Sojourn

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Last Monday, while I was supposed to be posting a post something on this blog, I was on a small chartered aircraft headed Northern Kenya with a bunch of a dozen or so writers and photographers. Kenya Tourism Board was picking the tab. KTB is a hoot. They don’t whine. They don’t pinch pennies. You want a good tot of expensive whisky? No problem. What is that that item, number 6 on the A la carte menu? It doesn’t matter, would you like to wash it down with some Pinotage? They will put you up in a 50k a night lodge, a lodge so close to sunset you can hear God fry bacon in his kitchen when the sun crawls up. They will drive you over valleys and mountains in search of the lion and when you finally see the king of the jungle in darkness, headed out to hunt you will feel your manhood diminish. You will feel helpless in its proximity, because the Lion is the shit. In exchange of this generosity KTB will need copy. Good copy. That understanding is clear.

So for a six days we transversed Laikipia, Tsavo and Shompole hobnobbing with the Maasai – who undoubtedly were silently miffed by our weakness, we stayed up late at night getting smashed and in the process missing the “magic of the African night” as some enthralled odiero once described it. The following day when it was so hot outside we could smell our livers get flame grilled in the insane heat, we would huddle by the swimming pool in our dreadful looking swimming shorts and try and bang copy with the only noise in the still African outdoors consisting of the incessant pecking of our laptop keypads. It’s good fun when someone calls you over to show off the intro to a story they are writing and for you to be secretly envious of the their creative word play. It’s good fun watching someone sit there blankly staring into the horizon, seeking for words, paddling through the uncooperative sea of the English language in search of the right word that will make a sentence sing. It’s good fun to watch the unwavering passion of the very fastidious photographers who disregard their hangovers to wake up at the crack of dawn to wait for that shot of sunrise or a yawning hippo. It’s good fun when someone reads aloud a paragraph of the book they are reading. It’s good fun to be away from traffic jams and the unceasing rat race that defines the city you have left many hundred kilometers away. It’s hysterical.

And from these trips I meet and learn a lot about people. Below are some people I met, people who stirred something in me enough to take a picture of them.

The little Flower of Il Ngwesi.


We visited this Maasai Village to rid ourselves of ignorance and learn something about the Maasai. The area is called Il Ngwesi which means, the people of wildlife. Corny, I know. The sun was about to set and so the cows were coming home to roost, driven home by the young morans with tight chins and white knees. I saw this little girl put these little goats in a round enclosure. What do you call a baby goat anyway? Someone?

There was something about her that I loved, something which said, “I might be small but please don’t take my picture before you ask me nicely.” Something which reminded you of your manners because we go down to these places and take pictures of these people like they are animals. She might have been in tattered clothes but she seemed to posses more dignity than all of us put together. So I sauntered over, no strike that, I swaged over, hoping she would be impressed or something, hoping to get a smile. She didn’t care. I asked her for a photo. She seemed to nod unsurely, so I took her a quick one before she could change her mind. Then I fished inside my pockets and handed her two shiny twenty shillings coins. She was pleased and she rewarded me with a quick smile. A most gorgeous smile. I turned around to see if anyone was looking and indeed one of the KTB girls, Lilian, was staring at her. “That smile, you saw it right? Amazing isn’t it?” I said to her to which, after a brief significant pause, she sort of sighed resignedly and said, “Like a fist around your heart.” And I loved that; a fist around your heart. I really did love that sound bite. A fist around your heart. Totally cultivated!

Sunrise


I’m not one of those people who go gaga over sunrise or sunset. I find some indulgences worthless. But at Shompole lodge – one of the best lodges I’ve visited – a playing ground for the rich and famous, I watched this sunrise. Here is how. The units at Shompole have no doors or walls, that means you can see the wilderness from anywhere in your room. You basically sleep in the open. Yesterday this sunrise threw an orange glow in my room waking me up. I stirred and sat up in my bed and I reached over for my camera and snapped it. And I’m proud of this shot. Proud because I was hangied.

