“Maaazzuuunnnggguuu”

It’s been pretty manic the last few weeks in the Southern Rwenzori Mountains.

We’ve spent about 30% our time in Kasese at the AmahaWe Uganda (AWU) office working with the team to develop their document systems and project plans, since AWU have now been formally registered as an NGO in Uganda.

The rest of the time we’ve been out in the mountains with Ben, the AWU Executive Director, touring a number of the AWU women’s groups.

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These groups are organised into Craft Cooperatives and Fire Briquette making teams, benefiting from the micro-finance loans granted to them by AWU in order to get their businesses off the ground.

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The loans are life-changing. Typically less than $100, they enable the women to buy crops, materials or products, work them into something saleable and make a small profit.

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The fellowship the women share through working in these co-operatives is enormously important to them.

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The small profits made by each co-op are used to buy ‘luxuries’ like salt for their families or send their children to school for a few weeks at a time.

Micro-finance in some countries has been monopolised by commercial businesses, with interest rates that borrowers struggle to repay – resulting in them borrowing more and falling into an increasing debt spiral.

In contrast, AWU initial loans are interest-free. 2nd-stage loans for the women to expand their co-ops attract a nominal 1-2% interest (the women themselves suggested they pay interest) and all loans are made on a no-profit basis. All loan repayments are reinvested in expanding the women’s co-ops. In addition to the loans, AWU spend a considerable amount of time with the groups, mentoring, coaching and training them. It really is a true Community programme.

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As a result, from an initial 5 AWU women’s cooperatives 4 years ago, there are now over 80 groups around the Kasese District, each made up of 12-20 women. All of them have flourished. None have defaulted. They scrupulously account for every Shilling loaned, made and repaid.

Many step up and help to train new groups and spread the initiative into the most remote of areas. As far west as the Congo border, AWU women’s groups that we met are flourishing and it is really heartwarming to see.

As ‘Mazungus’ Helene and I are a pretty rare sight in this part of the world. Obviously as we’ travelled through Africa we’ve become acclimatised to kids shouting at us as we drive past ‘Hey, Maaazzzuuuuuuunnngggguuuu!’ (with the appropriate Doppler-effect) when they spot the colour of our skin. But in this neck of the woods, whenever we get out of the car a crowd scene soon develops.

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At the Mission on the Congo border we were tucked out of sight trying to find a bit of peace when a bunch of school kids spotted us. It’s not often they get to find out what a fat Mazungu’s sweaty white skin actually feels like, so one class-room after another jumped at the opportunity.

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After an hour or so of being prodded, patted, peed on, laughed at and sung to by about 100 kids, it was back on the road to another co-op group. Every group wants to welcome us and show us their handiwork.

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Every one also wants to feed us. That can be 3 or 4 groups a day! It would have been very easy to tell Ben that we’d had enough and were (literally) fed-up glad-handing after a few days.

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But that would be terribly selfish. Many of the women’s group leaders remember Helene from when she first presented the Fire Briquette project to them. Also from when she returned to Uganda for the initial training and the making of the first presses. Now that they know she’s back they feel it’s vitally important they get the opportunity to demonstrate their skills.

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At each meeting each of them wants to thank her and testify how these Briquettes have changed their lives. This involved some very passionate speeches…

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…and quite a lot of dancing.

IMG_4226.JPGEven as a typically cynical, white, western Grumpy-Old-Man, I found it all quite moving. I couldn’t be more proud of what Helene has started here with the Fire Briquette project, or the commitment that the whole AWU team have made to helping these women change their lives for the better.

We sat through many of these presentations over a 3-week period. A very humbling experience. It was only the few meetings that followed a 3-hour church service (with ghetto-blaster speakers, electric guitars, fire-and-damnation Preachers, etc) that drove me a bit nuts!

Top Tip: Follow AmahaWe Uganda on Facebook or take a look at the AmahaWe Uganda website to see what tremendous work a small group of dedicated, unselfish people are doing in the UK and Uganda to improve people’s lives at a real grass-roots level.

Link: AmahaWe Uganda

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Rolex Found on The Street

We spent two weeks up in the southern Rwenzori Mountains and, as the team from Amaha We Uganda reported, the inter-tribal tensions have calmed. (Sorry, no wifi so no posts for the last few weeks).

In that one night of violence over 90 people were killed, including 20+ police. As is usual in Africa, conspiracy-theories abound: “It was Islamic extremists“; “It was the ADF“; “It was Government sponsored”; “It was some form of land-grab publicity stunt“; “It was just typical inter-tribal grudges“; etc.

Either way, within a few days 30 people had been arrested and (typical of not just Africa I guess) given Amnesty if they turned in the rest. While we were in Kasese one morning there was a huge military presence and an open-air Courts Martial was held where 140 suspects were tried and sentenced.

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Life here rapidly returned to normal. ‘Normal’ to people here is far from normal to us in The West. It’s a very simple life in many ways. At least 6 days a week (often 7) it revolves around housework, working the land, mission work or school work.

I haven’t been anywhere in Africa (or at home) where people work so continuously. Pre-dawn, to late night. Electricity has only recently been installed to the centre of the mountain village of Kajwenge, where we were staying. It hasn’t yet reached the peripheral hamlet we were in.

Consequently everything must either be completed from dawn to dusk, or has to be done by candlelight / kerosene lamp. There are no distractions like television, computer games, Facebook. Other than school, there is little time for entertainment.

We’ve been staying with Benjamin, the Executive Director of Amaha We Uganda (AWU), his wife Irene and his (hugely) extended family. We’re here because Helene has been involved with AWU for some years and worked with the team in Kasese on her 5 previous visits.

These people never sit down, other than to eat or pray. Never.

In the 2 weeks we were there I never saw them idle. Never.

Think about that during the course of your day. How often do you take the weight off your feet, whether it’s whilst relaxing or working? These people simply don’t have time.

They’re up before 5.30am (the damn cockerel woke us at that time every day – and by then the family were already up an working). The men immediately start work for a couple of hours on the ‘Shamba’ – their farm plot that they walk to in the dark a mile or so away. The women start cleaning, boiling water, preparing food, etc.

