Northern Kenya

Maji maji (water water)

We leave Nanyuki for the second time on the last day of February. The bag of stuff we’re leaving behind is decently heavy. There will be no need for down jackets or rain pants on our excursion to the arid north.

Hello headwind our old friend, we’ve come to battle you again. Somehow we don’t feel well rested on the first day. Carrot cake and a peanut butter milkshake seem to replenish Ben’s strength though as we set up camp in the backyard of a gas station on the way to Isiolo (it was nicer than it sounds).

In the morning Lina still feels sickly. Her stomach seems to be rebellious at the thought of descending almost 2000m into 40+ degrees of heat. The change of scenery is striking. One minute we are surrounded by bushland and farms, the next it’s scrubs and herds and herds of goats.

We see more and more mosques but still a lot of churches. People often wear tribal clothing (and not for the benefit of tourists). Especially the women exude an air of pride and grace. We feel shabby hunched over our dirty bikes.

After about 60km Lina’s stomach can’t cope anymore. Ben rides ahead to Archer’s Post and meets a Swedish faith healer who swears that in his church people get better 100% of the time from praying, which is a good thing, given that the next hospital is 5 hours away. Meanwhile Lina is being taken in by a family of the Turkana tribe. While one person walks to the next village to get a car, Robert – a teacher – tells her all about the faults of the Kenyan school system and how men in their tribe get married at 25 and pay the family of the bride in cows. The marriage is sealed by slaughtering a bull and some goats.

After being hustled out of quite a bit of cash (a recurring theme these days) Lina arrives in Archer’s Post where Ben has already secured a room. We hide in the breeze of the fan and use wet bandanas to cool ourselves down. We adjust our expectations of distance downwards for the next day and aim for a campsite not too far away.

The experience becomes distinctly more deserty as the herds of goats are joined by camels and it becomes common for kids to beg for water (not money). At the camp we spot elephants and little pygmie deer and we hear a lot of wildlife around at night. Thankfully there is an askari (soldier/guard) with an assault rifle protecting us.

It’s strange how you can struggle to cycle 35km one day and do 105km the next day (the longest distance yet) with energy to spare. We have a new theory about the ubiquitous Mzungu (white person) calls. In Europe if you’re cycling along and see a donkey on the road, you’re surprised and call out “donkey”. And if you’re trying to get the donkey’s attention you just call “donkey” louder. At times we certainly feel like donkeys with the flies buzzing around our faces.

This analogy is not enough to describe the shock on the faces of some people as we get a coke from a small village shop. There we feel more like a camel on a German Autobahn. Communication gets harder as people speak less and less English and we’re glad of Ben’s efforts to learn Kiswahili (which is still the second language for everyone here).

By the time we leave the main road on our attempt to reach lake Turkana we are slightly afraid of skinny children begging for maji (water). Some are chasing the bikes and tugging at the panniers if they catch us. Witnessing this level of water scarcity leaves a deep impression.

Eventually the pavement ends. It’s about 30km of corrugated dirt/sandy road to the next village (which may or may not have a borehole). We brace ourselves and rattle along. Every now and then we have to push the bikes through deep sand or cycle faster to avoid yet more people asking for water.

When Olive gets another flat tire we are starting to doubt the plan. The road has turned to sand completely by now and we have to push the bikes the whole time. We have no idea if the sand will solidify into something cycleable again any time soon. So, the decision to turn around now is quite easy.

And we know that it was the right decision as Jo is getting her first flat 5 minutes later and the children are closing in on us again. While Ben fixes the tires in the boiling heat Lina tries to stare down the kids who have started to pick up rocks. “They are just curious” we tell ourselves. We are unfamiliar animals in their territory.

With a sigh of relief we set foot on the pavement again and begin the slow (and slightly dejected) trudge back to civilization. The energy levels are quite low and we are quietly contemplating our limits. We wonder if our brains correctly tabulate the positive and negative experiences with people.

Back in town we chug some cold soda and our spirits are lifted somewhat. The next day starts with trying to sort out transport back to Nanyuki. As we wait for a bus that supposedly comes by between 8 and 9 am we meet other cyclists (and even another Ossi – someone from East Germany) for the first time.

They have been on the road for over three years and we feel even more like fresh-faced rookies than we did before. We excitedly exchange numbers and stories and measure up each other’s gear. We notice with some pride that we are traveling light in comparison.

As they head North towards Ethiopia we board the first of two matatus that will carry us back one last time to Lorenz and Nicole. We can’t wait for the nice shower and temperatures of around 12 (and not 25) degrees at night. Back in Nanyuki we are greeted by rain. It feels surreal to be soaking wet cycling through puddles with the memory of “maji maji” still fresh in our minds.