Logic in Africa

There we were staring into the face of adversity, and I am not just talking about driving on the opposite side of the road. A final gut wrenching climb brought us to the Ethiopian border where we were greeted by the usual touts and drove through what we thought was an unmanned boom in search of customs and immigration. An armed border official brought us to a hostile halt. We were mobbed by more touts and children.

“Give me your passports”

“Who said that?” A plain clothed “customs official” demanded we give him our passports. Four well-seasoned travelers all thought as one “Voetsek!!!” Once established that the said individual had no ID, he became irate and sought the backup of the armed border official who promptly told us to “Go back to Kenya”.

Realizing that logic wasn’t getting us anywhere we weighed up our options. With the Isiolo - Moyale road still fresh in our memories, we had to concede and tried to show them our passports through the window, to which the response was “there are no tiefs in Ethiopia, give me your passports”. Well, what could we do? With four hands poised ready to burst open the doors and chase after our passports in case he was in fact a tief, we waited with baited breath as our visas were scratched and sniffed for authenticity.

It turns out that a uniform has little meaning here. Once the officials were pacified and immigration – a different man this time with no uniform but he had a desk and a stamp – had stamped our visas, we learned that the government had given customs the day off. With strong suspicions that this was our punishment for logical thinking, we insisted on being served and refused to hang about in the crappy Moyale border town for two days. Eventually after Jill and my powers of female persuasion, the armed guard called in a favor and a customs official sauntered down the street in a kikoy and slops to stamp our car into Ethiopia.

Ethiopia is a strange place and very different to any other country we have been in thus far. It seems quite opposite to other African countries, in that the towns are not so great but cities are much more pleasant. Apart from fantastic tarred roads and beautiful landscapes, until we reached Addis Ababa the people of Ethiopia had left us wondering why we were here at all. Towns people would shout and scream at us with such anger, throw sticks and stones at the car and generally give you a look that is anything but welcoming. Everywhere you go an echo of “You you you farangi you you you farangi, give me money, give me money” rings in your ears.

Ethiopians we have spoken to in the city explain this behavior away as their culture but I am not convinced. In contrast, many Ethiopians we have met in the city of Addis are so welcoming and friendly. For the time being we are just confused by the country. However, we did experience some phenomenal local singing and dancing at a club the other night. The dancing is almost like body popping but with more rhythm and flow. It’s really impressive. The shoulder shrug/jerk is our new thing – wow, what silly farangi’s (foreigners) we are.

Campbell enjoying a well deserved local beer (St George) in Addis Ababa. Check out the puffy hair. It has since been cut by yours truly - I have discovered a hidden talent to control, to some degree, Campbell's thick locks >>>

On another note, Kaspuur has been to the doctor to replace the rear shocks and for a wheel alignment. Isiolo – Moyale strikes again, although all-in-all not a bad damage report considering what we put her through. Our Egyptian visas are all shiny and new but hold thumbs for the Sudanese visas for us!!

Kaspuur at the doctors >>>

Rattling our way to Ethiopia

Two days of relaxation and some more curio shopping later Campbell, Kaspuur, one giant wooden box and I were detouring back to Nairobi. “Haven’t they done Nairobi” I hear you say? Yes, either we completely wreck our car on the infamous Isiolo – Moyale road that has claimed many a traveler with the weight we were carrying or we ship the weight home and hopefully do less damage. So, after finding a curio shop that makes wooden boxes we packed our Kitibikai (aka dead body), other artwork and odds’n’sods and drove to Nairobi that day.

The morning at the shippers. Yes, that is all our stuff lying about the place >>>
Shipping was an interesting experience. We had an audience of over 30 onlookers in the cargo terminal of the airport while we weighed our newly acquired box – 135kg WHAT!!! How have we been driving with so much dead weight? I’m not sure if it was a mzungu thing or that they really don’t see a shipment like this on a daily basis but we were centre stage.

