd furiously. We get on, and as the door is closing, the boys are waving, two hands each. When it clicks into frame, water works. The rest of the plane is wondering what the fuck went down on this safari because Emma and I are just holding each other like we are coming off of drugs.

We watch the guys driving away, and see the car stall, and as the plan spins direction before taking off, they disappear from sight. “Taylor, where did they go?” Seconds later, as we take off, parked a hundred meters in our clear line of sight, they are jumping on the roof of the car, waving, jfuriously, with the biggest smiles on their faces, and a celebration realizing we had seen them too. It is one of the most beautiful, pure moments of my lifetime.

MEANWHILE.... Emma and I are in HYSTERICS, out of breath from crying so hard, and tears are pouring down down down from our eyes. Emma has her necklace on, we quite literally look like we exited through the gift shop, and are throwing tantrums because we don’t want to leave. Again, the plane’s passengers are beyondddd confused. It’s the kind of cry that is so transformational it leaves you exhausted.

You are sad it is over, unsure what you did so right in this life to have the luck to experience something this special, but mostly, you are scared of what you might forget.

After that, we are never the same.

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100percentforsure · 6 years ago

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Taylor and Emma Take the Mara

Again, things are volatile. We fly back to the Wilson airport to board to the Masai Mara, and without time to pull out cash, are whisked on to a plane waiting for us, and I SEE RICHARD!!! The plane is full of white people with southern accents and terrible dye jobs and tourist outfits. Emma and I are unhappy. We are going to the Mara for the migration - a national park with rules, regulations, way more animals, but also, way more people. This is expected. On a layover, I leave to use the bathroom and while I am running back, Giant Richard tells me “pole pole,” and compliments my necklace from Emma I have worn. Next thing I know I am crying to him too now and we are holding hands and hugging. I want to also add Richard to my posse of African’s I want to have around me all the time. I come back to the plane, can’t find Emma, get the attendant involved ‘WHERE DID SHE GO??” and upon further investigation, find her adorably sleeping with her other necklace in hand.

We land in the Mara and it feels like we are going to war - cruisers surrounding us waiting for pick up, guides in traditional outfits, a free for all. Our next guide, Vinnie, plucks us and our baggage out of the mix, along with a few other passengers who will BE IN OUR TOUR GROUP UGGGHHHHHH and we make small talk and assert ourselves and the alpha’s of the group (or as the guides call them “The Big Boys” - in our case, girls). At one point one of the guests in our group points out a hibiscus flower and Vinnie kills the engine for us to look at it. What the fuck, Vinnie? Emma and I shoot each other glances and just know. We know. We know that even though we are staying at one of the best camps in the Mara, we are not in Kansas anymore. The kid of the group is not even acting excited, despite this being his first trip ever to Africa, and Emma and I know we are not going to be able to do this.

The camp is a glamorous tent set up, overlooking the Mara River, with crocodiles and hippos feet away from you (and that sound like they are in your room at night). There is great food and staff (Lenny and Isaac), and we pull the camp director aside regarding our cruiser mates and try our hand at the negotiations we have come to love in this country. I will save the details but at one point I let him know “The gig ... is up.” They understand and the next morning after our balloon ride, we will have Vinnie to ourselves for about 7 hours of a combination I can only describe as bliss and hell. We settle into our room, have tea and cake, I call my family who are on an early morning walk, and have a passion fruit cocktail. At 4:30, we head out on a game drive with Vinnie who is driving about 5 miles an hour, which we give him infinite shit about, and see some wildebeast, zebras, and then a LEOPARD EATING A GAZELLE IN A TREE!! (Leopards can carry 3 times their weight up trees). When we approach, it is a murder scene of only the half eaten gazelle hanging (no Leopard), and about 30 cars with lenses propped, waiting for the right moment to click the shutter. Emma puts her hair up in a gorgeous wraps and we ask Vinnie how many cows our dowry would be worth. He says 18 for me, 19 for Emma if she wears her hair like that. We celebrate. Sure enough, the cub comes bouncing up adorably and greets his mom, who has been sleeping under the tree like a lazy bum the whole time. Up he goes for his snack, and eventually the rest of the gazelle snaps in half (they eat from the soft belly meat) and lands on the ground and a HYENA comes to eat it. We miss this all because of the stupid RULES OF THE PARK and learn from a family at dinner who is very proud of themselves for seeing it.

