We were taken on a short tour our first afternoon but sleep deprivation cast a shadow on the experience. I didn't think much of Karen Blixen's house in the suburb of Karen, having never read or seen "Out of Africa" (a situation I have since remedied), although the fellow who brought over a horned chameleon to me in hopes of earning a shilling or two for a photograph was quite interesting. The Nairobi Museum may have been the pride of the city but I was more interested in living humans and animals than old bones. And the railway museum, which provided a number of fascinating statistics about the technical development of East Africa, was viewed through a growing resentment at having been jollied into the short tour. I stumped dutifully through every attraction and thought wistfully of finding a taxi back to the hotel.
The second morning, Ibrahim divided us into our groups in preparation for the drive to Amboseli National Park. We were assigned to Leonard and van number five; we would be with the same van and driver throughout the safari. We soon realized we would be with the same six passengers as well and we cautiously tested one other for compatibility. Kay and Cathy were from Florida, both vegetarians who were very quiet and pleasant companions. The Peffers were a cheerful, outgoing couple who had apparently gone through life doing everything they thought sounded like fun. She was from Sweden, he was from Pennsylvania and they responded to virtually every piece of information offered by Leonard with a hearty "A-ha!" Naturally, we began calling them the A-ha Family and everyone found their enjoyment and zest for life irresistible and contagious. We also, inevitably, picked up the habit of saying "A-ha!" to everything.
Our group was amazingly compatible. All of us had the same basic agenda: photographing wildlife and learning about Kenya's culture and history. We didn't have conflicting interests or personalities. There were certainly other agendas. The pair of older women from Georgia seemed to treat each game drive as a chance to catch up on gossip or discuss the latest movie. We met a couple who were ill throughout the safari and couldn't refrain from reciting their symptoms. There was the cheery, outgoing gal from Oklahoma (named Ethel but immediately dubbed Bubbles) who headed for the bar and stayed there from the time we arrived until the wee hours but was as chipper as ever the next day. There was the snooty, fruity Swissair employee who personally handled, you understand, all the most important clients and was on the trip because he simply had to use up his free trip bestowed on him by Swissair and he'd done Asia to death. There were the Junior League sisters from Atlanta who bribed a bellhop at each hotel to provide them with the huge bottles of locally-brewed beer because they liked to do their drinkin' on the road. We were glad none of them were in our van but overall we liked just about everyone.
The drive from Nairobi to the Tanzanian border was five hours, only three of them on paved roads. We zipped along the A104, Leonard deftly dodging potholes, keeping the other vans in sight. A break at a sanctioned rest stop gave us our first opportunity to barter for goods. We were not hassled but the fellows running the shops were eager for our business and it was impossible not to at least look through the rows and rows of carved animals, bead necklaces, painted shields and malachite. I was somewhat uncomfortable about bargaining but I wanted to get something for my parents. Though I did my best to be a canny bargainer I feel certain I gained no face with the chap who sold me the ebony figurines of a Maasai warrior and his wife for the princely sum of 1000 Kenyan shillings (about $15.00), two Bic pens and a pair of Lady Footlocker socks.
Bumping along past village after village we noticed an odd combination of enterprises. Inevitably the butcher also ran a hotel. It seemed a bit macabre but in the dry open territory of Masai land it probably made a great deal of sense. We always knew where the butchery was by the trees crowned with great Marabou storks and flocks of vultures. I looked my fill from inside the van but we were warned not to take photographs of the Masai and in one place the villagers shook their fists at us and threw stones when Kay thoughtlessly held her camera up to take a picture of a corral. We learned our lesson and kept our cameras in our laps unless no one was in sight.
At the border we wriggled through the thriving town of Namanga and hurtled down a dirt road studded with rocks and lined with grazing donkeys. Here and there we saw women working in their small plots or filling jugs with fresh water from a well and loading them onto a donkey. The men hung out in circles near doorways or under trees, devoting themselves to great matters of the mind while their wives and daughters worked hard at the business of life. Soon enough we left all signs of habitation behind and jolted along at a great pace through an increasingly dry and stony landscape ringed with sharp-peaked hills. Leonard explained his speed by pointing out that if we went slowly we would feel every boulder and bump separately but if we went a bit fast it would seem more even. He was right, of course. I was ready to get to our destination, anyway. Jet lag had not been slept out of my system yet and I felt bone weary all that day.
Once we crossed into Amboseli National Park we began looking for animals in earnest. Everyone was seeing them, giraffes and gerenuks and birds galore. Everyone except me, that is. I couldn't seem to spot anything. When I did think I saw something it inevitably turned out to be a termite mound or an old acacia. "Wonderful," I muttered, "some safari this will be if all I see are termite mounds and tree stumps."
Fortunately, not even the tiredest traveler could have missed the beautiful sight of a young giraffe not two dozen feet from the road staring at our mud-spattered white vans. Everyone stopped and cameras clicked like mad. I began to spot giraffes here and there after that, as if the first one had somehow trained my eye. Ostriches were pretty easy to see in the grey-green foliage with their flamboyantly pink legs. Mostly I sat and let the sense of being far, far from home wash over me.