Ps. The water you see in the foreground is a swimming pool. Every room has its own private swimming pool, which is perfect for people with horrid swimming costumes.

What’s your drink?


I walked up to this guy at Shompole and asked him if he could hook me up Guloriti. This is a traditional concoction made from tree backs boiled and then sieved. It’s good for cleansing the system. It’s good for fatigue. It’s good when you feel your body isn’t on point. I hear it’s also good for male virility. Look, my virility is fine, I’m totally okay, I swear, so please don’t

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go saying Biko is taking Maasai Viagra. But if it helps my virility I shall let you guys know, because you know you want to know! Thing is this guy brought me a liter of this and when I asked him how much it was he said, “An old man sold me that medicine, in my culture if you sell medicine it won’t work. So consider it a gift.” I thought, “What nonsense” and squeezed some bills in his palm. He grinned. Great chap, this.

The Lion whisperer

We don’t know what manhood is all about. Why are we called men, because we pay rent and send our children to school? Are we men because we drink whisky neat? Are we men because our women look up to us? Are we men because we satisfy our women sexually? Are we men because we use Gillette aftershave? Are we men because we refuse to wear skinny jeans? We aren’t men, at least not half the men we think we are. We are crybabies.

Take a look at this hand. It’s not the prettiest hand you have ever seen and I’m sorry if you are having your brunch now, but this hand has to be looked at. This hand has never heard of manicure because it’s a man’s hand. This is a hand that some woman respects not only because it feeds her but it protects her. This is how a man’s hand looks like.

Do you see the middle finger? It’s an ugly finger, gnarled at the tip. The kind of a middle finger I would kill to show some rubbish driver in traffic. And that’s a finger you don’t forget in a hurry. But thankfully this finger is bigger than Nairobi traffic. This hand belongs to Kokike Parsaloi.

Kokike Parsaloi. Hell, not Jimmy, Ngash, Jackson, Freddie or Pato. None of that embarrassingly weak city name. Just Kokike. Even the name says “man!” Kokike Parsaloi. Repeat the name; turn it over in your mind. Make it simmer. It’s a name of a warrior. Kokike works as a tour guide at Shampolle lodge. Kokike has killed seven lions. Yes, one, two, three, four…seven lions! That gnarled finger was as a result of a lion twisting it with its tail. Long story. Have you seen a lion? Forget a lion; have you seen an agitated lioness? Have you seen a pissed off lioness? It curdles your blood.

Together with Kokike, we went for a game drive at night and after hours of driving around in darkness; we stumbled upon a pride of nine lions. Spectacular sight. Terrifying sight. Humbling even. The pride was going hunting; they were walking stealthily in darkness led by this huge strong lioness. And they walked with arrogance. With conceit. They walked like pimps. Swag originated in the jungle fellas, all these guys who walk with swag aren’t walking with swag, they are walking like Kanye West, which doesn’t count. Lions walk with swag because they know they are the shit.

And Kokike killed seven of ‘em. Seven. Jesus! The first when he was only 18 years old! Kokike is a man. We are nothing but male mannequins.

 

Lake Natron…or whatever is left of it


This is Lake Natron. Or rather, this is what’s left of it. Heartbreaking, isn’t it?

Lady in red


We have to stop and wait. We have to stop because the goats have taken over the bridge. We have to stop because this is not our hood. The goats have to pass first. Protocol. So we wait as these little boys herd the goats quickly out of the way. They take their time, but what’s the big hurry, we are only going back to Nairobi, the city of anxiety. We can wait. We got whole day…OK, we don’t.

Then I see her. Actually I see her umbrella first’ it’s red, it’s orient and against the terrain it sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s bobbing behind the goats and the two boys whistling and shooing the animals out of the bridge. This is yesterday 11.34am, a few kilometers from Shompole lodge.