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Home around 8.30am for breakfast. Off to work immediately afterwards (anywhere within a 60-mile radius) on foot, on the back of a Boda-Boda (motorbike taxi) or – for the wealthy – on your own Chinese-built 125cc motorbike. Working outside in a combination of hot sun, high humidity and heavy rainstorms. Maybe try to fit in attending a funeral for a family member / close friend every 2-3 days, usually in some remote, hard to reach mountain village.

Man, that’s hard.

Back from work between 6-7pm. Then off to one of the Mission Projects – either, the Refuge that’s being built, or the Good Samaritan Centre, or a visit to one of the Women’s Cooperative projects, or put in some hard labour helping to build the Craft Centre or the new AWU community library / office.

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Back for dinner around 9.30pm – 10pm.

Man that’s hard.

Food has to be harvested personally or bought at the next village. Every day. It’s brought home, walking with it balanced on the head, there’s no transport. If you want something, you walk to get it.

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There’s no cooker, food processor, can-opener (no one would waste money on canned goods) vacuum-cleaner, coffee-maker or refrigerators (even families with electricity rarely have a fridge) so everything is prepared as needed and cooked fresh, on an open fire. Man, that’s hard.

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There are no take-aways, fast-food deliveries of convenience foods to throw into the microwave if you had a rough day, or are late home. On rare occasions though, you might find a Rolex on the street! In this case though, a ‘Rolex’ is a chapatti cooked on a flat plate, filled with a couple of scrambled eggs & chopped pepper / onion, and then rolled. Rolled Eggs – ‘Rolex‘. Delicious.

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After dinner (rarely before 10.30pm) at least an hour of pot-scrubbing or house & equipment maintenance begins.

Then a quick shower. In the dark. There is a shower room but no running water: standard practice is alternate buckets of cold water and hot (provided in Jerry Cans) from the fire that has to be kept burning all day in the kitchen. The kitchen itself is outside, the other side of the yard. Every trip back and forth from the dining room can be an obstacle course.

20140809-192956-70196066.jpgA few quick prayers with the family (the kids are still up – they’re the ones scrubbing most of the pots). Bed some time between 11pm and 12pm.

Repeat the following day. The day after. And the next, etc, etc.

Man that’s hard.

No car to get around in. No supermarket to buy supplies – grow it yourself, trade with a neighbour, or spend the little cash you have at a hole-in-the-wall market / shop in the next village.

20140809-193031-70231902.jpgNo light by which to read a book: one wind-up torch and one kerosene lamp between the 10 rooms in the building. If you need clothes pressed for school or work, coals from the fire are put into a Victorian flat-iron. There’s no ironing board – use the floor or the dining table. All laundry is done by hand and dried in the yard – if it doesn’t rain. There’s no kettle for a quick cup of tea for guests: make sure there’s always water boiled on the fire for drinking and put into Thermos flasks for hot drinks later in the day

Man that’s hard. How does it compare to your day, or your wife’s?

BUT – and here I hate to sound like I’m trotting out a patronising ‘Mazungu’ cliche – these people are a real community. They are warm, happy, bright, ambitious, generous and above all welcoming.

Man that’s great!

Just another day in Africa.

It was difficult to leave Jinja (the town isn’t anything special, but The Nile is beautiful).

Camping on the banks, with early morning views like this from The Penthouse made us want to stay longer.

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We didn’t stray far from the camp, or the bar. But why would you…

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There’s always something going on to sit lazily and watch for a couple of hours. Whether its the locals precariously fishing on the edge of the boiling rapids…

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… or the more professional fishers actually fishing in the rapids…

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We were fortunate to meet Samir, a environmental documentary film-maker / photographer from Nepal and his girlfriend Manisha who’s studying in Boston, but on a break for a few months working in Kampala.

They were taking some publicity pics for the Lodge / Camp and took a couple of shots of us camping. Way out of our league when it comes to equipment and out-and-out skill.

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A fascinating couple with a tremendous portfolio of photos and films they have made in the remotest areas of Nepal. So good in fact that we met up and stayed with them at The Mother Teressa Reach-out Centre for AIDS victims in Kampala a few nights later. While we watched some of Samir’s stunning films (drinking his toe-curling Screwdriver cocktails) Manisha made us a Nepalese Chicken Curry. A great way to spend the evening and we wish we could have stayed longer with them.

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But, we had to get on. We’d planned to be in Kasese 3-4 days earlier but had been distracted. It was time to get back on programme.

We took the road through Kampala City centre as we had decided to take the S Western route via Mbarara rather than West via Fort Portal.

Kampala was mobbed. The cars take any route they want round (or across) roundabouts; the motorbikes try to dodge the cars and weave between them without ending up as bonnet ornaments; the cyclists are prepared to dismount and pass their bikes over your roof if it makes their route 10 seconds shorter; and I’m sure the pedestrians would just get into the car if you left the doors unlocked.

Almost all the motorbikes are small 125cc Chinese / Indian built machines. Terrible. But it doesn’t stop them being used to transport anything imaginable. Amongst other things, we’ve seen bikes loaded with 3x50kg sacks of charcoal; bikes with 5 people on them (they’re used as taxi-bikes, called Boda-Bodas); bikes with a dozen 8ft (3-metre) planks of wood strapped across the back seat; bikes towing a dozen 5-metre lengths of steel reinforcement through heavy traffic; at least 5 different bikes with a full 3-piece suite of furniture on the back of each; and a mobile butcher delivering live birds…

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Hanging around in Kampala traffic, it was inevitable that as soon as we got out of town, onto the open road, away from the workshops, another mechanical failure should strike.

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This time it wasn’t too serious (although the regular crowd of ‘helpers’ materialised and were soon all over the car). The bolts had come out of one of the pulleys on the fan / Aircon belt (don’t ask me which one, I don’t know and by that point couldn’t care less). The belt had also stripped when the pulley fell off. Fortunately I had a spare belt, a local guy found a couple of bolts that fitted and we were on our way again within an hour (a record for us).

Those of you who we have spoken to recently will know that actually I’m behind on the blog and we’ve been in Kasese with the Amaha We Uganda team now for 2 weeks.