With that out of the way Team America rejoined Kaspuur and off we rattled, bounced, slammed and swerved up the east trans-African “highway” to Moyale. No-one can adequately describe how bad this road is, you have to experience it for yourself in order to get a sniff of what the ordeal entails – it’s corrugated, desolute, baron, rocky, volcanic, sandy, dry, nomadic and incredibly muddy in parts after the rains. Four (Team America & Kaspuur) exhausted overlanders rolled into the town that marks the halfway point, Marsabit, with a real sense of having just survived something major.

For two years Campbell and I have been talking about this stretch of the journey and hoping that the landy we chose would make the trip. We chose well. Although she was punished, Kaspuur put in a stellar performance. I, however, didn’t do as much. Poor Campbell drove 80% of the first leg to Marsabit with Danny helping out while I decorated the landscape with my own personal breadcrumb trail. Hansel and Grettle have nothing on the trail I left. Whatever bug I had required a day of recovery in the arse-end of nowhere, Marsabit, where there were facilities close by – a definite requirement. 12hours of “shaken not stirred” had not done my stomach any good.

Campbell taking a moment to admire the nomadic scenery ... while eating a bowl of Chocos>>>

Our last few sunlight hours on the Isiolo - Marsabit leg. We still had several hours of driving ahead of us in the pitch dark with nothing but our headlights to guide the way >>>

Believe it or not, this is one of the good stretches of this road. The gravel-like shards are asking for a fresh wheel to puncture >>>

We made it to Moyale the next day feeling almost nostalgic at having crossed one of the biggest milestones in our trip. Little did we know that we were about to get sent back through Kenya by a disgruntled border official.

Marsabit

Just a quick update to let everybody know where we are...

The name of Marsabit will send chills down the spine of any seasoned East Africa traveller. This is the half way point between Isiolo (the place where you said goodbye to tar roads) and the Ethiopian border. Its a two day drive. This road is renowned for being the worst road in Africa. This is very true. The entire stretch is a washboard of corrugations that shake your car and your bones.

We wisely made the choice to lighten our vehicle by 135kgs before leaving. This makes a lot of different. There are places where the road is so bad that you choose to drive through the desert instead.

So here we are in Marsabit. It has a wild west feel to it because it is so remote but it still has a bank and internet facilities so the modern world is fast approaching.

This road is currently being tarred but the Kenyan government is years away from completing it. Anybody with hopes based on rumours of soft roads (like we did) should give them up quickly. Off to the Ethiopian border tomorrow..

Mzungus do Mount Kenya

We have come to learn that we are Mzungus – it means white person. It is one of the words you recognize in most Swahili conversations and is usually accompanied with stacks of laughter in a “look at what the silly white people are doing now” way. It is quite fitting especially when you realize you are doing something incredibly western that is totally out of place in Africa, such as:

- Climb Mount Kenya with every piece of unnecessary trekking fashion accessory while your porters, who have climbed the mountain for several years, hike in trainers, simple rain attire and jeans.

- Wear Indiana Jones cowboy hats for the sun and still get burnt.

- Learn 3 words in Swahili and repeat them so you think you are saying more than you actually are e.g. Sawa sawa (Alright alright), Pola pola (slowly slowly), Poa poa (cool cool), Jambo jambo (hello hello)…I could go on and on.

So the mzungus, sporting their cowboy hats, and Kaspuur made their way to Nanyuki (2300m), the town where most Mt Kenya mountain treks leave from. Facing separation anxiety, Kaspuur put in a good performance on the dodgy roads through the rural villages into Nanyuki town where we left her in the capable hands of the Sportsmans Arms hotel which was teaming with British soldiers – no-one dared mess with her here.

Handing over to Campbell to blog the mountain…

Enter Campbell:

So we climbed a mountain. It was difficult. It was more than difficult. More so it was incredibly beautiful. Here’s how it broke down…

We were picked up from the Sportmans Arms Hotel by our team (2 porters, 1 cook and a guide) at a leisurely 11am. They rolled in on the coolest matatu we have ever seen – it was kitted with a flat screen TV in the back, playing Kenya’s top 40 Christian music videos. Our groovin ride took us to the base camp at the entrance to the national park.

