Planting Seeds

It is my last morning in Kisumu for this trip. It has been brief, but full and I have loved seeing how our children have matured into lovely young men and women, as well as meeting new children who joined our family since I was last here.

As the lift was still not working, I carried my bag down the 10 flights of stairs (76 steps) that reach up to the 3^rd floor of the hotel. Each step crunched underfoot.

You see, the rains have brought out the bugs and, each morning before the cleaners have made it round with their bucketful’s of water and their wide sweeping brooms, the passageways crunch with the shells of beetles and flying things, lying, mostly, dead on the floor. I mention this only in case you are ever tempted to come with the Trust to Kenya one time. 

You would be welcome in the rainy season, but you should know that there are bugs.

Each night I have crawled under a mosquito net and laid down to sleep, listening to the incessant buzzing of the tiny insects looking for a tasty vein or two. Apparently it is only the females that bite, the males preferring nectar to blood. Make of that what you will – though I will confess that I am on the nectar side of that choice!

Female mosquitos are particularly adept at feeding, they are able to sense human breath and to know, from subtle differences in temperature on the skin, which veins are nearer the surface and where they will best drink their fill. How I wish my local surgery had similar technology, for when they need a small sample of my blood!

It is strangely cosy under a mosquito net which, despite the nearby buzzing, gives a sense of comfort and protection – a bit like listening to the rain pouring down outside a window, whilst inside the fire is on and a cup of hot tea steams.

I had, therefore, slept well last night and woke refreshed for the day. I had a hot cup of Kenyan tea in the dining room, then packed my things up for the day.

Moses and I had planned a morning in Kibos, I wanted to walk around the couple of acres of land we own there, look over the gardens and the vegetables that will supply our food over the coming months.

Daniel at KBS

On our way we called in to KBS, the Kenya Bureau of Standards, located in a lovely large compound on the Kibos Road from town.

Daniel, who is at Moi University and who I had met on Sunday at Kachok, is doing a short internship at KBS, furthering his studies before returning to college next month. 

He is really enjoying his time there, though he tells me that he would love to return to KEMRI (Kenya Medical Research Institute), which is located by the lake shore on the road to Maseno. He spent a few months there earlier in the year which he really enjoyed.

“I need to get good grades” he said, “I know I have to work hard”. He is currently forecast a 2^nd Upper Degree in Biochemistry.

I so hope that he makes it.

We left the calm of KBS for the busy dust road to Kibos.

“What is this?” said Moses, looking ahead to where a large plume of dust rose from the road. It is usually fairly bad around here as Matatus speed up and down the road, avoiding the bumps and potholes, throwing up a wave of red mist in their wake, but this morning it was much worse than usual.

“This wasn’t here when I left” he said.

As we edged closer, all became clear.

“Aaahh”, said Moses, nodding sagely, “It is election season”.

If that was meant to help me to know what was happening, then I am afraid I failed the comprehension test.

A huge yellow mechanical thing, a cross between a JCB, a plough, a snow plough and a roller was plying the route, first churning up the road with the spikes of the plough before returning with the smooth snowplough / roller to remake the road in a smoother image.

In early August Kenyan’s will go to the polls to elect their President. On a more local level, there will also be elections for the County Governor, for the local senate and the assembly.

It is at election time that many roads get fixed, so the good job of the Governor will be remembered by the people.

Today it was the turn of Kibos.

Gerald by the Garden

Impatient casualties of the road-mending lay stranded in the large piles of earth thrown up by the machine. Matatu’s that couldn’t be bothered to wait until the JCB plough / roller thingy returned to smooth the mud had tried to force their own way through, only to become grounded in the middle of the road.

We waited, and followed the road the kilometre or so to Kibos, then on to our place.

A few weeks ago the land was ploughed and Gerald planted it with Maize and Sorghum in time for the rains to come. The green shoots are now starting to push their heads into the sunlight and the first weeding has got underway. Kunde and Sikumawike grow, interspersed with the Sorghum and a further plot has been planted with cassava. 

A Papaya tree

Half a dozen Papaya trees grow on the edge of the vegetable patch, offering a little shade and the prospect of some tasty fruit. The banana trees, which died off after last year’s harvest have now started to produce fresh shoots and Gerald is planning to split them and plant the around the plot once more.