So, a quick summary of the rest of our trip to get here. We drove about 300km through agricultural land and numerous tea / coffee plantations…

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…to Mbarara, a lively, scruffy town, expanding rapidly (although not always perhaps safely)…

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In Mbarara we heard that there had been some major tribal violence the previous evening in the Kasese District and the region about 40km north west towards Congo. In 8 coordinated attacks 60 rebels, 23 policemen and 20 ‘civilians’ were killed over a 5-hour period.

We were a bit nervous about travelling the remaining 150km (especially after being fairly close to the area where 80 people had also been killed in Kenya while we were there) but were reassured by the AWU team that all was calm in Kasese itself, that we would be staying in a remote area within the Rwenzori Mountains and that a lot of the rebels had been rounded up.

So we carried on and everything has subsequently proved to be as calm as we were told.

Other than that, the trip was pretty uneventful. The usual assortment of lunatics on the road, the usual potholed, rutted, bone-shaking tar stretches, the usual washed out tracks, and the occasional unforeseeable obstacle…

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But eventually we made it, to a warm welcome from the AWU team and a beautiful, remote View From The Penthouse of the Rwenzori Mountains (the ‘Mountains of the Moon’).

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Money Laundering – Kenya

Gareth & Kirsty arrived briefly at Karen Camp, Nairobi and it was good to see them again. They’d been hanging around trying to get Visas for Ethiopia and had finally got a flat ‘NO!” The same answer they got in Kampala. The same as pretty much everyone else trying to go north since the recent terrorist attacks.

It used to be that you just had to be patient, put up with the bureaucracy, wait a week or so and you’d eventually get them. Now, there’s no chance.

Perversely, the Visas can be granted in your home country so G&K left for Uganda, from where they would send their passports home, have the visas put into them and chill for 14 days while they waited for them to be sent back to them by courier.

We had one more task to do before we also headed to Uganda. I had checked our stash of US$ (we’d need them at the border) only to find they had become soaking wet (again) and had stuck together like a brick!

The next 24 hours was spent soaking them and washing them in buckets of water. Then, extremely carefully, trying to peel them apart, clean off the mould and dry them. Not an easy task to launder money in public and then lay it out to dry.

Not very successful either. Although I managed to salvage some of it, $560 were absolutely ruined: either dissolved, full of holes, defaced by ink-staines or simply stuck together irretrievably. That’s another lesson learned the hard way.

There’s a further $235 which is in debatable condition (I tried to use some of it to pay our camping bill but they wouldn’t take anything that even looks slightly dirty or tatty as the banks won’t touch them). Might as well use it to light the cooking fire – but I’ll hang onto it and see if a bank in the UK will exchange at least some when we get back.

Top Tip: Keep money in a dry-bag. No…keep money in 2 dry-bags!

We headed west from Nairobi and camped overnight at one of the huge tea plantations of NW Kenya (I was surprised that they are the 3rd largest tea producer in the world).

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Given the simple, rural housing all around us, ‘The Tea Hotel’ stood out as an old-fashioned, typically ‘English’ building. Very out of place.

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It turned out to be the home and first plantation of the chief executive of Brook Bond Tea (PG Tips / chimps tea-party advert fame). It must have appeared like a castle to the locals when first built.

The following morning we got to the Kenya / Uganda border after a further 180km of good, tarred mountain roads and lunatic, aggressive Kenyan bus drivers.

Only 20 minutes on the Kenyan side, but a frustrating 90 minutes on the Ugandan. We changed some money at a reasonable rate with the ‘official’ money changers (all wearing numbered overalls) and bought our 2 Ugandan Visas for $50 each. Standard issue is 30 days but, if you ask, longer durations (up to 90 days) will be issued at no extra charge.

All efficient and modern (fingerprint scanners and digital photos).

The frustration came from trying to get the car Carnet stamped. The first guy we saw told us that our COMESA insurance was not valid because it was on an old form (the new paper is apparently slight larger, the anti-fraud hologram, slightly different and the printed flag on the form should be ‘wavy’ rather than straight). He told us that we’d have to pay $200 for new Ugandan insurance and that he could only sell a 12-month policy, regardless how short our stay.

It wouldn’t surprise me if our COMESA was fake – buying it had been a shambolic, Micky-Mouse process. But there was no way I was going to spend $200.

We started to smell a rat first when he was prepared to negotiate the insurance fee, and then when we realised that he actually hadn’t confiscated our ‘fake / invalid’ COMESA. We pushed him further and told him we wouldn’t pay, wanted our original COMESA back and as far as we were concerned we’d bought it in good faith. He told us we wouldn’t get through the border, but eventually gave in and reluctantly let us go.

It turned out he had nothing to do with the Carnet / Customs process, but was actually the Border Insurance Agent.

The only other hassle was paying the $20 (in Ugandan Shillings) Car Levy to get the Carnet stamped. Because no one trusts Government Officials, no money can be handed to them. Therefore the Carnet is left with the Customs Officer; he prints a bill; you take the bill to the bank (none visible, no signs, you must walk down a back-street, through a cafe, through a tourist shop and find it about 800m away); the bill is paid at the bank; the bank provides a receipt; you walk back through the cafe & shops to Customs; Customs check the receipt and phone the bank to make sure its genuine; Customs write all details out in a huge ‘Dickensian’ ledger, stamp the Carnet and send you on your way. Cumbersome, time consuming, poorly explained and frustrating in 90-degree heat.

We took all our completed documents and, although they were scrutinised by the gate officials (including our ‘fake’ COMESA) we were let through without hassle.

We still don’t know if it’s fake, but we’re not pressing anyone to find out.

We took a pretty good tar road 200km west to Jinja, where Lake Victoria becomes The Nile, and drove about 15km up the west bank to a campsite we’d heard about called The Haven (much nicer than most of the ‘overlanders & adventure-sports’ camps for rafters & bungee jumpers on the east bank).

What a beautiful sport.

View from The Penthouse at daybreak the next morning…

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As the sun burnt the mist off, the beautiful location of The Haven cottages / campsite became even more apparent…

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And, as the day wore on, I found myself proving what Helene often thinks – that I am totally in deNile.

