Kiboko Bay
Ed and I cycle out to Kiboko Bay for lunch. Ed is a a fellow VSO volunteer from the UK who works as financial advisor to Pandipiere, a Catholic center servicing the residents of Nyalenda slums. The bike ride takes about 20 minutes to the lake's edge, though we stop at a fundi (handyman) under a tree to fix the chain guard on my bike. Somehow it's become loose and my pedal clanks, clanks against it with each pump. Also, my front tire is nearly flat. Once fully inflated, we cruise down paved streets until the pavement ends at the Impala Reserve opposite the Kisumu water works. We bump along on the rocky dirt roads, passing huts and cows and men weaving furniture from Water Hyacinth growing in the Lake Victoria. We lock our bikes to a black fence and admire the new pool next to the lake, complete with lounge chairs "imported" from Nairobi. Mostly white people recline by the clear, cool water.
Ed and I sit on the patio of the restaurant overlooking Lake Victoria and talk for hours. Let's go to the coast, huh? Mombasa? Melindi? Lamu? Let's go to all three cities. By bus or overnight train? How much time taken off from work for this trip? It's fun to plan/dream of a trip to the coast in a first class train cabin. Better than the second class ticket that offers an uncomfortable chair with very little chance of sleeping. Two fellow VSO volunteers, Tom and Wendy, are in Mombasa living 15 minutes from each other. Surely we can stay with them for free.
For lunch, I have lamb chops and mashed potatoes with carrots and beans. Ed has fried fish with chips. We split three scoops of ice cream; vanilla, strawberry and chocolate. When we finish eating/talking, we peddle over to Dunga, a fishing village. Cows stand on the dock. Fisherman sit under a pavilion where the fish are weighed. I take photos of boats, men, cows and mountainous shorelines. As we're on our bikes headed out of the village, a young man named Kennedy approaches and asks if we know about the Mimosa. Or the sausage tree?
Kennedy tells us to follow him and we do, somewhat reluctantly, to a spot in the grass where a few Mimosa branches are growing. They're no taller than the grass. He tells us the Mamas pull the branch from the ground, chop the root, boil it and give a cupful to a child with a stomach ache. He reaches down and touches the delicate branches and before our very eyes, the tiny leaves fold up to meet in the middle and the branch seems to press itself closer to the ground. Strange to see a plant in motion without the aid of wind. “If a fly lands here,” Kennedy says, “the plant will fold around the fly and absorb it.”
He leads us to the Sausage Tree, so called because there are giant, flesh-colored pods hanging from the tree looking almost like fat, uneven sausages. There are only two Sausage trees in the village and it is taboo to cut them down. The pod fruits are fermented to make the local brew. The bark is boiled to make a stomach remedy. One side of this huge tree's trunk is stripped clean of bark. “If I go out on the lake,” Kennedy says, pointing to Lake Victoria, “and I drown, but they cannot find my body, they will bury these sausage pods in place of my body.”
He shows us the Jacaranda tree, with it's milky blood, beckoning us past those huge trees and onto a narrow footpath running between houses. Have you seen the Hammerhead bird house? Come, come this way. Two guys walk from behind and pass us, where Kennedy is leading into the woods. I imagine they're trying to lure us behind the houses so they can rob us. Ed is hesitant as well. We push forward, following Kennedy, without communicating our suspicions to each other. But I'm thinking, “We'll just jump on our bikes and ride fast if they try anything.”
These thoughts pop into my head because Mr. Ruprah, my landlord, said three people were shot near Kiboko Bay recently. Three men and three women were in a UN vehicle, pulled off the road and looking at hippos in the water. “Thugs,” as the local bad boys are called, surrounded the vehicle and robbed them all, shooting into the car and hitting three people. Luckily, none of them died, but I think about those thugs as Ed and I cycle to the bay and as we push our bikes on the narrow footpath behind Kennedy.
'How did I let this happen? There's no turning back," I think.
Ed is pushing on, too, both of us trusting Kennedy. We turn a corner and he points up to a clump of rags and rope and plastic draped in the fork of two tree branches, about 25 feet up. It's the Hammerhead nest and I'm relieved. Even more relieved when two children approach and Ed greets them in Luo. The dirt road is only 20 feet to our right, our passage to safety. Ed and I both visibly relax to hear about the Hammerhead.
“They're very clever birds,” Kennedy says. “While the outside of their house is ragged layers of cloth, inside the walls are smooth. And there are partitions sectioning the house into rooms. They are very clever, these birds.” Indeed. Kennedy didn't give us this short tour out of the kindness of his heart so I ask if he'll take 20 bob for the tour. He says fine. Please come back if we want to take a boat trip or to arrange a guided nature tour. He can take us all over the village and bay area, showing us the trees and birds. I'm charmed, for just yesterday I checked a book out of the library called “Kenya Trees and Shrubs” to help identify the many beautiful, flowering trees in Kisumu.