Gerald has come to work for us over the last year or so. Originally from Busia, he now lives at Kibos, taking care of some of the older boys. I was delighted to meet him this week and know that we will work well together over the coming years.

Soon it was time to leave, to head off to the airport for my final hop back to Nairobi and the overnight flight back to Paris and then Manchester.

We sped back over the new Chinese built flyover to the newly surfaced Busia / Airport Road. 

Kisumu has changed a lot in the years that we have been coming, it has grown and modernised, new industries have come and land prices are soaring. The sugar cane factory in Kibos is booming, taking harvests away from the traditional plants at Mumias. In the next couple of years a new, Chinese built, standard gauge railway will connect with Nairobi, where a link will open in a month or two all the way to Mombasa and the ports.

But for all of the infrastructure, for all of the apparent progress, there are still many children in desparate need. 

For every Daniel, succeeding at university, there are a dozen Wayne’s, not knowing who can help them, without a hope in their lives.

My experience is that the children don’t need a hand out, they need a seed planting. Like the maize and the sorghum planted in the gardens at Kibos, if they can find a little help, protection and water when things get hot, then they can become the most mighty and wonderful plantings of hope.

Thank you for reading my blog through this week, I hope I have managed to share something of the Isaiah Trust family, of my brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren in hope.  

Please feel free to give the trust a “follow” on Facebook and, for our part, we will try our best to give you regular updates from Kenya.

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The Only Ice Rink in East Africa

“Did you know”, said Stephen, the taxi driver taking me from Nairobi International airport to my hotel, “That there is a hotel in Nairobi with an ice rink?”

I didn’t!

“It’s the only one in the whole of East Africa” he added.

To be honest, it would have been more amazing to me if there had been another.

 

I wondered who uses it, if indeed anyone does. 

The hotel in question faces onto Nairobi National Park, where, in exchange for a small fortune in dollar bills a tourist can watch giraffe, zebra, baboon, buffalo, wildebeest and more. Thousands of people fly in to Nairobi from all over the world hoping to catch a glimpse of the natural beauty and wildlife of this remarkable country, whether it’s the great migrations through the Masai Mara, the great rift valley lakes, made pink by flamingo’s or the elephants wondering freely in the foothills of Kilimanjaro.

One of the great pleasures of this continent is to sit and listen, to hear the sounds of the African night, knowing that, in what looks like deserted wilderness the great circle of life plays out.

I’m not sure that an ice rink is what they are really looking for.

When I left home this morning it was 3 degrees C. When I arrived in Nairobi, at 9:30 in the evening, it was 23 degrees c.

The very last place that I am going to go to is an ice rink!

I asked John, the hotel porter, what he thought, as he carried my bag to the room when I had checked in.

“We are proud” he said, “it is the only one in East Africa”.

So maybe it is the new, prosperous residents, business men and women and their young families, who have grown up with the wildlife on their doorstep, looking for new experiences, looking for fun who go there on a lazy afternoon.

Not far from the hotel in the opposite direction, towards the city centre, lie the great slums of Nairobi. Men, women and children live out their lives in desperate need, surviving below the poverty line day in, day out. I have been to the Nairobi slums on two or three occasions over the last ten years and those in Kisumu much more frequently. The difference between the two ways of life is as vast as the 4,500 mile journey from Manchester to Kenya and it seems so hard to change anything.

I sat in the hotel bar this evening, with an ice cold Tusker in one hand and the Champions league on the big screens in front of me.

And I tried my very best, given the confines of the hotel wifi, to facetime with Pam.

And I feel so very, very fortunate. Lucky to have the family, the friends, the colleagues, the work and the home that I have.

And the opportunity to choose whether to not to go to the only ice rink in East Africa.

Beautiful Country

And so it's home time.

The streets of Nairobi are relatively quiet as we drive through to the Mvuli House B&B I have booked for the overnight stop. It's an unusual situation. When I arrived, two weeks ago, it took over 2 hours to drive the 15 kilometres to the city centre.

But today is different. The roads are quiet going our way. There are queues the other side of the road, but on our side things manage to keep moving. So quiet are the streets in fact that Wilberforce, my driver from Kenatco, the government run taxi company who operate from Jomo Kenyatta International airport, thinks I am a lucky man. “Mr Tim, God is on your side” he says. And means it.