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I think we might stay a few days.

Free Festivals – The True Cost…

The Turkana tribal dancing went on past dusk and late into the night.

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It’s not so much ‘dance’ as foot-stamping, springing into the air and chanting.

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Is this where the Punk Rock craze got their inspiration? Probably not, or Punk would have been more entertaining.

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The next morning was a more subdued atmosphere. All about repairs to make-up and costumes after the dancing exertions…

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…and packing up to leave – which is a lot easier in a Land Rover than it is when trying to load everything onto a stroppy camel.

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The girls decided they wanted one quick walk up to the ancient rock-art site (by the time they got there it was mid-day and sweltering hot).

The rock art was a disappointment but the view of the lake and desert was pretty special.

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We were planning to head back the way we had come…

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…but Francis & Tracy were concerned about us travelling alone, so suggested we tag along with them, across the desert to Matsabit.

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This would take us 3 days to get back to Nairobi, but would be an opportunity to take a route that we’d be unlikely to do without a convoy or military escort.

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As it turned out, it was very good news that Beverly, Tracy, Francis, Laura & Moses didn’t mind us gate-crashing their private tour.

Not only were we travelling in good company, but Francis & Moses were excellent ‘bush-mechanics’.

The route we took to Marsabit wasn’t on either our paper maps or Tracks 4 Africa GPS.

It was 240km of remote tracks, beautiful boulder fields, heavy sand, rutted dry river-crossings, wilderness plains, being chased by sand-storms…

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…and (unfortunately) more remote Land Rover breakdowns.

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This time, the rear A-frame sheared off the rear chassis. There are 6 bolts that hold it in place at 2 fixing points. Five had sheared off and taken most of the structural cross-member with them.

The car was floating around like a boat and every undulation in the terrain (about every 3metres of this 240km desert route) resulted in loud grinding and grating metal noises. The A-frame had also dropped onto the prop shaft and was grinding a groove into it.

Bush-mechanic geniuses Francis & Moses found a couple of thin bolts and, jacking the A-frame up in order to take the strain off the chassis, managed to get one through a fixing, to hold it off the prop.

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We’d had so much help with the car from the guys that it was almost a pleasure (!) when on one particularly long, steep section they broke down and we were able to help them.

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Fuel starvation, in the middle of nowhere, due to the long, steep gradient. We were able to reciprocate their assistance: albeit only by giving them a Jerry-can of fuel to get them to the top.

How does he get that minibus through places where we’ve seen the tracks littered with broken 4x4s?

In total it took us 10 hours to cross the desert…

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…to the scrappy town of Marsabit where we camped at Henry’s Camp: very simple, but it had a flush toilet (!) and Henry put some beers in a fridge for us.

Beverley, Tracy & Francis were booked into the best hotel in town but arrived back at Henry’s camp an hour later as the hotel proved to be a dump.

We had nothing to feed the Askari guards other than the pasta and sauce we had made for ourselves. I don’t know what they really thought of this ‘Mazungu’ food but they were polite enough to pronounce it ‘edible’. In this case I guess it was literally better-than-nothing.

The next morning, we topped up with fuel and saw the news in town that 65 people had been shot & killed in an Al-Shabab terrorist attack only a few hundred kilometers east of us.

Francis & Moses tightened the temporary bolt they’d got through our A-frame and cross-member…

20140704-083430-30870662.jpg…and we headed south down the notorious Marsabit road.

Unbelievable.

UNBELIEVABLE!

With our structural problems, I don’t know how we made it.

The first 60km must surely be the worst road in Africa: steep, rutted, crowned, breached, crumbling, cratered, potholed, washed-away, corrugated…all at the same time!

The car was handling like a hovercraft in a marsh; Helene winced every time the chassis ground together; the spare wheel carrier vibrated itself off the back door (fortunately somehow we spotted it through the dust cloud behind us)…

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…but Francis’ temporary A-frame repair held.

After 60km (3 hours) we reached a temporary gravel road, used by construction traffic for the new highway the Chinese are building 10 metres to one side of this main Nairobi – Ethiopia road.

It may take another year to complete, but wow – what a difference it will make.

In the meantime, even the ‘temporary’ road was a 160km dream in comparison to the morning’s nightmare – all the way to the ‘Women’s Community Camp’ at Archer’s Post.

We were exhausted when we got there but what a stunning spot to grab a cold beer and watch the sun go down.

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We voted ourselves some time off. I fixed the rear-wheel carrier & Francis spent his time under our car…

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… Helene commented how nice camp-owner Rebecca’s dress was and, 3 hours later, one arrived for her by motorbike from the local village.

As a surprise, Rebecca had had one made for Helene…and it fitted perfectly.

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Helene was overwhelmed by rebecca’s generosity. “Thank you so much. That’s lovely. I don’t know what to say.” she gushed.

You’re welcome” came the reply. “That will be 15,000 Kenyan Shillings.” (about $20).

At camp we celebrated Bev’s birthday and our 26th wedding anniversary. Then Beverley went to the local school and taught some science classes…

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…before the final leg of our trip back to Nairobi.

Tar road all the way.

TAR!

ALL THE WAY!

TAR!

Good tar…no, GREAT TAR…WONDERFUL TAR.

Woohoo.

Back in Nairobi we dropped the car off at Jas Cruisers (again) to get the A-frame fixed, give it a full service and check it over properly.

Jessie did another sterling job. We got it back 4 days later and counted the cost of going up to the ‘free’ festival at Turkana:

…1,500km of fuel (averaging 8km per litre)
…8 days camping fees & supplies
…Car repairs $730 (a bargain); engine out to replace clutch fork; new clutch slave cylinder; bleed brakes; remove the self-levelling mechanism; replace engine, gearbox, transfer box & axel oils; new oil, fuel & air filters; new fan-belt tensioner; new driver’s door mirror (shattered by a stone from our own wheels freakishly ricochetting off our roof-rack); new rear-diff cover plate; new rear arm bushes & pan-hard bushes; all labour for the above, plus MiG-welding to fix A-frame and all new bolts.

Not a cheap trip for a ‘free’ festival.

But one we won’t forget in a hurry.

