I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I got up and packed my bags again. I went downstairs to have tea for breakfast. I wasn't hungry and there's something about tea made with hot goat milk. I can't tell if it fills you up or it just sates your appetite. I sat and drank my chai while I stared at the goat that was delivered for the day's barbecues. These little guys will hang here all day in a non-refrigerated room sitting with the sun beating on them. Have no fear, when they cook, it kills everything. At least that's what I'm telling myself. It's the way all the meat is "stored," sold, cooked and then eaten. When in Rome...I bought a lot of stuff on this trip, but I'm pretty sure that the bulk of it's already spoken for - most of which is for the kids and Andrea. Regardless of what I already had, we headed back to the shop by the Kenol station. I placed an order for a rosewood elephant and found some really cool stuff for Katie... and something for Karen... and another thing for Kevin. Yes, something for Andrea, too.
Isaac soon arrived and informed me that he was having his car washed next door. He's been to America several times and really likes Delta Sonic. These guys actually do a pretty good job. It's a classic example of "location, location, location!" Each person has his own water tank and pressure washer. The do the entire car, inside and out for 200ksh. That's just over $2. As to the location, it's set right on the main road and everyone going a shop in this strip of land has to pass them. There are 2 guest houses in a addition to the Park Villa, a coffee shop and a very nice bar/restaurant. It's really the perfect spot if you're visiting Masai Mara. You get a really good idea of daily life as you walk from the Park Villa to the other side. You see women drying beans and treating wheat. There are pike-piki drivers waiting to give you a ride. Some smaller shops pepper the square as you get closer to the open air restaurant at the end of the plaza. It's actually a pretty spot with the kitchen being the first thing you see. As you pass by and see all the food available, you come upon tables and chairs in the open. The bar is the next thing you see. It's centered on the far wall and separates to seating areas under cover... a large screen tv sits on either side of the bar for additional entertainment. It makes me wonder if they have people come play music here. The place is built for something like that. We wandered back to the car wash and waited for them to finish the floor mats before hopping in. The entire operation sits in the dirt, but to prevent you from interring the car with dirty, wet feet, they place a plastic matt on the ground next to the doors. All this AND customer service for 2 bucks.
Okay, I just fell asleep. The barbecue we had finished at 9 was already giving me the nods. I'll pick this up tomorrow morning.
Okay, it's tomorrow morning.
We left the curio shop with a bag of goodies and headed to
Tusky’s to pick up some supplies. We
were only there for a short time, so it was still before noon. We grabbed a soccer ball for Isaac’s children
(I have to remember to bring more of them next time). The one important thing to remember about
soccer balls in Kenya is that they spend no time on a grass field. None.
Grass is only good if you bag it and sell it to feed the cows. The “fields” they play on are dirt and
rock. The stones are not smooth; instead
they’re jagged and anxiously await impact from a soccer ball to prove to the
ball that he was there first. Long story
short, you can’t buy cheap balls – they burst too easily and won’t last beyond
a week.
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| Isaac's Grandfather "He was a tough guy." |
The plans hadn’t arrived yet so we proceeded to Isaac’s
parents home. They live about 20 minutes
outside of Narok and the ride there was beautiful despite the overcast
sky. Looking out the window, you would
think I was driving through the rolling hills of Virginia with patchwork farms
as far as the eye could see - although the donkey's throw a monkey wrench in that image. Acres of
wheat and barley rippled under the cooling breeze in an attempt to tell us that
rain was coming. I never thought I’d be
driving in Kenya with the heater on.
Isaac pointed out where his family’s land begins; we
couldn’t see where it ended over the horizon.
“This is all Kasura!” he said proudly.
You cold almost see his back straighten and shoulders broaden as he said
it. “Isaac, this is amazing,” and the
smile on his face signified that he appreciated the comment. You wouldn’t normally associate “farming”
with the Masai. You think nomads, cows,
goats, lions and mystery. This is the
other Masai. On one side, you’ve got the
traditional bright red shuka wrapped around a tall slender body. Club tucked into his waistband, walking sick
in the other as he leads his cows to graze.
