Kakamega Forest
Ed, Vincent, Diana and I meet in town, then walk to the matatu station. Diana is a former intern at TICH who met Vincent when he was visiting before. She is Kenyan, born in Nakuru and lives there now, a three hour drive from Kisumu. We're headed to Kakamega Forest, an hour and a half drive north of Kisumu.
At the matatu station, guys get in our faces and demand we get into their vehicles, saying they're going our way, while other guys yell out, “don't listen to them, come with us, we know where you're going.” So Vincent and Diana climb into one matatu whose conductor says the bus will leave immediately when we board and won't sit waiting until the bus is full, which is the usual practice. Ed walks ahead to another matatu to check it out. I'm standing outside the first matatu, keeping an eye on Vincent and Diana while a square-headed guy puts his nose to mine and says, “Come with me, Lady, I'll take you where you're going.” “I'm going right here,” I say and point to the ground. The matatu wants to leave and they're angry we're considering a second bus. The conductor tells the driver to go, but Vincent and Diana are in the very back, and as the driver revs his engine and looks at me, I point my finger at him, emphasizing each word in my most stern voice, “Don't you pull away with them in the back.” And he listens.
Ed waves for us to go to the other bus, so I signal Vincent and Diana and we all safely board the new bus which sounds like a rolling nightclub. Heavy disco remix bass beats pulse through us as we settle into the back seats. We knock our heads on the metal ceiling a couple of times as we bump, accelerate, then brake along the highway out of Kisumu. We climb the escarpment, gaining altitude and cooler weather, marveling at the lush landscape rolling and rolling from mountain to flat valley. Houses poke out of corn fields and banana groves, up and down the sloping hills. Cattle munch in yards, women carry baskets, bags and wood on their heads. We pass a coffin maker shop with caskets on display. One coffin, covered in plush, maroon velvet with a decorative pattern woven in the velvety pile, catches my eye and I can't look away. We come to the Weeping Stone, a huge rock formation that seeps water from the top. It looks something like an eagle. We bounce by, getting a glimpse through the dirty matatu windows sporting decorative tape designs on the outside.
“Can you imagine how nice it would be to travel these roads in a private vehicle, stopping to take pictures whenever you wanted?” Diana agrees it's a fine idea. I dream of private vehicles a a while longer as we jostle to and fro, front to back, trying to keep time with the music. Before one song ends, another starts up and both songs play for about 30 seconds, as though a dj is operating two turntables. We pass a road where a crowd walks toward us, hundreds of men, led by a bull. “It's a bullfight,” Diana tells us. “Is it a man against a bull or bull against bull?,” Vincent asks. Diana laughs at Vincent, saying it's bull on bull, of course. “Well, I ask because in Spain bullfighting is between a man with a red cape and a bull.” “Oh,” says Diana, “Here, it's bull against bull and it's very popular, as you can see.” Madonna sings to us about falling in love with San Pedro, then Diana and I sing to “Let's hear it for the boy, let's give the boy a hand.” We are entering Kakamega and our matatu driver keeps turning down the sound, but we continue to sing, “Let's hear it for my baby, you know you gotta' understand.”
We exit the bus at a gas station and cross the road to buy snacks at a supermarket. Then we catch a matatu to the north gate of Kakamega Forest, about 20 km ahead. A sign clearly marks the forest and we follow it down a red dirt road to the gate. Kakamega isn't a national park, though it is run by the Kenya Wildlife Services (KWS). We pay 500 shillings ($6 USD) as residents of Kenya and Vincent pays $10 USD, or 780 shillings. Strange how they list the non-resident rate in USD. A young man in tattered and unclean clothes follows us from the main road, espousing his expertise as a forest guide. We're not interested in his services and ignore him somewhat. When Ed asks him if he knows who Tony Blair is, the young man answers in the positive and says he feels Blair's re-election is a good thing, unlike Bush's. We all laugh. People all around the world, in developed and developing countries, know everything that's going on in the U.S. I'm often amazed by how much people know about our culture and politics.
After we pay our entry fees and begin walking, the young man follows us until we finally tell him we want to navigate the forest on our own. He's not happy and asks for money for a coke. None of us respond but instead discuss which direction we should go. Should we see the forest, the falls or the viewpoint first? We decide to follow the sign to the KWS office and soon find it. Kakamega Forest, approximately 240 square kilometers, is the only remaining part of an ancient forest in Kenya that once covered the African continent along the equator and from the Indian to the Atlantic Ocean. With the population explosion, and people cutting down forest for farmland and firewood, Kenya's forest is in danger of being lost. The Rough Guide to Kenya says Kakamega is of interest to zoologists and botanist around the world as an example of how an isolated environment can survive cut off from its larger body.
