Bushka!

My four-day affair with tranquility that went down on Kenya’s Lamu Island came to a tragic end, and what I mean is that it was tragic because it ended. It’s arguably a good thing that I left because I don’t think I registered a pulse for the final two days once I really settled in. In Swahili, the words pole pole (pronounced poll-lay, poll-lay) literally mean “slow slow” – which was probably coined initially to describe the experience in every bank line in Kenya --  though the message it is meant to convey is “slow down.” The pace on Lamu Island is an extreme illustration of “pole pole,” so much so that I bet dead people feel right at home among the living on Lamu.

Pole pole isn’t a speed in which I operate very often.  So it took about two days for me to figure out Lamu. Even after I transferred to the super-awesome Mfalini Guest House where I will demand I be taken if and when I am placed on a death bed, I still couldn’t quite entirely figure out why Lamu was such a desirable destination. The pace is so slow, there’s not a whole lot of “what to do” options, etc.  Then it hit me: that’s exactly why Lamu is a desirable destination.  In four days, I went on four runs on the beach, went in and out of the ocean with the frequency that a child goes in and out of a screen door in summer, read 2.5 books (one sucked and I gave up), ate seafood within hours of it being caught, and drank my body weight in fresh fruit juice.  In one instance, a fisherman pulled up a crab pot on the pier, handed me one of the crustaceans as a gift, I turned around, walked about 20 meters to the modestly-sized restaurant behind where they prepared it, and I was eating fresh crab about a half hour later on the beach. I had a Top 10 eating experience that was interrupted when I was horrified at myself for probably eating the crab in direct view of its family. In the future, I will ensure there is some anonymity between me and the family of the sea creatures I eat.

As I was checking out of the guest house, the owner thanked me for the business. I told him that I co-owned a small safari business (Shameless plug:  www.usoafrica.com) and I would recommend his guest house whenever the opportunity came up. Then he said “Rafiki, (‘friend’) you should have told me that sooner and I would have accommodated you in the suite.” Then he showed me the suite and I observed its massiveness and top-floor 270 degree view of the ocean. And then I cried and staggered to the airstrip, missing Lamu as soon as the plane was off the ground. Spent the night in Nairobi, and made the six hour return trip to Samburu the next day.

To say that Samburu is sort of hot this time of year is to say that Lance Armstrong was sort of a cheater when he won all of those tours (I also got caught up on current events while in Lamu). There just aren't the right words to express the disbelief.  From mid-morning to mid-afternoon, the primary focus becomes preventing your body from metabolizing its organs in an effort to garner the energy needed to keep the body at 98.6 degrees. Today I may have lost my left kidney (my left, your right). When you’re near the fattest part of the Earth (Samburu is about 90 miles north of the equator), you’re closer to the sun which means less ozone in the atmosphere, and ozone helps filter out the damaging and skin-piercing ultraviolet from the sun’s rays. So the hot temperature (upper 90s/low 100s) is accompanied by a nearly intolerable intensity. If Satan were in Samburu today, he would have casually remarked that today was sure a nice day that reminded him of home.  

 

 

There is one organism that withstands the heat nicely, and that organism is Bush Car, or what sounds like “Bushka” when my Samburu friends say it. “Bush” is what Americans would probably refer to as wilderness. It just means areas off the main roads and amidst rugged elements such as rough terrain, lack of marked roads, and animals that might eat you.  A few years ago when it became apparent that I would probably be returning here with some regularity (by regularity I mean consistent intervals of time, not bowel movements), I purchased Bush Car because it would save me and my generous grant funders money in the long-run by not having to rent a vehicle every trip to do the various community conservation and research work that we’re up to here. And the roads around Samburu can be rough.  One time I rented a vehicle and I returned it to the company with one headlight, the horn and the back bumper placed in the back seat. I parked in the last row of the company’s return lot, paid cash, and briskly walked away. I thought running might be too conspicuous.

So Bush Car entered my life in 2009 or 2010 BB (Before Bushcar). I’ve never been one to become attached to a vehicle. I’ve always just considered them enclosed hunks of metal to move me around.  I’ve not named my cars nor talked about them with human-like characteristics. That was all before B.B.  Things are different in 2012 AB.

I love Bush Car. Actually, I love-hate Bush Car. But during my time in Samburu on this most recent trip, it’s all love. Bush Car has started up every day (not quickly, but eventually), not rolled away a single meter (parking brake doesn’t work which is why Bush Car is never allowed to face downhill toward the river), and not sustained a single flat tire. In its lowest moments, Bush Car had three flat tires in a day and swallowed my cell phone on the same day by making its air vent look like a little place to hold things. A punctured tire isn’t so abnormal for vehicles around here, but three in a day pushed the limits, and the cell phone travelled down the vent and behind the dashboard, and became more challenging when the phone’s battery died and we couldn’t call it to find out if we were moving it any closer to the exit point of the vent with the help of a small child’s arm and a coat hanger. Eventually we retrieved the cell phone but the small child is still in the air vent and has the coat hanger to play with.   