They can’t farm because of the wild animals – it’s way too
counterproductive. Instead, some of the
Masai move to the highlands where the soil is much more fertile and the rain is
more condusive to their needs. The
farmers buy their goat meat and beef from Masai Mara, and those on the Mara buy
their wheat, corn and vegetables from their counterparts to the north.
We drove past a thick wall of dense bushes before turning
back on our route to enter their property.
If you didn’t know where the entrance was, you’d never find it traveling
in this direction.
Before the car stopped a tall thin man with a drawn face and
thick head of silver and gray hair hurried up the path to greet me and his
son. His wide eyes and bright smile
spoke volumes as he firmly grasped my hand and pulled me in close for a
traditional “hug” hello. I touched my
left temple his, then repeated the gesture with the right, never letting go of
our grasp. I placed my left hand on his
shoulder and could feel that time has passed since he filled out the suit
jacket he was wearing. Still, he was
quite tall and absolutely refused to succumb to time. He was an older more “Kenyanny” version of me
- thin, square shoulders and chicken legs (which showed as his pant legs moved
with each stride).
 |
| Yup, that's Corporal Isaac |
He smiled as he greeted Isaac. This time it was him that grasped his son’s
shoulder. Work on the Mara keeps Isaac
away from his own family for long periods of time. It does the same for this one. He welcomed us to his home in strong, deep
Kiswahili. English was foreign to him
and his wife Grace. The sitting room is
always just inside the door, and it’s also always the biggest room in the
house. What else would you expect from
some of the most hospitable people I’ve ever encountered. We looked at the photographs mixed with posters that adorn the walls. There were pictures of Isaac as a young man, his brothers and sisters, too. Grace brought us chai as we talked; Isaac
interpreting for his father and me. His
parents were grateful for the visit, and for treating his son like a family
member. Isaac was uncomfortable when I
responded with, “Please tell your father that I’m grateful for him and his wife
for raising such a wonderful son. I
didn’t know you as a boy, but I’m proud to call you my friend and
brother.” It was the only time he paused
before translating. A shy grin came
across his lips and he lowered his a head a bit, “Oh, Adam,” he said. “Thank you,” then proceeded to
interpret. Those exchanges were very
common during this visit. Isaac has
clearly told stories about us and my families friendship with him that spans two
continents and both hemispheres. It is
truly as deep as it is wide. I removed
my laptop and Isaac moved between his parents to go through a short series of
pictures of the family and the place we call “home.”
Grace snuck out shortly thereafter and returned with rice,
cooked beef (cut into small cubes) and a cabbage/carrot combo. I served myself (thank God) and was
comfortable when I finished. That does
not stand in Kenya. I feel like a turkey
in October. They just keep shoveling the
food on my plate, and I keep shoveling it in my pie hole. God, I can’t wait to have pie when I get
home. Sorry, that was an easy
distraction. After lunch, there was the
third or fourth exchange of gratitude and blessing for our relationship before
we departed to tour his farm. Before that, I removed a gift for each from my bag - the equivalent of a "Leatherman" utility tool for his father and chocolates for his mother. The smile never left his face as he explored the device inspecting each and every tool on it. I gave one to Isaac when he visited us in the US, and he had informed me that his father was quite fond of it. You can't go wrong with sweets, so everyone was happy and shared their thanks.
I was given a Masai walking stick, and the three of us
departed. Every single piece of land was
put to use. We walked past things that
looked like weeds, but they had a reason for being there. The tree leaves from this tree help with
cramps, the bark of this one is used for fever… on and on and on. I felt like a 5th grader on a
field trip.
INTERLUDE: If you
haven’t figured it out already, this will probably be the longest daily blog
EVER. Buckle up.
Isaac’s 79 year old father Rubin, then moved up and down
steep and slippery hills for over 1 ½ hours.
We easily covered a mile or two as we walked down into the velley toward
the end of the property. Rain had begun
to fall, and the steep slope was too slippery to navigate. Isaac interpretted, “Next time,” as we walked
into a forest. He continued to tell me
about the history of the land and his father’s anger that he is the only one in
the valley that still has indigenous trees.
His voice had a hint of anger as he pointed with his walking stick to
the neighboring farms. They cut theirs
down to for personal use or to sell.
Each tree had a long history.
Standing in the middle of them, you couldn’t even see the surrounding
farms.