The day was going well. We still felt the sense of adventure when it started to torrential downpour and our matatu got stuck en route to the park entrance. ‘Kit up Team we’re hiking to the gate’ was our guide’s authoritative word on the matter. We were all a bit unprepared as we had been glued to the flat-screen TV, so by the time we got to Sirimon Gate Ally and I had to change a full set of clothes. We were soaked through and didn’t smell too good either but a good cuppa joe and a meal later we begun our epic journey up Mount Kenya.

Mount Kenya is huge. The peak is only one attraction in the reserve. There are valleys and craters at every turn. The scenery and plants are constantly changing as there are different climactic zones as you climb higher.

Some of the 100s of snapshots from the trek>>>Two really tired mzungus made it to camp on the first evening. We climbed some altitude on day 1 and the cold was setting in so we asked our guide for our jackets - I was really looking forward to climbing into a down North Face jacket. Our guide’s response was not good. In fact, that’s exactly what he said ‘this is not good’. Somewhere along the line wires had been crossed but it turns out you don’t really need all the fancy kit, layers work just as well even if you do resemble the Michelin Man. Toilet paper was thicker than our sleeping bags that looked like they had been stolen from a kids slumber party but once again layers work well. It’s amazing how much we convince ourselves what we need in life.

We thought we were pretty fit individuals, but as it turns out fitness has very little to do with climbing a mountain at such an altitude. We had trekked from Old Moses hut (2600m) to Liki North hut (3993m) to Shiptons Camp (4294m). Ally started to feel the altitude at Likii North so sleeping and eating was difficult, although these are the most crucial challenges to overcome when trekking this high as you are burning twice as much but not eating to compensate. As it goes in life I teased the pants off Ally thinking that she was just making things up, until on our trek from Likii North to Shiptons Camp I was hit with a full wave of what it means to trek at altitude – I struggled at the back.

Liki North Hut>>>View from Liki North>>>

"I'm not fat, just big-boned!" >>>

"I'll show you, I'll leave a present in your boot. Pah, calling me fat!">>>Shiptons Camp is the final camp before the summit (4985m) and it is important to arrive in tip top condition as you wake up at 3am the following morning to summit. We, however, flopped into our bunks with headaches pounding like bongo drums – the first signs of altitude sickness – and nausea. We arrived at camp looking and feeling like we could not go on – we both wanted to run back down the mountain at this point.

A small group of Brits who were already at Shiptons camp had arrived the day before to acclimatize. Apparently this is what everybody does. Not us. We were going to attempt to summit in 12 hours – then again we’d had a day of acclimatization at Liki North which most people don’t have. The Brits were naturally chatty and kept telling us their pain when they had to acclimatize. Not knowing we were summiting in 12 hours, they would say things like, ‘Hurts, yeah. Don’t worry. 24hrs of rest and you’ll be fine.’ Later a group of Greeks arrived to summit in 24 hours and they made a point of telling us that 12hours can’t be done. Well, did we prove them wrong or what!

Our experienced guide took one look at us, fed us and sent us to bed with strict instructions to drink water through the night. Seen as you don’t sleep much at altitude we drank and peed our way through the pain. Excellent!

A vvvvery cold night camping at Liki North >>>2am the next morning we were up, feeling right as rain and ready to attempt to summit. We asked our guide to set an incredibly slow pace. Wow, slow has a new meaning to us now. Whole herds of mountain snails made the summit before us, but we made it and would not have done it at any other pace. Hiking through the night to the dawn we arrived shortly after sunrise. The scenery is truly amazing. I was so overcome with the task that emotion cracked my voice when I thanked our guide. He put out his hand to shake mine. I embraced him with a hug which clearly wasn’t quite done in his culture.

Ally and Campbell getting ready at 2am>>>Thanks to Ally’s hired spunky attire (red jacket, pink rain trousers and 100 other layers) she has become the first telly tubby to summit Mount Kenya!

We made the sunrise at the summit>>>

Happy, tired Campbell at the summit>>>We were finished, ready to crawl into our sleeping bags and pass out but our guide reminded us that we have to walk the equivalent of a half marathon to the overnight camp. This was not good news. To make it worse the next day we had to walk 3/4 of a marathon to get to the transport link to take us back to our hotel.