Back at the lodge, we are met with our hot air balloon guy, Joseph to suss out plans for tomorrow’s 4am wake up call and share insider information (Emma, you know what I am talking about). At this time, Emma and I have decided the only way to deal with all the tourists is to get drunk on wine. We are eventually seated for dinner across from each other where we will clear the air with everyone who thought we might be lesbians. Myth busted! Lenny pours more wine. We sit with a progressive British family who have great stories of travel, taking a car cross country in the US and then dumping it and not allowed back in the states, and their three adorable, one especially flirtatious, boys. The youngest one is the sweetest, softest, roundest boy of all time ( “Ned”...) who I love the most and find myself just smiling at. More, immeasurable wine poured by LENNYYYYY. There is a girl there who only eats pasta and butter for the entire trip and I find myself equal parts appalled and jealous. Wine. People find out who Emma worked and the floor is now ours, which is about the same time, coincidentally we leave early because we 1. are brats 2. have slept an average 4 hours of the entire trip 3. are now blitzed and are waking up at the butt-crack of dawn 4. Don’t like anyone there to begin with.

I try to sleep to the sound of what sounds like hippos being murdered in the night and am awoken finally at 4am by our wake up call for the balloon, which is just an African man with fresh pressed coffee letting himself into our tent via the giant zipper. We find out about 4 different kind of animals trapsed through the camp that night, which we never know if it is a tall tale or not, but appreciate Isaac and his spear and flashlight nonetheless. We get in the covered cruiser with Joe, wrap ourselves in shukas, bounce around while suffering exhaustion and only the plausible negative effects of the quickly guzzled but not effective coffee. “Taylor, this might be the time.”

After an hour of torture, we get to Governers camp and a river with a string across it. “Are you guys sisters?” Emma asks if this is African’s way of tongue in cheek asking if we are gay, WHICH WE ARE SICK OF, because of course we aren’t sisters, and I guess they really just do think we are sisters. We get in a gondola and a guy pulls us across the string and it feels like we are going to the enchanted castle. We are so, so sososo tired. We walk past some camp quarters and get to the balloons, hear some rules, drink more ineffective coffee, and then realized how incredibly blessed we are because the only people we have to share a basket with are Spanish tourists. A language barrier. No small talk. Just us, our Australian captain, our hot air balloon, and 14 pleasant strangers. We find out there is going to be a crash landing which we did not know about, and watch the balloons heat up and expand. It is so beautiful. The men in jumpsuits, the anticipation of the flight, the contrast of their darkness with the fire behind them. In a row, the balloons one after another heat up, expand, fill with people, and take off. And then it is our turn. With a translator talking all the while, we tuck into our basket and take off. We are lucky to be able to witness one more balloon after us, see it from above and become smaller as we drift away, the sheer size of it minimizing in seconds. It is so overwhelming, and of course I am crying.

For the ride, you are a bird. Everything is quiet, it is peaceful, and you are perfectly focused soaking up every single single second of the miracle that you are somehow in the sky. You go as high or as low as you want. Everywhere you look is beautiful. The colors of the balloon, the fire, the morning light on the skin of happy people’s faces, the trees and animals below. We don’t see trees like that ever. Ever! And then the basket gently spins. You get different views and perspectives and then the sun is rising and you cannot believe how lucky you are and what you did right in this life or another to have an opportunity to experience this, ever. You are so thankful.