“This tree is where a man set a trap for a gazelle but
instead caught a cheetah. The cheetah
killed him. It was right there.”
“This tree is where the elders would go when they needed
rain. They’d slaughter a goat, drink the
blood and eat the kidney. They rain
would start before they were finished.
Every time!”
While the stories continued, Isaac would stop to identify
the birds. Some, just by the sounds they
were making. Parrots continued to fly
between the branches. The others I
heard, but were hidden among the leaves.
He did the same thing in Maseno, actually. One day we were driving to the clinic when he
said, “Oh, did you hear that. That’s the
something something cuckoo bird. When it
talks it means it’s going to rain.” I
looked out the window to see nothing but blue.
“There’s not a cloud in the sky.
“It’s going to rain,” was all he said.
4 Hours later, it did.
While the three of us stood listening to birds and Isaac
bouncing back and forth between English and Kiswahili, he got very
excited. “Oh, do you see that bird! They
are very rare on the mara!” You couldn’t
miss it. He was sitting in a tree
jumping between branches. It was huge,
and it’s face unmistakeable. “That’s a,”
and before he finished his sentence, we simultaneously said, “hornbill!” It was magnificent. We managed to get some good pictures, but it
was difficult because the light was coming from behind him above the canopy of
the trees.
Walking further was like wandering from the Amazon to the
Adirondacks. There were thickets of
vines wrapped around moss covered trees then three steps later there was dry
bark with deep cracks. Bilindfold me and
spin me around a few times, and I’ll never find my way out. The only signs of human life is a 4’ fence
with barbed wire that keeps the cows from entering areas they should not. Even that is difficult to spot as the sun
started to emerge from behind the clouds and fight it’s way past the leaves and
trees and vines before it reached the earth where we stood. We turned and Rubin proceeded to lead us out.
We got to the fence that we came through on our way in and after we came through, Rubin turned to secure the gate. When we entered earlier, his keen eye spotted some tracks in the mud and he and Isaac had an exchange that culminated with, "It's okay, it wasn't a cow it was a donkey." This is something of a common "thruway" for people to get from the main road to their homes beyond the Kasura's land. While fastening the gate, his eye once again caught something, and he stayed fixated on it. I could only see him from behind as he stood holding the gate closed. A few minutes passed and a young woman with some donkey's approached. Rubin opened the gate to allow safe passage. Isaac turned to me and said, "Toll road." We both laughed out loud. The woman that came through the gate was Isaac's niece. Rubin asked for some pictures. His wish was fulfilled. I'm sure we'll be bringing many back with us when we return.
It's important to note that Mr. Kasura is smiling for practically the entire time. His mind is as sharp as his wit. He only knows one phrase in English. In fact, if you don't speak English in Kenya, you know this word. Okay. It's not spoken like we do, though. There's a strain and crescendo to it.
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| this is the soft "tissue" leaf. |
Imagine saying it while there's a cinder block on your chest. The "Ohhh" starts at a slightly higher pitch, then drops for the "Kay," which is pronounced like it's two syllables. "Ohhh - Kay - ee." It's his go to response whether your speaking english, kiswahili or ma'a. It's quite endearing. He enjoys a good laugh, and just seems generally happy, and he has every reason to. He was the first born in a family of 7 and 3 of his siblings still live on this land. He gave birth to 12 children and 3 of them also have homes on the same land. He's got grandchildren running around everywhere here! He has succeeded in every way a father and brother could. He and Isaac stopped for a moment to survey their land. It was a touching moment that they may not have even realized happened.
We proceed up the hall the hill passing the vegetables. It's unfair to call them "vegetable patches" because they're simple too big. We passed by a plant whose leaves felt like soft cloth. "We use these like tissues," Isaac said. I bet they do! They felt like Puffs Plus! Seriously. We than passed by the potatoes and onions as we came upon the first of Rubin's sister's home. As we climbed the aged wooden steps, Rubin turned to look at me as if to say, "Are you okay?" I didn't think I looked that out of shape, but I was checking in on me in a similar fashion on the downhill walk! That's just insulting. At least his father waiting until the end of the climb.