A rare privilege to be there and we wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

Lake Turkana Tribal Festival

The Tribal Festival at Lake Turkana is held in Kenya’s old ‘Northern Frontier District’ renowned for warring tribes and roving bandits. It’s one of the bleakest, most remote regions of Kenya and it takes a hell of an effort to get there.

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(I warn you now, I’ve got so many pictures I want to use that I’m just going to throw them in at random!)

It’s at the festival where the 10 ethnic groups of the Lake Turkana region; El Molo, Rendille, Samburu, Turkana, Dassanach, Ghabra, Borana, Konso, Wata and Burji demonstrate through song and dance their unique differences and traditions.

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It’s certainly not a festival in the ‘Western’ sense. There are no drinks tents, no hog-roasts, Guinness marquees, public toilets, entry passes, organised schedules, etc.

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Well, there are supposed to be some organised events (camel race, boat race, wrestling competition, visit to local rock-art, etc) but since the event is organised by regional government, it’s a shambles.

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A couple more years of practice and maybe the organisers will get their act together. It would be good if they did – it could become one of the best tourist-draws in Kenya.

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Tourists are not what the festival is about though.

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The hundred or so of us Mazungu tourists that made it to Loiyangalani were just bystanders. In this remote and forgotten region the challenges faced by these minority tribes include drought, environmental difficulties, poor infrastructure and wrangling amongst each other.

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Whilst we are fascinated by their impressive dress, decoration & ornaments…

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…and study their artifacts and way of life in this impressive and hostile landscape…

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… the underlying goal remains the promotion of tribal peace and the appreciation of these fascinating people.

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They may be remote, ‘unsophisticated‘ tribal peoples, but many of them have real grace and poise.

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Others just have ‘character’…

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Their costumes are fascinating.

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But they’re also not just ‘Sunday Best’. Most are worn every day whether cattle-herding, doing the washing, or pounding grain / pap (as we saw driving through the deserts both to Turkana and back to Nairobi).

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Each of the neck-rings, bracelets and ornaments has a meaning and infers a particular status: married, single, widowed, first-born son, adolescent, circumcised, killed a giraffe, killed a man…

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Old enmities run deep here, particularly between the Samburu…

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…who’ve tended to take up the opportunities offered by education and employment, and the Turkana…

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…who are considered particularly argumentative.

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For generations (and still for much of every year) tensions between the tribes are high. They raid each other’s cattle stocks, seize pastoral land and bicker over water rights. People are killed using $20 AK47s, spears and machetes.

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The Turkana Festival is an opportunity for tribal elders to present grievances to local politicians, build relationships between tribes, diffuse disagreements, show off their tribal finery, flirt, sing and out-dance each other in an informal, dusty ‘arena’.

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It seems to be working. The incidents of local wars have decreased, elders have set up lines of communication, cattle stealing and deaths have lessened.

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The two days of meetings and workshops are very worthy, but for us the fascination was in being able to wander freely amongst the individual tribes of locals and participants, visiting the ethnic houses at the edge of the arena that each troupe has built, and enjoying an atmosphere of unrestrained goodwill.

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The best chance to watch the dancing is when each troupe is rehearsing out of sight somewhere.

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Once the tribes start dancing in the arena though, it’s difficult to get pictures that capture the atmosphere, the ground shuddering thump-thump-thump of their stamping feet, the deep growl of their chanting and high-pitched shrieking of their ululating.

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The dust they kick up may make it difficult to see, but the sound! – it resonates through your bones.

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The festival is a photographer’s dream.

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Even amateurs like us can get some good shots.

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Everyone takes pictures of everyone (including tribesmen, with their mobiles, of us strange-looking Mazungu tourists), and on this occasion nobody minds or dreams of asking for payment.

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Thanks for sticking with this post. I know it’s been lengthy, but I hope you found it as fascinating as we did.

Top Tip: time your visit to Kenya to coincide with the Lake Turkana Festival.

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Armed guards & tribal conflict

We left our muddy hill camp at Maralal just after sunrise to pick up our Ascari (armed escort) ahead of another long, hard day’s drive.

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Unfortunately when we got to the Police HQ the Chief of Police was having his breakfast.

He must be quite an eater. It was 10.30 by the time he surfaced and we squeezed our Ascari into the vehicle with their Semi-Automatic rifles, spare ammunition and kit for the 5 days they would be with our 2 cars (the other two vehicles we met had their own 2 Ascari and soon sped off, leaving us in their dust).

The fee for the escort was negotiated (cash) with the Police Chief and excluded the food and lodging that our convoy must provide.

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It’s compulsory to travel this route with armed guards since, only 2 years ago, 42 police were ambushed by one of the Lake Turkana tribes and all the Police were killed. There is a great deal of inter-tribal tension here and the tribe in question believed the police were aggressively supporting other tribes in their rivalry.

The tension still exists (and the police continue to search for the remaining ambushers) but the tribal festival we were heading for is being used to promote peaceful coexistence between the 10 Lake Turkana tribes who attend.

It’s a chance for remote peoples to come together, communicate, discuss political issues, intermingle, dance, party, flirt and promote common goals to the local politicians, senators and the Kenyan Vice-President – who flies in by chopper while the rest of us drive for 2 days and some of the tribespeople walk for a week.

The final leg of our route to the Turkana Festival at Loiyangalani was another rough 240km. It was slow and varied terrain, alternating between rocky gravel…

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…good sand tracks…

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…kamikaze camels…

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…rutted corrugations, deep sand and many loose, dry river-bed crossings. But at least this section was dry.

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We came down from the mountains at 2,550m altitude to around 350m at Lake Turkana: from cold, damp mountain camps to blistering, pumice-strewn desert plains: from scrappy villages of mud-brick buildings to isolated communities of thorn-bush, stick & cloth-covered huts.

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The landscape is bleak, barren of vegetation, baked dry, blanketed in dust & sand, hostile…and beautiful.

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It’s almost unbelievable that people can survive out here.