We see wide open plains, forests, the Mara River. We see hippos (who make natural sunscreen), plains game, crocodiles, giraffes. We realize the last balloon to leave has somehow passed us, we realize that we are going both higher and lower than all the other balloons. We realize we scored the best captain with the tenure to do these maneuvers and also is keeping us in the sky the longest. We love him.

It’s time to land. The basket scoots a couple times on the ground and then tips, we are howling all the while. We find out later there have been plenty of animal encounters during this portion of the flight - one of them requiring all passengers to get back in the basket and take off again (lion!). We are gathered by Joe and head to an open plains breakfast with champagne and sausage and crepes, hear incredible stories from our captain, and get sold on a rhino encounter GUARANTEE FOR THE DAY. We don’t see a rhino, because the rhino runs into the forest. We will make Vinnie take us to see baby elephants basically the entire day instead.

Okay so breakfast is over and Vinnie shows up alone, (TG for Rekero staff), but the joke is on us because Vinnie takes us around the entire fucking national park for the next 8 hours with no breaks. Again, most of it is us pointing to baby elephants, but still, it is extremely tiring. We crawl up into the front seat, trying desperately to recreate a semblance of what we had with the boys, but just can’t seem to spark a flame. I crawl into the back seat as I can feel my energy tapping out; Emma knows exactly what is happening and lets me be me, and explains to Vinnie what I need. He takes us to some wide open spaces that I will always be thankful for - in the delusion of exhaustion and clarity that comes with complete surrender, I realize feeling this small and fabulously insignificant in this world, that my problems don’t matter, and that I am a very small piece of this great big puzzle that has so much more than my problems - is exactly what I have been looking for. It’s breathing space. It’s one of my favorite moments.

We get back to the camp at 3. They have saved us dinner. We are dragging. Dragging in new ways. We can’t even speak English anymore, formulate a thought, we can’t ask for what we want. Emma drinks regular water so you know she’s on deaths doorstep. I leave to the bathroom and miss the migration. Emma can feel her legs start to go and says “Taylor, if I were to fall right now, I would cry. Almost anything, at all, right now will make me cry.” We eat, we decide we are NOT going on the game drive, and nap instead.

Upon our wake up, we hunt down Lenny. Lenny is our age, very thin, has a doll like face, and is from the same tribe as Isaac. HE IS FUNNY. He tells us about the drinks, (“A croc... on the rocks....”), we make fun of how he always says my name (imagine I am getting in trouble, like “Taaaaaayyyllooooorrrrr.....!”), and tell him to meet us in the hideaway reading tent so we can get the juice. We also do ask for a croc on the rocs which is basically a White Russian with Amurulo. While he is there we start to get PERSONAL. What do you like to do, why this, why that, why do you have these scars. Lenny has these three little scars on each of side of the bridge of his nose, so faint you can barely even see them. I think they are fabulous. He tells us when he was little, he cried a lot. Maasai believe the cuts there, will make you stop crying. Vinnie confirms later its because your SALTY TEARS pour into the OPEN WOUND and it hurts so bad that you STOP CRYING. We are shocked. The Maasai are so tough its ridiculous. We count the burn scars on his legs and arms (toughening), and realize Lenny is pretty unbelievable. He tries to talk to us about soccer but we don’t care. We ask him why he is Maasai but doesnt have a “J name” but find out his name has been Jalenny, not Lenny, this whole fucking time. He points to his bracelet as proof. It says “J-A-L-E-N-N-Y”) He tries to give me said bracelet but it snaps when while he is removing it and then we just have to look at each other, wincing while beads roll off into every direction into the jungle.

Paul comes in to help set the table and we notice he has a very, very cool beaded belt with alternating Kenyan and American flags. “I got this when Barack Obama was president.” The manager comes in, we agree to a sundowner, and some outspoken, uninvited person tags along who is getting on my nerves and I say I have to go get a sweater and just leave. I will find my melted croc on the rocks there, hours later. Emma comes in after getting off the phone and is now trapped, which was incredibly poor form as far as friendship goes on my part.