Though the government talks about preserving the area, people live on the forest's edge and continue to slash and burn for farmland. It's also said officials, elected to protect the forest, sell parcels to locals illegally, pocketing the money. An organization called Kenyan Environmental and Ecological Protection (KEEP) works to educate the locals on the importance of preserving the forest. They are holding a class for children when we enter their building and Henry, who runs the program, shows us their tree nursery, where they're raising seedlings to distribute to local farms. This will give the farm owners a source of firewood so they will not enter the forest for fuel.
If we'd like a guide through the forest, to the falls and to the viewpoint, it'll be 200 shillings per person per activity. We're gob smacked (speechless). 600 shillings is a lot of money for a guided tour. Of course, the funds go directly to the program to preserve the forest. Even then, we all agree it'll be nice to have a guide through the forest, but we should be able to find the overlook point and waterfalls ourselves. So Ifango, our guide, takes us to the forest and proves very helpful in finding the more interesting sights. The Rough Guide says the forest is “a haven of shadowy gloom for over 300 species of birds, 45 percent of all recorded butterflies in Kenya, seven species of primates and other mammals, as well as snakes, various other reptiles and untold varieties of insects” (2002, p. 354).
Ifango shows us a Ficus tree that's in the process of enveloping another full-grown tree. It's a Strangling Ficus and takes nearly a hundred years to overtake a tree and several more hundred years to kill the host tree. It's quite amazing to see the tree as it warps around the other. We come upon a Strangling Ficus that long ago killed its host tree. This giant tree is estimated to be more than 500 years. It's massive, with roots standing more than a foot above the ground. We all pose amongst the roots and Ifango takes our photo. Further into the forest, we see a strangling Ficus in the early stages. Bird droppings deposit the Ficus seed in a tree above the ground. The Ficus then grows roots that reach the ground and keep going. In the meantime, the Ficus is also growing upward toward the sun and spreading over the host host until it overtakes and kills the host.
Ifango also shows us a Antiaris Toxcaria Africana, a tree indigenous to Africa. When its bark is scratched, this tree oozes a milky poison used on spear tips to kill animals and enemies. If someone has a cut on their hand and the milk touches the cut, that person will be dead in 15 minutes. He also shows us a plant (which must remain nameless) that when ground up will kill within minutes. Ifango says some people will grind up the leaves, put them in local brew and serve it to their enemies. When the person dies, gashes develop in their torso.
After our hour and a half hike, we leave Ifango and head to the overlook, passing groups of butterflies clustering near water in the road. Reaching the overlook, we climb a nearby hill and sit, snacking on cookies and banana chips and cashews. As we soak up the hills and trees and sky, a man approaches, followed by a local woman. He sees us, waves and says, “You guys been up there all day?” We laugh. I say he's American judging by his loose-fitting jeans and baseball cap. A third man follows in a dress shirt and khakis. Diana says, “I think that's my friend Sweetie,” and we all laugh and say no way.
Diana climbs down from the hill and sure enough, it is Sweetie, so she and her companions climb the hill. They are Hong and Goofa who work for the International Center of Insect Physiology and Ecology (ICIPE). Hong lives in Buffalo, NY (I Was right about his clothing!!) where he works for SUNY, though he's originally from China. Goofa lives in Kisumu but is affiliated with SUNY at Buffalo and is also originally from China. They are both etymologists and are in Kenya to study malaria control. We have a wonderful conversation about mosquitoes and genetics standing on the hill overlooking the magnificent Kenya forest and mountains.
After 30 minutes of introductions and talking, they invite us to ride along with them to the waterfall. Diana and I catch eyes and grin. There are seven of us and their Suzuki fits seven! We ride past houses, children waving and yelling, to get to the falls. The path becomes more and more narrow until it's only wide enough for a person. We climb out and hike down. With the recent rains, the falls are gushing brown water. We take photos then head back to the vehicle. Is it too much to hope they're headed back to Kisumu and will allow us to ride along?