As you'd expect again, more goat milk tea and a quick tour of her home. Next door was another sister where more tea was served. We stayed here for awhile as we were joined by her daughter and her new grand-daughter (1 week old). I think there were three cups consumed on this stop. The poor girl had broken her leg in January, and when the cast came off they found out that it didn't heal properly. Now she's got a steel rod in her leg and the recovery from that has been slow. All this while being pregnant. Holy mackerel! She's down to walking with one crutch, but you can tell she's uncomfortable. Her mom, Isaac's Aunt Esther, is a teacher who taught both Isaac and her daughter. Isaac was a good student by all accounts, although he did relay a story when he was younger and poor at math. He was taking a test and was copying from the boy next to him. He even copied the boys name so capture was unavoidable. A caning followed. He got better in math.
We thanked them for welcoming us and moved to the 3rd sister's home. She was not in, so we said hi to her son-in-law and grandchildren. The youngest one was probably 3 and was absolutely terrified while the others were just wary. I swatted down to make it a fair fight and held out a fist. I nodded my head toward them and said "Gota." The bigger ones offered up one of the smaller ones as a sacrifice. When he cautiously gave me a fist bump, a smile appeared and the coast was clear. Everyone then joined except for the 3 year old. He wanted no part of me and was now screaming and crying wrestling to get away from his sister who was trying to bring him closer. "She's afraid of ghosts," I said. All the children and Isaac laughed. I backed up and took a quick picture.
I was grateful that I didn't have to have anymore chai. As we walked back to his parent's house, I said, "If I don't find a bathroom, I'm going to wet my pants." Isaac laughed and led me to a latrine. It was just what the doctor ordered. I should have taken a picture of it, though. It was very old but still fully operations. It was made of sticks and bark. The stick frame was leaning simply out of age and the vertical bark walls had contracted to allow plenty of light (and line of sight). The roof was about 6' off the ground, so it was a bit short for me, and the bark didn't make it to the ceiling. It was about 8" short in spots. Again, lot's viewing for those inside and out.
Next we visited Isaac's home when he was younger. It was very modest one room home clearly showing signs of age, yet still very functional. Anyone that knows Isaac also knows that he's a fan of Shakira. The posters on the wall told the whole story. He lived here from age 20 - 25. We had a good laugh, and finally it wasn't at my expense.
We made our way back to the house via the dirt road and passed by a primary school across the street. The children were extremely curious and came running to the gate yelling, "Mzungo! Mzungo! How ah you? I ah-m fine." I slowly walked across the road as Rubin and Isaac patiently waited. I used the same "gota" schtick to trick them into lowering their guard and I had a dozen new best friends. After a few pictures, I returned to my colleagues and continued on. It's a good think my tank was empty, because more chai was in my future.
We sat with Rubin and Grace for another 30 minutes. We chatted about their farm and their family. I looked at my watch and realized that we'd been here for more than 6 hours! It seemed like 15 minutes, and I loved every single minute! We went outside for a few more pictures.
We got back in the car, Tatiana insisting once again on sitting in my lap, and proceeded back home.
Time for goat barbecue! We returned to the Park Villa and I went upstairs to freshen up. Isaac stayed downstairs and got Tatiana a sausage while the sat with a friend. I took the time to call Andrea and check in. I can't wait to see her! 3 more days!
I came back down and Isaac informed me that he called ahead ahead so we wouldn't have to wait long for the food. His wife Leah and son Caleb would join us at the restaurant. We arrived at about 7, and Leah soon thereafter. Isaac's sister and nephew rounded out the crew of 7 as we waited for our food. I was familiar with the idea of "call-ahead," but I wasn't sure how effective it would be. It wasn't. Our food was served close to 8:30pm. The beer was a bad choice, because although it seemed to make me more hungry, it also made me more tired. The goat was delicious. It was "wet fried" which means "it's pan fried with "soup" which means "gravy" which means... never mind, you know what that means. It was served with chips (fries), cabbage/carrot mix, and chumbari (finely chopped tomatoes, onions, coriander, and hot peppers.) Isaac called it tear gas - it's supposed to help with digestion. Apparently that aspect is exclusively Kenyan, but the tear gas was an appropriate nickname.
When we finally got back to the Park Villa, it was after nine o'clock.
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