We have our last dinner, which Vinnie comes out for (”Vinne... do you.... like to play video games...??”) and we sleep well and wake up for out last game drive, see some cheetahs and a “big boy” lion that walks behind our car, and have a beautiful last meal outside. We run back to the camp to hug everyone goodbye, but mostly Jalenny, and make our flight to the Island of Lamu.

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100percentforsure · 6 years ago

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Taylor and Emma Take Lamu

It is time It is time to relax. After pulling out cash and a quick fight about parmesan cheese (one of our two quarrels over the entirety the trip - totaling about 2 minutes and 15 seconds of tension... Emma wanted me to ask about parmesan cheese, I tell her that they probably don’t even have parmesan cheese in Africa I was barely getting through to the cafe staff with my request for a fork, try and fail, and then Emma tries and fails and tells me “They are just busy.” SHE WILL DENY THIS STORY AND SAY SHE WAS ALSO ASKING FOR A FORK. We find out a few days later there is a parmesan factory an hour away for the airport). We board our nearly 3 hour puddle jumper flight which we will pass out for after crushing some juice boxes and wake up to see beautiful marsh with blue water all around us. We touch down and are greeted in the airport by one of our househands, Charo (security is not terribly tight on the island), an angel of a man with the chubbiest feet you have ever seen an enormous smile, past men playing checkers with bottle caps on the pier to board a wooden water taxi with a thatched roof and darling blue elephant upholstery, named “Lady Gaga.” It’s driver is a man named Nasir.

A quick background on Lamu. Lamu is a Muslim island with only one car on it (which belongs to the police who I’m not even sure exist) and one million donkeys. You get around by boat and donkey, and if you are walking somewhere, you have to take into account what time you are leaving and whether its high tide and your path will be submerged. There is Lamu town, their downtown with a market and square and shops, and Shela, where more mzungu’s hang out with one of the only places on the island that serves liquor, Peponi’s (meaning “heaven”). For a real party, you go to Floating Bar, which floats in the middle of the ocean that doesn’t require rule following. In the summertime, the water is crystal clear and blue, and you can swim with wild dophins. Pure, pure disappointment when I heard this. There are mangroves and spearfishing and barbequeing and a very very very mellow vibe on the island. Mombasa raha.

When we reach land, we climb the bleached stone steps from the water, past some Rastas, and are greeted by Johnson, our chef / house hand / security. Johnson is half my size and has a shy but wise demeanor. He and Charo take our bags and lead us down narrow dirt alleyways, past open air Muslim schools with children singing, storefronts with people seated out front, smooth, cream houses with bright fuchsia bougainvillea cascading down the walls, and a piece of jungle with multicolored sarongs on clothes lines floating. To our right, is the Bembea house.

A lot of Lamu is wonderment. There is no excitement.... that isn’t what is designed for. It is designed for slowing down and soaking in the natural cadence of life. Rose tells us Lamu Swahili is spoken with a different rythm, almost like a song (she tells us a story later of her friend, blonde haired blue eyed, who learned the language on the island and years later nearly gave a man in a hotel lobby a heart attack with how beautifully she spoke Swahili. I WANT THAT). The island’s architecture is breathtaking, lots of open windows and nods to the North African influence.

We enter our house and are speechless. Its so big, its so peaceful, there is so much space, not filled with much, save over-sized pillows and beautiful little corners for quiet. We take it all in, especially the rooftop, where Emma and I will spend a majority of our time in the house. There are kids laughing and beautiful call-to-prayer hymns Johnson describes what he will be cooking for us that night, we agree on $50 dollars at the market for food and beers, and will come back to an incredible seafood dinner in the dining room, and then full breakfast and more seafood and breakfast more seafood after that (”Look at those live lobsters!”) Charo takes us for a walk on the beach and we touch the Indian ocean, see a peach colored sunset, and little hoof marks along the beach. We see adorable woven baskets used as trash receptacles and some puppies and beautiful kids.