It's not too much to hope. They are very kind and insist we join them, saying, “How often do you get seven people from five different countries together?” We head home in a cushioned seat. I relax into the comfort, relishing it, relishing the space, the feel of a private vehicle. Driving in Kenya is tough, though, and after an hour Goofa asks if we mind taking a few minutes break. We pull off the road and stretch, munching on crackers and cashews, watching the big trucks climb the escarpment hill at 5 miles per house, chugging out giant plumes of black diesel smoke. Children gather across the road to look at these white people, these Asian people riding with two Kenyans. Then children and adults gather on our side of the road. We draw quite a crowd before getting into the car and driving on.
We pass the Yalla River, the site where ICIPE is running a test on malaria control. Malaria is more prevalent in Western Kenya than any other part of the country. Hong explains that within a 3 to 4 km test area they have sprayed every house and provided anti-malarial drugs to all children under five. Because children under five are most vulnerable to malaria, with many of them dying from the disease, they want to find the best preventive techniques. Only certain species of mosquitoes carry Malaria and of those species, only the female bites. The males seem to be born only to share their reproductive powers and then die. When their Yalla River test is complete, ICIPE will know better how to prevent malaria in other areas. Hong says US dollars are supporting this project, “your tax dollars,” he says, “and you should be proud.” Funnily, I am rather proud because most people only have negative things to say about the states.
“Here's the Weeping Stone,” says Hong. I grab my camera and turn it on, prepared to photograph the rock as we roll past. But Goofa pulls to the side of the road and stops. I snap the pic and Diana says, “Looks like your wish came true,” and I think back to the comment in the back of the matatu, about being in a private vehicle and stopping at will for photos. She's so right. So right.
I ask Ed if he's seen a burgundy-colored velvet coffin by the road on his side of the car. He says no. Diana says people shouldn't have coffins any other color than brown or white. Then she tells us most people in their culture believe dead bodies communicate. For instance, she says, if a family is bringing a body back to their village from Nairobi and they have mechanical problems, they'll ask anyone in the vehicle if they've had disagreements with the deceased. If the deceased disliked any of them in any way, the person will be forced out of the vehicle. “I've seen it,” Diana asserts. “One time, we were driving from Nairobi with a body when the car broke down. After checking the engine and finding nothing, the uncle said, 'I know what's causing it,' and he went to the coffin, opened it, and slapped the corpse twice, telling him to give it up and move on to the next world. The car started and never had another problem.”
Just then, we see the valley containing Kisumu and Lake Victoria. Goofa pulls over for photos, then we cruise down the hill toward town, all of us relaxed and happy and comfortable, no mechanical problems to speak of.
At the matatu station, guys get in our faces and demand we get into their vehicles, saying they're going our way, while other guys yell out, “don't listen to them, come with us, we know where you're going.” So Vincent and Diana climb into one matatu whose conductor says the bus will leave immediately when we board and won't sit waiting until the bus is full, which is the usual practice. Ed walks ahead to another matatu to check it out. I'm standing outside the first matatu, keeping an eye on Vincent and Diana while a square-headed guy puts his nose to mine and says, “Come with me, Lady, I'll take you where you're going.” “I'm going right here,” I say and point to the ground. The matatu wants to leave and they're angry we're considering a second bus. The conductor tells the driver to go, but Vincent and Diana are in the very back, and as the driver revs his engine and looks at me, I point my finger at him, emphasizing each word in my most stern voice, “Don't you pull away with them in the back.” And he listens.
Ed waves for us to go to the other bus, so I signal Vincent and Diana and we all safely board the new bus which sounds like a rolling nightclub. Heavy disco remix bass beats pulse through us as we settle into the back seats. We knock our heads on the metal ceiling a couple of times as we bump, accelerate, then brake along the highway out of Kisumu. We climb the escarpment, gaining altitude and cooler weather, marveling at the lush landscape rolling and rolling from mountain to flat valley. Houses poke out of corn fields and banana groves, up and down the sloping hills. Cattle munch in yards, women carry baskets, bags and wood on their heads. We pass a coffin maker shop with caskets on display. One coffin, covered in plush, maroon velvet with a decorative pattern woven in the velvety pile, catches my eye and I can't look away. We come to the Weeping Stone, a huge rock formation that seeps water from the top. It looks something like an eagle. We bounce by, getting a glimpse through the dirty matatu windows sporting decorative tape designs on the outside.