Last year around this time, Bush Car hiccupped and would only go in reverse, and after awhile, driving in reverse started to hurt my neck. After a temporary fix that involved a mango peel to prevent two pieces from rubbing against each other and generating fire, I drove Bush Car to the nearest mechanic that actually uses tools (20+ miles) and as I pulled in, the brakes seized up, smoked and I think even belched as we pulled into the station. I loathed Bush Car for its colossal break-down in the Isiolo town that I detest, but appreciated it at the same time for going unconscious in the confines of what turned out to be a trustworthy service station.

Note that I don’t refer to Bush Car as “he” or “she.” I’ve checked, and Bush Car has neither a penis nor a vagina. It’s the opposite of a hermaphrodite.  While I do anthropomorphize Bush Car, I’ve never really thought of it as being a specific gender though with its dependability and fringy dashboard, it arguably leans female or in the case of the fringe (see photo below), leans Liberace. For those of you that speak with a normal person’s vocabulary, “anthropomorphize” is an unimpressive piece of jargon that academics use to make non-academics roll their eyes, and it means applying human-like characteristics to non-human things, like animals, cars and Joan Rivers’ face.  This evening I lifted my head while doing some paperwork at the table, noticed Bush Car facing a beautiful sunset and I swear one of the thoughts that occurred to me was that Bush Car was sure enjoying a nice view.

 

 

Bush Car’s dashboard is adorned with a velvety fringed fabric that is nothing short of breathtaking. It was custom-made: it has holes that fit perfectly around the phone-consuming air vents. Sometimes I lift my leg a little bit while driving just to feel the soft tickle of the fringe on my quad (too much?). Let’s be super clear about this feature though: the fringe was in Bush Car long before I took ownership.

The air vents aren’t really useful except for dispersing dust throughout the vehicle’s interior and so far I’ve liked all of the asthmatics that have joined me in Bush Car and therefore I haven’t needed to engage the air vents. The door to the back is unlocked by a small piece of rod-iron that is filed down to a square-like shape and in a pinch can be replaced by a stick.  It has a sun-roof type of hatch that will fly open on its own if I exceed 30mph, and if I forget to open the hatch before that time, it makes a noise when it slams open that I associate with the car being shot, and I usually pee a little. When Bush Car is washed, we use the hose on the outside, and the inside.

In our time together, Bush Car has contributed to some important moments, such as the transport of 18 people (including two babies passed to me through the driver’s window) to a traditional Samburu circumcision ceremony. Around these parts, boys get circumcised around 12-14 years old, in public view of the elders or wazee, and this isn’t considered cruel or humiliating. It’s an important moment in a Samburu male’s multi-step transition to manhood.  Personally, given it involves cutting off a part of the penis (second use of penis in this blog) and the fact that I would scream if I was in that position, seems more like a transition to little-girl hood.

Bush Car has delivered many hundreds of pounds of rice, beans and maize to villages around here on behalf of charitable people and organizations, and also served as an ad-hoc school bus if I’m headed that direction anyway. Some kids around Samburu walk miles to get to class, so a lift to class is welcomed without hesitation. If I were in the U.S. I would be serving life in prison for the number of unfamiliar children that have entered my car and further, not been secured in a weight-proportionate car seat. But around here I promise you it’s totally normal, and I further promise you that I drive slowly and safely. Bush Car starts uncomfortably vibrating around 20 mph anyway.

In addition to many pounds of food and many pounds of children, Bush Car has transported live goats, chickens, an elephant skull, 10 foot sheets of iron metal, a full-size bed frame, and one prisoner.  Because my parents read this blog, I will not elaborate on the final item on that list.

Later today Bush Car will transport a load of mosquito nets to Lorubae Primary School for its new girls’ dormitory courtesy of some recent generous clients of the safari company that you should book a trip with (that website again is www.usoafrica.com). A new dorm for girls is a big deal around here. If a girl can remain at school overnight, she won’t be asked or forced to do many of the time-consuming house chores at night such as fetching water or wood, or taking care of younger siblings, and she can study, avoid harassment by boys, not get pregnant, and so on.  In sum, she will do better.  Girls’ access to education is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING that a developing country can do to alleviate poverty and disease and turn the corner to prosperity and self-sufficiency. That has been shown over and over and over. So it should be a good day in which another valuable task is added to Bush Car's unheralded lore, and I will attempt to remain hydrated and upright in the Samburu’s heat while doing so….