We have a drink at Peponi’s where we talk about how wonderful traveling with each other has been, and comment a menu item titled “Cockless Tales.” We head home for our prepared feast waiting for us, rice, beer, salad with avocado and tomatoes, and fresh shrimp, a trail of enormous ants we have to dance around. Afterwards, Mohammed comes over to the house to discuss an itinerary at the kitchen table. We hear bats and beetles (a battery beeping?) outside, Mohammed is another slow talker whose brother sails the Dhow we will be riding tomorrow and wants to discuss American politics. He is going to set us up with Hamsed, “Meta Meta,” for a tour around the town - a trusted source and lovable guy. Oh, is he lovable. We trust the great folks of Kenya. After lounging, we get into our mosquito net covered beds in our own wings of the house and get some deserved rest.

Day 8

I wake up at 5am to a call to prayer and hang out upstairs while Emma sleeps in. I call my mom and show her our house, I check a few emails, and our breakfast is brought up to us at 8am - a full setting with coffee and our beloved eggs and toast. We take a taxi with Nasir’s brother to Lamu town where Meta Meta is waiting, a small man who shuffles his feet and has the most INCREDIBLE laugh and wears a little white hat. He is like a human version of Zazu. He tells us history lessons, helps us carry our things, and guides us through the streets we would normally get lost in. He also and seems to know EVERYONE (”Are you the mayor?”). We are navigating through this labrynth, dipping in and out of beautiful houses with ancient architecture, indoor courtyards and pools, climbing up staircases to rooftops consumed with bougainvillea in and out and shops where Meta is talking to everybody like they are family. We explore open air product markets and museum courtyards, wood working shops and a donkey hospital. We see the butcher market and have to pass through quickly - there are heads in there. We eat street food for lunch on the second story over looking the water - roti, fried fish, and curry and rice, and take what we can home.

After some resting at home and sunning and a split Tusker on the roofdeck, it is time for our Dhow ride. We race down to the water to find the sweetest boat with two men, ready to take us to the mangroves. We motor to calm water before hoisting up the sail and relaxing on the water. There is a warm breeze and the sound of lapping water that puts you into a state of hypnosis. And then as we are turning the boat around to go back home, we realize the boat has stopped. Has stopped and also, is stuck. “Are we stuck?” Emma is first to realize it, and because these men are Kenyan, they refuse to give bad news, and just say nothing at all but do strip down to their underwear before jumping in to unplug us from the sandbank. We thankfully do get unstuck and see a pirate ship sailing with someone in the water being pulled from a rope, which I DIDN’T KNOW was an option, and begin to plan my next trip back here out of raging FOMO. This plus the dolphins I am missing is... unacceptable. We get asked by the pirate ship if we are going to Floating Bar, which we were obviously not down to answer, but think our driver narc’ed on us.... to “The Beach Boys.”

We pull up to Floating Bar to see what it is all about and ask for pick up a couple hours later. It is what it sounds like; a floating bar, playing reggae music, with a thatched roof, in the middle of the ocean. After moving chairs (physically....moving....chairs) to see the sunset, one of the bartenders, Johnathan, comes up to say hi. He speaks so softly you can barely hear him without having to lean in. We end up getting to know Jonathan over the course of the night - and learn he lives on the floating bar. LIVES ON IT. He bring us to the 6′ by 8′ kitchen to see how he makes french fries and keeps us safe from the Beach Boys, and we talk about his loneliness. We are sad to leave him when our ride arrives back to land.

We have a fresh lobster dinner on the rooftop and stay up too late reminiscing.

Day 9

We enjoy breakfast with monkeys, a dip in the ocean while talking about futures, and another jaunt into town before departing for our flight. We board the plane with 20 more pounds on us (our second, very very minor fight) and arrive back at home in Nairobi in one piece.

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