“Can you imagine how nice it would be to travel these roads in a private vehicle, stopping to take pictures whenever you wanted?” Diana agrees it's a fine idea. I dream of private vehicles a a while longer as we jostle to and fro, front to back, trying to keep time with the music. Before one song ends, another starts up and both songs play for about 30 seconds, as though a dj is operating two turntables. We pass a road where a crowd walks toward us, hundreds of men, led by a bull. “It's a bullfight,” Diana tells us. “Is it a man against a bull or bull against bull?,” Vincent asks. Diana laughs at Vincent, saying it's bull on bull, of course. “Well, I ask because in Spain bullfighting is between a man with a red cape and a bull.” “Oh,” says Diana, “Here, it's bull against bull and it's very popular, as you can see.” Madonna sings to us about falling in love with San Pedro, then Diana and I sing to “Let's hear it for the boy, let's give the boy a hand.” We are entering Kakamega and our matatu driver keeps turning down the sound, but we continue to sing, “Let's hear it for my baby, you know you gotta' understand.”
We exit the bus at a gas station and cross the road to buy snacks at a supermarket. Then we catch a matatu to the north gate of Kakamega Forest, about 20 km ahead. A sign clearly marks the forest and we follow it down a red dirt road to the gate. Kakamega isn't a national park, though it is run by the Kenya Wildlife Services (KWS). We pay 500 shillings ($6 USD) as residents of Kenya and Vincent pays $10 USD, or 780 shillings. Strange how they list the non-resident rate in USD. A young man in tattered and unclean clothes follows us from the main road, espousing his expertise as a forest guide. We're not interested in his services and ignore him somewhat. When Ed asks him if he knows who Tony Blair is, the young man answers in the positive and says he feels Blair's re-election is a good thing, unlike Bush's. We all laugh. People all around the world, in developed and developing countries, know everything that's going on in the U.S. I'm often amazed by how much people know about our culture and politics.
After we pay our entry fees and begin walking, the young man follows us until we finally tell him we want to navigate the forest on our own. He's not happy and asks for money for a coke. None of us respond but instead discuss which direction we should go. Should we see the forest, the falls or the viewpoint first? We decide to follow the sign to the KWS office and soon find it. Kakamega Forest, approximately 240 square kilometers, is the only remaining part of an ancient forest in Kenya that once covered the African continent along the equator and from the Indian to the Atlantic Ocean. With the population explosion, and people cutting down forest for farmland and firewood, Kenya's forest is in danger of being lost. The Rough Guide to Kenya says Kakamega is of interest to zoologists and botanist around the world as an example of how an isolated environment can survive cut off from its larger body.
Though the government talks about preserving the area, people live on the forest's edge and continue to slash and burn for farmland. It's also said officials, elected to protect the forest, sell parcels to locals illegally, pocketing the money. An organization called Kenyan Environmental and Ecological Protection (KEEP) works to educate the locals on the importance of preserving the forest. They are holding a class for children when we enter their building and Henry, who runs the program, shows us their tree nursery, where they're raising seedlings to distribute to local farms. This will give the farm owners a source of firewood so they will not enter the forest for fuel.
If we'd like a guide through the forest, to the falls and to the viewpoint, it'll be 200 shillings per person per activity. We're gob smacked (speechless). 600 shillings is a lot of money for a guided tour. Of course, the funds go directly to the program to preserve the forest. Even then, we all agree it'll be nice to have a guide through the forest, but we should be able to find the overlook point and waterfalls ourselves. So Ifango, our guide, takes us to the forest and proves very helpful in finding the more interesting sights. The Rough Guide says the forest is “a haven of shadowy gloom for over 300 species of birds, 45 percent of all recorded butterflies in Kenya, seven species of primates and other mammals, as well as snakes, various other reptiles and untold varieties of insects” (2002, p. 354).
Ifango shows us a Ficus tree that's in the process of enveloping another full-grown tree. It's a Strangling Ficus and takes nearly a hundred years to overtake a tree and several more hundred years to kill the host tree. It's quite amazing to see the tree as it warps around the other. We come upon a Strangling Ficus that long ago killed its host tree. This giant tree is estimated to be more than 500 years. It's massive, with roots standing more than a foot above the ground. We all pose amongst the roots and Ifango takes our photo. Further into the forest, we see a strangling Ficus in the early stages. Bird droppings deposit the Ficus seed in a tree above the ground. The Ficus then grows roots that reach the ground and keep going. In the meantime, the Ficus is also growing upward toward the sun and spreading over the host host until it overtakes and kills the host.