When she finally walks past the bridge last because she is tailing the herd, we all become silent in the van. Even the ladies. We all stare at her; she is elegant. She is exquisite. She is rare sight, a gust of fresh air. She strolls over the bridge last in her white shoes and white socks. She isn’t in no particular hurry, she isn’t used to being rushed and you can tell why. You don’t rush a good woman. She comes closer and I see the baby strapped to her back.

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jump out of the van and walk up to her and I tell her she is exquisite. She giggles hopelessly. I ask her where she got the lovely umbrella and she tells me from a friend. I tell her it’s a lovely umbrella, just like her. She is blushing furiously now. She has sparkling white teeth and I love her haircut at least it’s better than a Mohawk. I tell her I want to take her back to Nairobi with me. More frantic giggles. I watch for the boys with her lest they stick a sword in my rib for making their mom/sister/cousin/auntie laugh like that. She asks me if I’m Maasai, and I say “Mimi ntakuwa kitu yeyote utataka nikuwe.” My Swahili is horrid but she gets the joke and she cackles with mirth.

She says she has a husband, and I want to ask her – tongue-in-cheek- how long she has had that problem, but I don’t. She will miss

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that one. So I ask if I can take her picture to which she obliges. She giggles as I take her picture. A young bride; innocent and pure. I give her some money; tell her to buy the baby something nice. I tell her to send people to look for me when she leaves her husband. I can still hear her giggles as she walked away.

 

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91 Comments
  1. good read biko. You made my monday.
    But u know you have to pay pennance for leaving us dry last week…ok its a kind request.
    And about that finger description you did there, i liked it.

  2. Dude,

    What’s up with the skinny jeans. Kwani you did not find them in your size then decided to hate.

    Everytime that dig shows up I have to smile.

  3. She says she has a husband, and I want to ask her – tongue-in-cheek- how long she has had that problem, but I don’t. She will miss that one……. Fantastic penmanship Biko! I am afraid my boyfriend thinks I will run away with you just to be around your words 🙂

    my two cents… Tell your editor at sat mag to stop editing your work… The rawness of your blog is much more preferable!

  4. WHAT???? i had to comment…’for how long have u had that problem?…she would miss that…u nailed it right there…

    en that gal….her hair is better than mowhock…i just love u Biko(as a writer)…u know

  5. “missing the “magic of the African night” as some enthralled odiero once described it” Fantastic description Biko!

    Great read! You capture safari experiences better than any KTB copy or safari literature out there.

  6. so where do i sign up for this KTB stuff, is it like they do in BBA?….hehehee am green with envy! lovely trip u had..

  7. Oh Biko si you are just baaaad! Btw I could almost hear that beautiful woman giggle! Nice piece, very nice.
    That sunset is breathtaking, so now you know this particular indulgence isn’t worthless.

  8. Wait, you talk to Kokike, a manly man, testosterone machine, serial lion killer extraordinaire, earlier on, then you have no qualms chatting up a married maasai girl with a baby strapped to her back, no less?! You are a very brave man, Biko. And a lucky one too. Under other circumstances, this story would have ended with you guys beating a hasty retreat through the wild under a cloud of flying spears and arrows, hehe. I really enjoyed reading this a lot. I think this one trumps the coast one, my previous favorite, easily.

  9. Just wondering aloud (in a manner of ‘speaking’): what the hell do the animals in this place drink? Dust?

  10. Good you are back with this starry-eyed homage to the mystical quintessential allure of the Kenyan back of the beyond bundus. So now, from the bunduz we’ve got the real thing for genuine manhood- a calloused and crooked middle finger for putting the fear of Jesus in the Nairobi traffic crazies. I gotta give it to you Jack, you got a way with ’em situational philosophy for our idle generation. So, when is KTB swinging you on a copy seeking jaunt to Kibera? Its tourism potential never waned, you know. A good copy this is, cured the hangie.

  11. ”she said she had a husband,,i wanted to ask her-toungue in cheek-how long she had tht problem”… lol….
    nd a baby goat is called a kid if u still wondering….