This was hard - almost harder than the summit. Blisters appeared, feet ached and our pain was only interrupted by some of the most amazing scenery we have ever seen. With the summit no longer visible we were still stumbling onto gorges, craters, waterfalls and lakes.

We made it to our transport link back to Nanyuki barely walking. It was more of a shuffle. We were Zombies dead to the world. Our guide was so proud of us that he hugged us good bye. I thought the hug in the middle of a taxis rank was a little unnecessary but I think he was trying to adopt my custom. Others who had made the summit with us that day gawked at us and patted us on the back as they had taken the lazy route and Jeeped it to the final destination – all 54km. What a sense of achievement that was for us.

We thought our adventures were over, but one of our porters enjoyed spending his tip at the bar before our matatu was due to leave. When changing matatus at a junction town he ended up in a brawl. After throwing a few handbags he was thrown back in the matatu to continue to the next stop. Exciting stuff.

Recovery…lots of sleeping, eating and more sleeping.

Ally catching 40winks >>>
Point Lenana is the peak to the far left, then Nelion and Batian (technical climbs) to the right>>>
We are hardcore, we conquered Mount Kenya>>>

The Great Rift Valley

Nairobi is a crazy city to drive in. You find yourself competing for road space with donkey-carts, cyclists and lawless matatu (taxi) and bus drivers who have no qualms driving in the wrong lane meters away from on coming traffic. They play chicken with their lives on a daily basis. Campbell and I learnt to be pushy drivers in Nairobi otherwise you will sit in traffic for hours while your lane fills up from the front.

After driving around for hours trying to find Upper Hill Lodge & Campsite in our outdated travel guide we enlisted the help of a lovely fruit saleswoman who insisted on coming in our car right to the door of the campsite and then taxiing herself back to her market stall. We would never have found it without her – another example of how lovely and friendly the African people are.

While Kaspuur had her service we explored the area by bike (which is much scarier than cycling in London), enjoyed the comforts of an actual shopping mall, bartered for more artwork, booked our Mount Kenya climb, chilled out and met Michael the overland cyclist who made us look like pansies. Wow, what a feat! He has cycled all the way from Denmark, down the west coast of Africa and now down the east coast from Kenya to Cape Town.

The Great Rift Valley>>>

After stocking up in one of Africa’s major supermarket chains – Nakumatt – we pushed on to Lake Naivasha northwest of Nairobi. Our spur of the moment decision to go here really paid off as it turned out to be a gem. We got to cycle through Hell’s Gate National Park with zebras, buck, baboons and warthogs meters away from us without a car as a buffer. Lucky there weren’t any lions! Hell’s Gate Gorge was a definite tour not to be missed with its steaming hot springs, twists and turns, volcanic plugs and rock strata’s. Our Israeli friend Yuara joined us on a stunning hike of the extinct volcano Mount Longonot (2777m) and its massive crater.

The devil's in Hell's Gate Gorge>>>

Hell's Gate Gorge>>>

The Volcanic plug>>>

Can you see the zebras? >>>

Mount Longonot >>>

Fisherman’s Camp on the waters edge of Lake Naivasha brought the party to us. It turned out that a music festival had been scheduled during our stay. It was a weird situation to be in - to have traveled so far from the UK and yet have hundreds of British music lovers flock to our campsite in their wellies, tattooed arms, spare beers in their jean pockets and horny teenagers. It was like a mini Glastonbury Festival without the rain and loads of hippos bopping to the tunes on the other side of the electric fence. Wicked mate!

We promised ourselves we would slow down on bartering for artwork. That was until we drove out of Naivasha on our way to Nyahururu and passed the most stunning curio shop yet. Several hours later with our pockets burning and what looked suspiciously like a dead body on the back seat we pushed on ACROSS THE EQUATOR (WOOOOHOOO – northern hemisphere!!) to Nyahururu which boasts to be Kenya’s highest town at 2500m in altitude. Here is where we got our first taster of sleeping at altitude – Nyahururu you got nothing on Mount Kenya!Kitibikai - artwork that looks suspiciously like a dead body>>>