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Date: Mon, 02 Jun 2008 10:59:14 +0300
From: Lisa Stewart <beachplumlisa@bellsouth.net>
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Status:   

What a trip - journey - adventure - test of forbearance - a time to let 
go and trust - feel gratitude.

We left Kisimu Friday at @ 6:30 PM although the plan had been to leave @ 
noon - typical for Africa - the car,the bank, the water flow stopped, 
etc. After driving north for a few hours we arrived in Kitale, a 
mountain town and the last developed town before going into the desert. 
On the way the land changed from small dusty farming villages to lush 
green larger farms. By the size of the farms and the healthier looking 
goats and cows one can tell the rainfall there is good. It was chilly 
enough in the eve to wear my fleece and sleep under a cover. The region 
is inhabited by the Pokots, a tribe different from Luyahs and Luos who 
live in the area where I have been mostly since coming here.They too 
wear western clothing but seem to favor black.. I saw fewer colorful 
fabrics. The Pokots have a reputation for being aggressive. The town of 
Kitale is the last town going north before a long stretch of desert so 
we supplied ourselves with lots of water and snacks and topped of the 
gas tanks. We were two vehicles going - one with the Graces and me, the 
other with Muhanji and two others. Kitali was as far as the Brits were 
able to settle because they were fought back by the Pokots and then the 
Turkana  all lands to the north of this point were closed off to all 
whites during the colonial era. It is fascinating to know that we were 
going to enter territory that was not really inhabited by whites until 
missionaries started going there in the 1950s, I believe. We slept that 
night in the Kitali Club, now a hotel and golf course, but originally a 
private club for white settlers. They still have the trophy case filled 
with sterling trophies that I noted go as far back as 1929, the year my 
father graduated from Harvard. The Graces and I were the only wazungu 
(whites) at the inn but we saw a few in town, mostly driving vehicles 
that indicated they were with some sort of NGO or a govt agency.

On Sat, 5/23, we left @10:30 and headed north again. After driving out 
of the mountains the land changed from red soil farmlands to flat, dry, 
sandy colored arid earth sparsely covered with low growth and many thorn 
bushes. The road went across several dry riverbeds and every once in 
awhile we saw a few huts or some people walking in the middle of 
nowhere. I think we went through 2 or 3 tiny villages. Muhanji drives 
very fast so he was way ahead of us but we found him waiting of us in a 
tiny village called Kainuk and said I must move into his vehicle. The 
police there had stopped him and said we could not go further without an 
armed security guard (askari) in one of our cars because bandits had 
been attacking travelers on the road between there and Turkana. They 
told us the thugs had attacked two Safrari Com (telephone co) workers a 
couple of days ago and just this morning had shot and robbed a Catholic 
missionary workers' car. On the side of the road there was a petrol 
truck (lorry) that had returned after getting shot at and the driver had 
his hand wrapped in a bandage where a bullet had hit him. We also hooked 
up with a third vehicle, two young Kenyan businessmenon their way to 
Sudan. They also had some women and a child passenger. One of the women 
bought a live chicken from while we were waiting and just flung it in 
the backon top of the luggage. The men with us assisted them changing a 
flat tire and by then we were bonded - three vehicles going with an 
armed guard across no man's land.

The askari sat with his automatic weapon in the front seat of the 
Grace's vehicle.  We all kept on a brave face and considered it part fan 
adventure until we passed the abandoned Catholic missionaries car and 
saw a pair of shoes lying in the road. At least that's when I thought 
this is serious.  The trip was long and difficult. The road was almost 
entirely torn up asphalt so it was more bumpy than you can imagine. 
These trucks have little to no suspension  so every moment  I felt like 
me teeth were going to be shaken loose while the hot desert air set my 
face glowing. The askari, who looked liked a rough character himself, 
sat with his gun pointing out the window but we never saw a bandit if 
they were there. His gun, wrapped with baling wire and string around the 
barrel looked like it was from the Boer Wars. However, John's car broke 
down seven times  -  fan, radiator, hose, whatever. One time they 
repaired the radiator hose with some tape from my EMT medical bag. ( I 
brought it to donate to the Turkana mission.) These stops gave us pause 
because sometimes we were on a deserted stretch with the other two cars 
and the askari way ahead and didn't realize we were stuck. One time one 
of the pastors in our truck offered a prayer but no one really lost 
their good spirits. Oh yes, Eden did one time get a puncture (flat tire 
- 1 or 2 always expected going over these roads). We finally arrived in 
Lodwar after 8 grueling hours and I was never so grateful to lay down on 
a clean sheet.

The guest houses were all constructed like the huts - cement with 
thatched roofs. Bats fly around at night eating their fill of insects. 
You could hear them squeek now and then and sometimes they roost inside 
the huts. Shortly after we arrived I realized I had a bladder infection 
and the pain gave me more grief than the bandits. However, God bless 
Eden, she always travels with Cipro and some codeine pills so by the 
next morning (Sunday) I was a new woman. Since we had arrived in the 
dark, I had no idea what our surroundings looked like. We were in a 
section of Lodwar called Nowaitarong - a dusty dry town inhabited by the 
Turkana in the Turkana District. The Turkana are are pastoral people who 
live from their goats -milk, meat and blood. Those who live near towns 
now supplement their diet with market foods but many many live in the 
desert with no town contact.

Before I go on I have to tell you about these handsome beautiful people. 
When we first started seeing them in the desert I was fascinated. 
Sometimes one would just quietly appear walking or on a bike and stare 
at us while we were fixing the cars. We broke down so many times one of 
them walked faster than we drove.They speak softly and look exotic in 
their shukas (wraps, blankets, sheets).The fabrics are always plaid, a 
leftover from early Scottish missionaries who were offended by their 
nakedness and gave them blankets to cover up. Other tribes also wear 
plaid fabrics and seem to favor certain colors, but I cannot tell the 
difference. The men walk with a confident air that says "I am a man" and 
are never seen without carrying their little wooden stool and walking 
stick. I too would use a stool rather than sit on the ground and chance 
a scorpion bite while I watch my goats all day. And the women take my 
breath away. I had to force myself, sometimes unsuccessfully, to keep 
from staring. Their often grow only the hair down the middle of their 
scalp and they were rows upon rows upon rows of beads so their necks 
appear tall and elegant.They arrange the beads in patterns so that first 
their will be dozens of one color and higher up another and so on, all 
unique. They are also more shy and not as outgoing as the men, who will 
often stop and attempt conversation. Plus, they don't have the time to 
walk around town and schmooze because they are too busy cooking and 
fetching water, among other things.

Anyway, I must eat something so I think I'll send this as Installment 
One and continue later. At least I'll put it in my out box and send it 
when I get on the Internet. We ran a seminar the next two days and then 
camped out on Lake Turkana. I'll tell you all about it. Love and peace,
Lisa