  12. The little one of a goat is a kid. Hmmm, as for the middle finger, that’s a story for another day. Great read as always.

  13. “Mimi ntakuwa kitu yeyote utataka nikuwe.” Killed me and totally made up for no blog last week!! Oh my I will read this again in the middle of the week just to smile and remember why life is worth living! For the little things like a dignified little girls smile…a sunset that looks good even when you are hangied..a man who can stand up to seven lions and come out with only a gnarled finger..and an exquiste woman who with just a few shy giggles can reduce Biko to such horrid swahili 😀

  14. The little flower.. Absolutely beautiful even without the ‘fist around the heart’ smile. The lady in red takes a mean photo.. Am sure some model would love to pull off that pose with as much ease 🙂
    your words.. Amazing as usual. Thanks

  15. Wassup mate,an interesting report it is…so vivid.i notice you are so determined to discourage lazy readers from attempting or developing an interest in reading,if the length of this post is anything to go by-i like that.Bang even 3000 words,with your outstanding ability in prose writing and the brilliance without mentioning the profoundness in your ideas,i bet you we are hooked and reading this blog is now almost like aprerequisite-this shit is addictive.Splendidly put together.keep them coming.cheers.

  16. She says she has a husband, and I want to ask her – tongue-in-cheek- how long she has had that problem, but I don’t.

    Lovely….worth the wait…definately!!

  17. such a flirt!…lol…hope she takes your word for it and arrives at your doorstep after leaving her ‘problem’….hehehe…

    good read 🙂

  18. Si you hook a sister up with KTB? Jus sayin…it could be my paragraphs you’re reading,my sound bites you’re quoting. 😀

  19. I love it that you can see real beauty in the little girl’s smile and the lady with the red umbrella. None of the fake city hair, makeup that cost a whole lot and do nothing for the natural look. Enough respect. Good read Biko.

  20. I love that the article isn’t about luxurious lounges with air-conditioning, friendly staff, creme brulee and all the other crap you’d expect from a travel piece.

    “…guys who walk with swag aren’t walking with swag, they are walking like Kanye West, which doesn’t count.” LOL!

  21. your ‘man talk’ blog should never be edited.
    good,funny read…and oh yes!wait till she runs from her hubby to come look for you(she won’t wait for him to leave her FYI,lol).
    fabulous month Zulu!

  22. kid-the young one of a goat-is called a kid…Shompole looks beautiful from the pics,its now on my list of places I should visit..and the sunrise..beautiful..

  23. “How Long have you had that problem?”……..that was really funny and I love your description of Kokike, hope all Nairobi men get to read this. Great read.

  24. The pictures are great Biko and your writing is beautiful. What camera is that you use, it must be a masterpiece to deliver such work and can it take pictures under water?

  25. Theres something about the way you write. Something deep, like you can almost get lost in these words. And its writers like you that give me a serious mind-block. Like seriously, I can’t come up with anything sensible to write because i feel like you’ve said it all. You connect with what you’re writing…I just wish I could have that, even if just for a day. You’re an artist…great stuff.

  26. Been reading your blog for a while now! whats with your hatred for the mohawk??? i love the way u write, AWESOME stuff!

  27. @ Biko, I love pictures and own a smaller version of the Canon. If you ever want to sell the Nikon am going to buy for sure, especially since I’ve seen the end product. Keep showing off your artistic flair on words on pictures. 😉

  28. now that shampole lodge sounds too awesome. ati private swimming pool. and kwani you were kidnapped from ur digz by KTB? horrid swimming costumes and all…
    good read!!

  29. Oh Biko, you are so captivating….absolutely love your blog. Reading your stories is like watching the whole scenario through your words.
    And o boy…you are funny!! God frying bacon…got me!!

  30. Great stuff!

    Can only compare to those of my peeps, down in S.A or my bro’s in Naija. It’s brilliant.