It’s almost equally unbelievable that Francis got his 2-wheel drive minibus here when every other vehicle attending the festival is an up-rated, rugged 4×4. Is he the best off-road driver in Africa? He must be a candidate. There were many fancy 4x4s around but the vehicle that drew most attention was a white, 8-seater Toyota minibus operated by Tracy & Francis who own OTA Responsible Travel

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We finally got our first sight of the Lake Turkana as sunset approached.

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Known as ‘The Jade Sea’ it was like a pool of mercury as we came down the boulder-strewn pumice slopes of the surrounding hills and stopped for a team photo.

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Lake Turkana is 290km long, averaging 30m deep (109m at most) and is the world’s largest permanent desert lake. It’s also an alkaline lake, (the world’s largest) making the water potable but not palatable.

Almost uniquely, it has some rivers flowing into it, but none flowing out – reducing its volume solely through evaporation. That gives you some idea how damn hot this landscape is.

Another long day (240km taking us 11 hours). The last 14km to the dusty, wind-blown small village of Loiyangalani took us over an hour and a half.

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A surreal way to live.

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Although there’s little at Loiyangalani, the campsite turned out to be a bit of an oasis. Camping at Malabo Camp was cheap ($11) given it’s remote location; the showers warm (water warmed in the pipes by the ground temperature being so high); and the beer was slightly cooler than the showers.

That’ll do for me.

Pretty tired, we all had an early night – looking forward to the festival kicking off the following day.

A taster pic of what’s to come…

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Chassis Brakes

We limped the car 30km from Ilariak camp into Narok town where Moses had found us a small workshop that could look at the chassis and the brakes.

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It was pretty basic but the owner / mechanic Paulo seemed confident he could deal with it and had enough Land Rovers around to give us some confidence that he knew his way round Defenders.

He would need the car overnight and I was a bit concerned about security (everything we have is in the vehicle and there’s nowhere to unload it to).

Don’t worry” Paulo said in pigeon English, “I have security“.

He took us to an old, abandoned Series 1 Land Rover where his security guard sleeps. “He will be here over night” he explained “He has a bow – and many arrows” he added, proudly showing us the arrows.

We checked into The Park Villa hotel, one of the best in town. Rooms were 20,000KES per night ($20) and I would say they weren’t worth much more than that. Dinner turned out to be $30 for 2 people, and unfortunately I would say it was only worth a fraction of that!

The following day we ate in the public canteen at the bus station up the road. Simple fare, chaotic atmosphere, cheap as chips, much more fun.

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By mid afternoon, Paulo had finished his welding to the chassis and managed to straighten the nipple on the rear brakes so that they at least worked to some extent.

20140619-115046-42646271.jpgWe had to say some hurried goodbyes, but still had just enough time before dark to get to Nairobi (rather than stay another night at The Park Villa). We paid Paulo $50 for his work (a bargain) and gave Moses a sizeable donation towards his son’s school fees as a thank you. He hadn’t asked for a $ at any time, other than for the taxi fares to & fro, and for accommodation overnight in Narok. Once again, we had been pulled out of a hole by the generosity of a stranger.

Paulo (at the workshop) in his overalls, Moses in the green shirt…

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We made it to Karibuni Karen Camp in the Karen district of Nairobi just before dark. Given the recent bombings in Mombassa and Nairobi we were a little nervous about the area but security at the camp seemed good and we felt that we had to find a Land Rover specialist to check over the bush-repairs we’d had done recently.

It was a really nice surprise to bump into Solveig & Ian at camp.

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We had met them at Peponi in Tanzania, on their drive from their home in Cape Town to Norway. They’re great company and it would have been good to spend more time with them, but they’ve also been having some car / document troubles and now can’t find a way through or round Egypt. Unfortunately, exasperated, they left the next morning to drive back to Cape Town, having called off the rest of their trip.

A number of locals, tour drivers and people at camp had recommended a local workshop as 4×4 specialists. We took the car the next day to Jas Cars, just up the road, and immediately felt comfortable that they would be able to thoroughly check over the temporary works.

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A huge selection of customers’ 4x4s and at least a dozen vintage Alfa’s, Porsches, Mercedes and Jags that Jessie owns and restores for himself.

The following evening, Jaz returned the car to us. He pronounced the chasis weld as a pretty thorough job, sorted out the electrical problems we had since Paulo disconnected a bunch of things and attended to the list we’d given him.

…2x new heavy-duty rear springs (broken when the chassis collapsed) $200
…rewiring where the electrics were messed up $30
…drill-out and re-tap the sheared axel hub bolts, grease under the car, fix the reversing light, new rear light assembly, new oil filler cap & all labour: $85.

A good job. A good price. A good excuse to buy Jaz a beer at Karen Camp.

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We had planned to leave Nairobi the following morning and head west towards Uganda. But, as so often on this trip, our plans changed. We met Laura and Moses (a different Moses) a British / Kenyan couple who own ‘Explorers Camp’ on the edge of the Maasai Mara.

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They were in Karen to buy a Safari vehicle for the camp and their friends Francis & Tracy (who own OTA, a bespoke Safari-tour company) had offered them a free ride up to Lake Turkana with Beverley one of Tracy’s clients from Australia, on a tour to an annual tribal gathering at Loiyangalani on Lake Turkana.

Lake Turkana is a 1,400km hell of a tough drive. Two days to get there, 2 days there and 3 days to get back: a remote, extreme environment with long, challenging tracks, inter-tribal security issues and little help for hundreds of kilometers. They asked if we wanted to tag along and follow them in our car and (feeling a bit more confident now that it was fixed) we jumped at the chance.

Two days later, having stocked up with ‘essentials’ (wine, meat, snacks, tobacco) from the well-provisioned but hugely expensive Karen Provisions Store, we set off following Francis driving OTA’s Toyota minibus.

“How tough could it be” we thought “if Francis & Tracy are taking their client in a standard minibus?”

The first day started easy. 140km on tar to Ol Kalou, Nyahururu and Rumuruti where, at 2,378m we had a picnic lunch as we crossed The Equator for the first time.

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As we left the tar the ‘picnic’ was definitely over. The following 140km to Malaral was through rocky scrub where elephants, giraffe zebra, etc roamed wild as we drove on combination of rough gravel tracks and rutted, steep muddy slopes.

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Just to make it more fun – it rained.