Ifango also shows us a Antiaris Toxcaria Africana, a tree indigenous to Africa. When its bark is scratched, this tree oozes a milky poison used on spear tips to kill animals and enemies. If someone has a cut on their hand and the milk touches the cut, that person will be dead in 15 minutes. He also shows us a plant (which must remain nameless) that when ground up will kill within minutes. Ifango says some people will grind up the leaves, put them in local brew and serve it to their enemies. When the person dies, gashes develop in their torso.
After our hour and a half hike, we leave Ifango and head to the overlook, passing groups of butterflies clustering near water in the road. Reaching the overlook, we climb a nearby hill and sit, snacking on cookies and banana chips and cashews. As we soak up the hills and trees and sky, a man approaches, followed by a local woman. He sees us, waves and says, “You guys been up there all day?” We laugh. I say he's American judging by his loose-fitting jeans and baseball cap. A third man follows in a dress shirt and khakis. Diana says, “I think that's my friend Sweetie,” and we all laugh and say no way.
Diana climbs down from the hill and sure enough, it is Sweetie, so she and her companions climb the hill. They are Hong and Goofa who work for the International Center of Insect Physiology and Ecology (ICIPE). Hong lives in Buffalo, NY (I Was right about his clothing!!) where he works for SUNY, though he's originally from China. Goofa lives in Kisumu but is affiliated with SUNY at Buffalo and is also originally from China. They are both etymologists and are in Kenya to study malaria control. We have a wonderful conversation about mosquitoes and genetics standing on the hill overlooking the magnificent Kenya forest and mountains.
After 30 minutes of introductions and talking, they invite us to ride along with them to the waterfall. Diana and I catch eyes and grin. There are seven of us and their Suzuki fits seven! We ride past houses, children waving and yelling, to get to the falls. The path becomes more and more narrow until it's only wide enough for a person. We climb out and hike down. With the recent rains, the falls are gushing brown water. We take photos then head back to the vehicle. Is it too much to hope they're headed back to Kisumu and will allow us to ride along?
It's not too much to hope. They are very kind and insist we join them, saying, “How often do you get seven people from five different countries together?” We head home in a cushioned seat. I relax into the comfort, relishing it, relishing the space, the feel of a private vehicle. Driving in Kenya is tough, though, and after an hour Goofa asks if we mind taking a few minutes break. We pull off the road and stretch, munching on crackers and cashews, watching the big trucks climb the escarpment hill at 5 miles per house, chugging out giant plumes of black diesel smoke. Children gather across the road to look at these white people, these Asian people riding with two Kenyans. Then children and adults gather on our side of the road. We draw quite a crowd before getting into the car and driving on.
We pass the Yalla River, the site where ICIPE is running a test on malaria control. Malaria is more prevalent in Western Kenya than any other part of the country. Hong explains that within a 3 to 4 km test area they have sprayed every house and provided anti-malarial drugs to all children under five. Because children under five are most vulnerable to malaria, with many of them dying from the disease, they want to find the best preventive techniques. Only certain species of mosquitoes carry Malaria and of those species, only the female bites. The males seem to be born only to share their reproductive powers and then die. When their Yalla River test is complete, ICIPE will know better how to prevent malaria in other areas. Hong says US dollars are supporting this project, “your tax dollars,” he says, “and you should be proud.” Funnily, I am rather proud because most people only have negative things to say about the states.
“Here's the Weeping Stone,” says Hong. I grab my camera and turn it on, prepared to photograph the rock as we roll past. But Goofa pulls to the side of the road and stops. I snap the pic and Diana says, “Looks like your wish came true,” and I think back to the comment in the back of the matatu, about being in a private vehicle and stopping at will for photos. She's so right. So right.
I ask Ed if he's seen a burgundy-colored velvet coffin by the road on his side of the car. He says no. Diana says people shouldn't have coffins any other color than brown or white. Then she tells us most people in their culture believe dead bodies communicate. For instance, she says, if a family is bringing a body back to their village from Nairobi and they have mechanical problems, they'll ask anyone in the vehicle if they've had disagreements with the deceased. If the deceased disliked any of them in any way, the person will be forced out of the vehicle. “I've seen it,” Diana asserts. “One time, we were driving from Nairobi with a body when the car broke down. After checking the engine and finding nothing, the uncle said, 'I know what's causing it,' and he went to the coffin, opened it, and slapped the corpse twice, telling him to give it up and move on to the next world. The car started and never had another problem.”
Just then, we see the valley containing Kisumu and Lake Victoria. Goofa pulls over for photos, then we cruise down the hill toward town, all of us relaxed and happy and comfortable, no mechanical problems to speak of.
posted by Cindi at 5:27 PM
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