  31. Shompole lodge sounds like quite the place to be in! A pool per room? With no walls? Ala!

    Love this imagery: “a lodge so close to sunset you can hear God fry bacon in his kitchen when the sun crawls up”

    Now you’re the problem with Kenyans generally. Since you can get plastered from Monday to Monday in Nairobi, why not take this opporunity just to commune with mother nature? 🙂

    Great read!

  32. Biko you are good with words, I’ve read this piece thrice and haven’t had enough yet. Next time you go on a trip carry me along… 😉 Great pictures Biko!!!

  33. a swimming pool for every room, while so many people and animals are without drinking water, a true reminder of the animal farm, where all people are equal, but others are more equal than the rest. i think th government needs to impose a native tax on all major hotels since they exploit the locality scenary to get rich, they should pay for some of the cost of improving the locals livelihhod.

    1. Actually they do, Pit. Il Ngwesi lodge for instance is community owned, it’s fully run my Maasais; chef, tour guide, housekeeping, the works…money is ploughed back into building the community; education, health and infrastructure. Shompole has almost the same structure, only the community owns 30% of the lodge, their share of revenue goes back into building the local community.

  34. “You’ll not only break the ice, you’ll melt it away with your earth shattering skills.” You did great, awesome pictures Biko, just awesome!!

  35. Then i believe that what they are doing is quite noble, perhaps the board should design a campaign calling upon the people to visit such places that encourage equity and give back a bit to society, this will in turn inspire other ventures to give a bit to community. It is not enough that some are doing it, the goal should be to inspire all the rest to follow suit, to make it the norm rather than the exception.

  36. im hooked on this isht……its about time i quit my peeping tom tendencies……im officially dropping the ‘anonymous’ tag

  37. @Janet, “You’ll not only break the ice, you’ll melt it away with your earth shattering skills”. You have sealed it right there for me and said it in no better way than can be said under comments. Biko you are writing for the world not just the Kenyan reader. Keep going dude!! 😉

  38. You were right Biko, you’ve redeemed yourself with this piece, and no, am not being a ‘smartmouth’ with the comment.

  39. Jackson Biko, these travel articles create such good reading and you should keep them coming.

    “They walked like pimps. Swag originated in the jungle fellas, all these guys who walk with swag aren’t walking with swag, they are walking like Kanye West, which doesn’t count. Lions walk with swag because they know they are the shit.” LMAO!!!

  40. First time here. I was skimming through the lovely pictures when I came across the lady in red part and how you almost asked her how long she has had her husband problem.. very funny 🙂

  41. wonderful piece, well and easily told. and you guys must have had a good time. I always take notice of small things when I am in shags: sunsets, the sky and clouds, the length of my evening shadow and the fresh air. the silence too. everyone should step away from this concrete jungle every so often.

  42. Biko i have a confession to make. My chick has been going on and on about your blog for months now, as in talking my ears off at every opportunity about how brilliant writer you are, how dope your blog is…yada yada. Many a time she sent me the link (we chat online a lot) and i always didn’t find the time to go to your blog becasue really, i dont think there are any decent kenyan writers. Plus i thought which foko jembe is this getting my woman all excited. NKt. Then jana some pal sent me the link and asked me to chek out some maasai mama on ya blog. So i checked (hahaha, it took a maasai mama to do what my chick couldnt.)

    Chief, your blog is very good, you write very well and i take back my words, there are decent kenyan writers. And as a truce I’m offering to buy you a drinkl….Good job bro

    1. Kind of you Patrick. Thanks. Will your chick come for this drink up? I think she should :-)…Kidding. Will contact you soon.

      1. Hahaha, you got jokes boss. I will make sure she isn’t within a radius of 12kms from where we will be drinking.

  43. Good read Biko. I wish God fried bacons, He doesn’t, instead he simply thinks it and the bacon appears before Him fried-but i laughed so hard on that one.

  44. I could picture you singing ‘I will do anything for you’ to the lady in red.You have great talent. Faithful follower for life.