20140619-120129-43289071.jpgThen it also got dark. We finally arrived at Malaral and eventually found our camp (Nguri Hill Lodge) which, funnily enough, was also up a muddy hill (although no one was actually finding it funny by this point).

A long day. Total 290km. The first 140 on good, fast tar. The balance on poor tracks. 8.00am to 7.30pm, averaging 25kph / 16mph.

We had a good (but unnecessarily expensive, $50) dinner at the lodge and an early night before picking up our armed guards in Maleral and preparing ourselves for the next long, 250km day to the lake.

Now what….?

Just to ram home the lunatic driving on Serengeti tracks by some tour drivers, before we left Seronera Tumbili Camp we met a Kenyan chap. He’d just completed a 3-day Safari in Serengeti with a Saudi Prince and his entourage that had cost $40,000. He was having the tow-bar welded back onto his Toyota Land Cruiser after taking a corner too fast and the trailer cartwheeling into the bush (with some of the back of his car) as he rushed the Prince back to the airstrip.

Once the tow-bar was welded on, he set off back to the bush, to try and find his trailer! Fortunately there was no one else on the road as it had spun like a bowling ball off the road.

Having seen little game in most of the park, the Western Corridor was heaving with it. We had just caught the tail-end of the Wildebeest migration up to the Maasai Mara in Kenya in search of water.

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There were tens of thousands of them in every direction we looked, heading north.

In areas the Plains had been scorched for many miles by huge fires that spread (like wildfire!) due to the extremely dry conditions.

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If anything, there were probably even more Zebra in the migration than Wildebeest. I would estimate hundreds of thousands.

Much of the time they just stand and graze. At other times, either something spooks them or they get involved in violent territorial head-butting contests.

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Although this was probably just the tail-end of the migration, the number of animals on the move was staggering.

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We weren’t fortunate enough to see any lion / cheetah kills on this occasion. Just the after-effects.

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There’s very little water around in the Serengeti at the moment. Even the Grumeti River (famous for the crocodile ambushes seen on Nat. Geographic) is sluggish and green.

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The crocs look well fed, but are probably going to be out of luck from here on.

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We were out of luck too, and out of time in beautiful Serengeti.

We left the park by the western gate and drove north to Tembo Beach Camp in Musoma (the main administrative town for the Maasai people) on the shore of Lake Victoria. Fortunately the road was good tar (after the ruts & corrugations of Serengeti) and quiet (since our brakes were still as firm as a bucket of frogspawn).

View from The Penthouse just after we arrived.

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A couple of days doing nothing there was just what we needed.

The camping area was a bit of a car-park but the lakeside setting was lovely. Good enough that in the short time we were there, 2 wedding parties turned up for sunset-group photos.

Both were very different affairs. One involved BMWs and Range Rovers as wedding cars. The other party arrived in 2 nine-seater people-carriers. I don’t know how many people got out of the first people-carrier, but in the second we counted 31.

THIRTY ONE!

As usual, by the time we left Helene was best buddies with a number of the staff. She gave Mama Ruth English lessons…

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…and got Swahili lessons from Mama Penda. Did you know Lala Salama means sleep well – and the Swahili word ‘Lala’ is the origin of the word ‘lullaby‘.

Mama Penda cried when we gave her the camping chair that she found so comfortable).

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We took the lovely, scenic road north from Musoma peninsular on Lake Victoria (1,000m altitude) up the escarpment (2,300m altitude) to the Kenyan border crossing at Sirari / Isibania.

A piece of cake. Only 15 minutes on the Tanzanian side (Carnet & visa stamps) and 30 minutes on the Kenya side. All easy, friendly and well organised (maybe because it was a public holiday – Self Rule day, celebrating independence from the British in 1952).

Costs: Visas $50 each (in US$) plus car entry tax $40 – which bizarrely had to be paid in Kenyan Shillings (although the border official ‘happened‘ to know someone who would give us a good exchange rate!).

There’s very little camping close to the border so we headed for Ilariak Lodge & Camp at Ilariak on the edge of the Maasai Mara.

To cut a long story short, by the time we arrived the car was a mess. The roads are fairly good but the speed-bumps are a joke. Many of them are unmarked (even camouflaged!), with vertical faces, only about a 300mm wide and with 200-300mm high peaks (almost a foot!).

I guess the Serengeti had taken it’s toll on the chassis and after taking one too many speed bumps a little too fast (if 10mph / 16kph is too fast) we heard a loud crack and the car wasn’t handling right.

We limped the last 30km at 10-15kph through the remote Plains into camp as the sun set.

Total 350km: driving time 9.30am-6.30pm. Good roads all the way but averaged around 35kph due to those damn speed bumps.

That night the view from The Penthouse was beautiful.

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The view under the rear of the car was not so pleasant…

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The rear chassis had snapped on both sides and the car body had collapsed onto it. Between that and our jelly brakes, all in all it had been a pretty stressful drive.

Fortunately, Gladys (the camp cook) said she’d be “overjoyed” to cook for us and made us wonderful chicken, rice and salad in front of the lodge fire.

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Even more fortunately Moses, the camp security guard, said he would get a bike-taxi 20km into Narok village the next morning and speak to a Land Rover mechanic.

Veni, Vidi, Visa – Ngorongoro & Serengeti

Leaving Snake Park Camp for Ngorongoro Crater we briefly met a German family who recently flew their bike and home-made sidecar into Mombassa and are heading south. Nice guys, but they’ve got a real task on their hands – they’ve managed 1,000 km so far and already had to weld the sidecar back onto the bike 3 times.

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I don’t know that I’d be brave enough to sit in that sidecar, facing the oncoming traffic! Particularly the way the bus drivers fly around these roads.

At the entrance gates to Ngorogoro Conservation Area (NCA) we presented our receipts for the Transit Pass payment we made at Exim Bank in Arusha and were told that we would need to drive 20km back down the hill to Keratu and get a physical ‘Temporary Pass’ to transit the NCA and reach the Serengeti.

We told them that this was contrary to what we were told at the main NCA office in Arusha and eventually (after a couple of phone calls to HQ) they let us through.