Later, when Ed and I are at my place enjoying a cup of coffee, I tell him I became scared when Kennedy was drawing us deeper and deeper into the bush and away from the busy lakeshore. Ed said he had the same thoughts and fears. We were both wearing backpacks and looked like tourists, easy marks for easy money. Except, we're not tourists and we don't have lots of money. Throughout his tour, Kennedy kept a smile on his face and showed us everything he promised. He was simply showing us his experiential brochure promoting a much longer and more expensive tour for our next visit.
He didn't even notice we thought he might kill us.
Ed and I sit on the patio of the restaurant overlooking Lake Victoria and talk for hours. Let's go to the coast, huh? Mombasa? Melindi? Lamu? Let's go to all three cities. By bus or overnight train? How much time taken off from work for this trip? It's fun to plan/dream of a trip to the coast in a first class train cabin. Better than the second class ticket that offers an uncomfortable chair with very little chance of sleeping. Two fellow VSO volunteers, Tom and Wendy, are in Mombasa living 15 minutes from each other. Surely we can stay with them for free.
For lunch, I have lamb chops and mashed potatoes with carrots and beans. Ed has fried fish with chips. We split three scoops of ice cream; vanilla, strawberry and chocolate. When we finish eating/talking, we peddle over to Dunga, a fishing village. Cows stand on the dock. Fisherman sit under a pavilion where the fish are weighed. I take photos of boats, men, cows and mountainous shorelines. As we're on our bikes headed out of the village, a young man named Kennedy approaches and asks if we know about the Mimosa. Or the sausage tree?
Kennedy tells us to follow him and we do, somewhat reluctantly, to a spot in the grass where a few Mimosa branches are growing. They're no taller than the grass. He tells us the Mamas pull the branch from the ground, chop the root, boil it and give a cupful to a child with a stomach ache. He reaches down and touches the delicate branches and before our very eyes, the tiny leaves fold up to meet in the middle and the branch seems to press itself closer to the ground. Strange to see a plant in motion without the aid of wind. “If a fly lands here,” Kennedy says, “the plant will fold around the fly and absorb it.”
He leads us to the Sausage Tree, so called because there are giant, flesh-colored pods hanging from the tree looking almost like fat, uneven sausages. There are only two Sausage trees in the village and it is taboo to cut them down. The pod fruits are fermented to make the local brew. The bark is boiled to make a stomach remedy. One side of this huge tree's trunk is stripped clean of bark. “If I go out on the lake,” Kennedy says, pointing to Lake Victoria, “and I drown, but they cannot find my body, they will bury these sausage pods in place of my body.”
He shows us the Jacaranda tree, with it's milky blood, beckoning us past those huge trees and onto a narrow footpath running between houses. Have you seen the Hammerhead bird house? Come, come this way. Two guys walk from behind and pass us, where Kennedy is leading into the woods. I imagine they're trying to lure us behind the houses so they can rob us. Ed is hesitant as well. We push forward, following Kennedy, without communicating our suspicions to each other. But I'm thinking, “We'll just jump on our bikes and ride fast if they try anything.”
These thoughts pop into my head because Mr. Ruprah, my landlord, said three people were shot near Kiboko Bay recently. Three men and three women were in a UN vehicle, pulled off the road and looking at hippos in the water. “Thugs,” as the local bad boys are called, surrounded the vehicle and robbed them all, shooting into the car and hitting three people. Luckily, none of them died, but I think about those thugs as Ed and I cycle to the bay and as we push our bikes on the narrow footpath behind Kennedy.
'How did I let this happen? There's no turning back," I think.
Ed is pushing on, too, both of us trusting Kennedy. We turn a corner and he points up to a clump of rags and rope and plastic draped in the fork of two tree branches, about 25 feet up. It's the Hammerhead nest and I'm relieved. Even more relieved when two children approach and Ed greets them in Luo. The dirt road is only 20 feet to our right, our passage to safety. Ed and I both visibly relax to hear about the Hammerhead.
“They're very clever birds,” Kennedy says. “While the outside of their house is ragged layers of cloth, inside the walls are smooth. And there are partitions sectioning the house into rooms. They are very clever, these birds.” Indeed. Kennedy didn't give us this short tour out of the kindness of his heart so I ask if he'll take 20 bob for the tour. He says fine. Please come back if we want to take a boat trip or to arrange a guided nature tour. He can take us all over the village and bay area, showing us the trees and birds. I'm charmed, for just yesterday I checked a book out of the library called “Kenya Trees and Shrubs” to help identify the many beautiful, flowering trees in Kisumu.
Later, when Ed and I are at my place enjoying a cup of coffee, I tell him I became scared when Kennedy was drawing us deeper and deeper into the bush and away from the busy lakeshore. Ed said he had the same thoughts and fears. We were both wearing backpacks and looked like tourists, easy marks for easy money. Except, we're not tourists and we don't have lots of money. Throughout his tour, Kennedy kept a smile on his face and showed us everything he promised. He was simply showing us his experiential brochure promoting a much longer and more expensive tour for our next visit.
He didn't even notice we thought he might kill us.
posted by Cindi at 12:58 PM
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