All things considered, it was fortunate indeed that the normal Nairobi traffic had chosen to clog up roads elsewhere, as Wilberforce ran me speedily to Mvuli road, Mvuli Park and a number of other Mvuli's, before stopping to ask someone if they knew where Mvuli House was.

They didn't

Eventually Wilberforce asked me if I had a number for the place. “I do” I replied, and passed it on to him.

A phone call later and the problem had been established. We were in Westlands, on the other side of Nairobi to the airport. The guest house though wasn't on Mvuli Park, Mvuli Road, any other Mvuli or indeed anywhere near Westlands. It was in Nairobi West, just 10 minutes drive from the airport.

And so we made our way back across town, through the traffic queues, around the roundabouts, just about avoiding contact with the matatus and their drivers, who I swear have to pass a test in a dodgem car before they are allowed on the roads.

Mvuli House, it turned out, was pleasant enough. The room was clean, the staff extremely friendly, the wifi free and surprisingly quick and the location, close to the main road, made the transfer from the airport simple (unless you go via Westlands).

Best of all, it is at least half the price of the many international hotels in the city centre.

We eventually arrived at 8:30pm, I checked in and arranged to meet Wilberforce again the following morning at the ridiculously early time of 5:00am, to ensure we were at the airport in good time for the flight home.

I asked the receptionist if there would be a discount, as I would be leaving before breakfast the following morning. “It's no problem” she said, “I will put you down for early breakfast. Is 4:30 ok for you?”

The TV in the lounge area was showing Man utd vs Benfica. The first football I had seen in 2 weeks and even better when I found out the score.

I enjoyed a cold Tusker and started to relax.

After the game I went back to my room wondering whether to bother with the mosquito net. I have never been bothered by mozzies in Nairobi, though I generally get bitten to death in Kisumu, especially in the rainy season when it seems soft white flesh is the requisite hors d'ouevre for insectkind. On this trip I suffered a number of bites around my ankles, elbows, wrists and knees. I can understand my elbows and wrists, as they are generally exposed, but it must take some kind of special commando mozzie to suck blood from my knees through trousers.

“Platoon, Ten Shun! To the Knees, Quuuiiiiccckkkk Flyyyyyyy!”

As I considered the need for the net I heard the unmistakeable sound of mosquito song. It's not the most tuneful sound, a single note, held for as long as flight is maintained. The silence is worse. It's then you start to wonder where it is. Your skin becomes extra sensitive and you feel it biting all over, when in truth it's probably just landed on the wall for a bit of a rest!

I decided the net was required, and began untieing it and tucking it around the mattress.

It's quite cosy, snugged under a mozzie net. It's like the feeling you get wrapping a duvet around you when the rain is beating on the window pain on a wild, stormy night. You know things are out there, but you feel safe and sound.

And I slept. To the sounds of Mombasa Road and the song of a lone mosquito.

About 10 minutes later the alarm went off. It may have been a little longer, perhaps even four or five hours, but it seemed like 10 minutes.

I dragged myself out of the mosquito sheltered coccoon, washed and dressed and made my way to “early breakfast”

The kitchen was alive with activity. Bacon, sausage, beans, some funny root looking thing, toast, eggs, juice.

As I walked in the waiter turned the dining room lights on and gave a cheery “Habaria za asabuhi?” “Nzuri” I replied sleepily.

I don't know if they are up at this time every day, but it was really nice to be looked after.

I decided it was too early for baked beans, and anyway the people on the plane may not welcome an unfavourable tail wind, so rustled up a bacon and sausage buttie from the assorted trays.

At 5:00, on the dot, Wilberforce arrived for another tour of Nairobi suburbs.

I checked out with a warm, friendly and smiling receptionist and got into the car.

I chatted with Wilberforce on the short journey back to JKIA. It turned out that he had been working all night, since he dropped me there the previous night. In fact, he had been working since the previous morning. The taxi company run a system requiring 24 hour shifts to be worked. He would finish work at 9:00am and then report back tomorrow morning for another 24 hour shift.

In spite of this he was happy to be working and chatted all the way to the airport.

My experience of Mvuli House and Wilberforce is common to all my experiences in Kenya. People are really friendly, nothing is too much trouble and if you need breakfast at 4:30, well then so be it.

It's a beautiful country, made all the more special by the ordinary people who struggle to make a living in it.