Cost to drive through the NCA along Ngorogoro Crater rim (the only way to approach Serengeti from the east): $50 per person + $40 for the car

Extra cost to take a foreign-registered vehicle down into the crater: $200 per day.

Extra cost if we wanted to camp in the NCA (not in the crater itself): $50 per person plus an additional day’s NCA fees ie $240 extra!

Driving up the outside of the crater, at 2,360m altitude, the weather was pretty grim, the track was very slippery and I held little hope we would actually see anything.

20140607-182039-66039471.jpgThe track at the top actually runs along the ridge of the crater rim itself. Due to the steep drops and narrow path in places, stopping is only allowed at 2 recognised viewpoints. At each of them we could hardly see the car 5 metres away, let alone the crater.

Feeling pretty short-changed for our NCA entrance fee, we drove round the rim a little further and found the beautiful Serena Safari Lodge, where we stopped for a coffee – and for Helene to let me get over being so grumpy.

Within about 30 minutes (coincidentally about the time it takes for them to make 2 $8 cups of coffee) the mist had cleared from the west and showed us the beautiful views of the crater walls and Lake Magadi.

Panorama taken on the phone (unfortunately low-res on the blog)…

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Ngorogoro Crater has one of the world’s largest unbroken Calderas and, actually, that view may well be worth the $140 fee just to use the road.

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The lake is littered with Flamingos like dust on a puddle and there are many buffalo and wildebeest across the plains.

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Driving down off the crater the weather and visibility improved as we came back to about 1,500m altitude. Best of all, we got our first view of the stunning Ngorogoro and Serengeti Plains.

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Top Tip: Ngorogoro is beautiful. BUT:- the Transit Pass is probably sufficient. It’s $140 for 2 people to drive along the crater rim and take the 100km track west to Serengeti. Unless this is the only Game Park you will visit, it feels like extortion making foreign visitors pay an additional $440 to camp overnight and go down into the crater itself each additional day.

We still had 160km to go to get through the entrance gate to Serengeti National park and to our camp (Tumbili, near Seronera) in the centre of the park. A really beautiful drive across the plains.

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Driving across the plains, the landscape is massive and there are very few other people around, other than a number of Maasai villages. Some of them simple, individual grass huts…

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…others are more formal communities, with unusual mud roofs and protective brush fences…

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The people here live a subsistence lifestyle. They eat what they grow, herd sheep, goats & cattle, dress and live the same way their ancestors did.

The only concession we saw to modern living is that many of the men wear shoes made from recycled car tyres (presumably discarded by visitors like us, due to the rough terrain?).

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Here, a man’s wealth is measured by the number of cattle he owns. A woman’s, by the ornate beaded jewellery round her neck and in her stretched ear-lobes.

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It all adds up to a scene that has changed little in hundreds of years.

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One thing that will probably never change is the state of the tracks in Serengeti National Park. Without doubt the worst condition of any park we have encountered in Africa.

They are so viciously rutted and corrugated that at any speed above 35kph they throw the car sideways, making it fish-tail and threatening a spin. At any speed below 35kph your eyeballs rattle so violently it’s hard to see straight.

The nett result being that our brake pipes sheared in 2 places, leaving us with 100km to our camp and no brakes at all.

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We passed a couple of road-grading machines at the side of the track. They’re unused. Staff are so poorly (and infrequently) paid that they sell the diesel fuel and any parts they can strip off the machinery.

Serengeti really is stunningly beautiful. However, given entrance costs of $200 per day, plus $160 for 2 people to camp at a clearing with nothing other than a cold shower, where is the money going?

Anyway… I hate sounding like some whinging Safari Tourist. So, back to the fabulous side of Serengeti.

In the eastern and central areas there is little game around. The wildebeest migration is in full swing and they’re in the Western Corridor or already in the north, crossing to The Maasai Mara in Kenya.

That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to see.

Fortunately (since we had no brakes and were crawling along in low-range gears) we managed to coast to a stop before running these girls over.

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As always with lions, they do exactly what they want, when they want. If they want to sit in the middle of the track and preen themselves while you wait to go around, that’s what they’ll do.

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We couldn’t wait and watch for as long as we’d like as it was getting late, we had to travel slowly and needed to be in camp before sunset.

There were few other vehicles around but, without brakes, meeting one coming the other way was an adventure for us each time.

On one occasion we came to a bend with a small single-track bridge over an almost dry stream.

Parked, in the dead centre, taking up the whole bridge, watching a couple of hippos, was a Safari Tour truck.

Parked on a bridge! A real no-no.

Fortunately I was still using low-range gears, going slowly. The hand brake on a Land Rover operates on the propshaft (rather than the rear wheel, as on most cars) so I couldn’t use that to stop us. It would either break the prop or the hand brake.

The only alternative to either ramming the tour truck on the bridge or driving into the pool (with the hippos) was to drive the Landy up the side bank, until the incline stopped us and we rolled back down.

While I cursed the tour truck driver for being a bloody idiot, he must have thought I was some sort of lunatic Brit on his first day in Africa. He certainly gave me a bit of an odd look, as I hard-stared at him when he eventually cruised away.

We arrived at camp stressed, but having loved our first taste of Serengeti, just in time for sunset.

View from The Penthouse…

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Early next morning we limped the car from our camp to a mechanic’s workshop we’d been told about at the Frankfurt Wildlife Research Station.

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Pretty rudimentary, but any help would be better than nothing.

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The mechanics didn’t have much in the way of spares but, with bits of scrap lying around the yard and a few basic tools, they somehow cobbled together some sort of brake pipe.

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Three hours later, they put in some brake fluid, bled all four brakes, charged me $20 and said we were good to go.

A quick road-test made it clear to me that the brakes were about as effective as throwing out a parachute, but at least there was some pressure in the pedal.

We set off to enjoy the Western Corridor area of The Serengeti, wondering just how expensive this park was going to prove to be. So far, 24 hours had cost us $520 plus whatever the brakes would ultimately cost to fix properly.

Julius Caesar said of England “Veni, Vidi, Vici“…. I came, I saw, I conquered.

Scott says of Serengeti “Veni, Vidi, Visa“… I came, I saw, I paid.