22:00, 12 June, 2011

Indeed, I had the world’s cutest alarm clock this morning. Oliver, with his little half-American half-Australian accent, huge eyes, and complete ham of a personality, knocked on our door at 8:00 this morning to wake us. He is adorable, as is his 1 ½ year old sister Helena.

The grounds of the house are even more beautiful in the daylight. Bright flowers and cacti are blooming everywhere, intermingled with acacia trees and red dirt paths. The roofs are thatched and rusty-orange. Tiny skinks run around the trees and up the walls, little colorful birds eat at feeders, and this morning we were delighted to see two or three sykes (spelling) monkeys sauntering across the roof of one of the buildings. However, there were no warthogs in the yard, which Stephanie says is unusual.

We met Trout, Stephanie’s guard dog, before we went into Nairobi for breakfast. Apparently she will tear every muscle off of your body if you attack Stephanie, which is nearly unbelievable judging by her disposition. Stephanie’s husband is away on safari a lot, so she has two guard dogs. We will see trout in action when we go to the training center by the Kenya Wildlife Service Headquarters on Tuesday.

Trout, Olly (Oliver), Stephanie, Lia (Aurelia) and I loaded up to drive into Karen (subtown of Nairobi) for breakfast. On the way we saw a troop of baboons walking aimlessly by the side of the road; one had a baby under its belly. Trout went nuts trying to get at them from inside the car, and Olly had to double-check with his mom that the windows were securely up; Stephanie said that a baboon got in the car once when he was younger, and he has been traumatized ever since. It really makes one think how wild it would be to grow up in Africa.

Kay, Dave and Adrianna met us at a Java House. I was sure to order a mango juice; they are so delicious. On the orange juice cartons at home, there is often that picture of a straw stuck straight in an orange, even though a million preservatives and excess sugar are added to the juice. Well, the mango juice here tastes like you are drinking straight from a mango. The best part is that you basically are.

Janie didn’t get in until tonight, and Dave had to do some shopping for camp, so we spent the day in Nairobi. First, Kay and Dave took us to the Giraffe Center, where I was once again French-kissed by a giraffe while holding a treat between my teeth. The very same giraffe I kissed had head-butted a lady quite severely shortly beforehand; I was not aware of this at the time. Maybe giraffes are even choosy about who they will allow to kiss them, who knows? The incredibility of these animals is magnified a hundredfold when you are close to them. The thing that sticks most in my memory is how huge and calm their thickly eyelash-lined eyes are. Oh, and the “baby” giraffe from two years ago is ginormous now; I’m very glad we don’t grow as fast as giraffes!

We went on a walk across the grounds where the giraffes roam around. It was a gorgeous plot of land with tons of trees, creeks, African rocks and a red-dirt path. Kay led the way, and we came within 25 meters or so of a giraffe. There was warthog and dik-dik scat everywhere. I was thrilled to watch a warthog eat on its knees again beneath the giraffes; I had forgotten how utterly silly it looks.

Back at the Center, Kay bought us all drinks. She and Dave are both just so amiable, and treated us like queens all day. After we were refreshed, we checked out the lab’s cabin, which is a little quaint, green-gabled house in yet another middle class suburb. There was a most excellent tree in the yard that somewhat resembled a cypress from down south. The place where Stephanie lives and the lab cabin are, unfortunately, extremely misrepresentative of the way that the average Kenyan lives. The poverty rate in Kenya is over 60%, and the middle class is made up of a very small percentage of the population. The government is so corrupt that most of the real money is confined to officials, who determine their own salary.

Dave drove us back to Karen, where we did some massive shopping for camp. Among the most notable items on the list were iodine tablets and “Afrigas,” or propane, for the vehicles. Gasoline is $6 a gallon here because it is imported; this explains why the average person doesn’t own a car. Dirt paths line the streets, where people in brightly colored clothing walk from place to place. Those who don’t walk ride pikipiki (motorcycles), baisikeli (bikes), or the frightfully fast matatus (little van/bus things). Those who do drive don’t drive well, as the driver’s ed program in Kenya is shoddy at best. And on top of everything, nearly all of the vehicles are stick-shifts. I have been holding my breath as we drive up and down the hills of Nairobi (which is at an altitude higher than that of Denver, Colorado, by the way). Kay actually scraped a car today while trying to get past it, but I guess no one stops for that sort of thing because it is so commonplace.

Holy tangents. Back to the marketplace. I had a conversation with a guy named David in the parking lot, in Swahili!!! It was so exciting, but I was very nervous at first. And always I witness a look of surprise when the mzungu (white person) girl suddenly busts out some Swahili. (There goes a rock hyrax outside of the guest house, screaming like someone being murdered.)

We tried crocodile meat at a restaurant called the Carnivore tonight. Not to be cliche, but tastes absolutely identical to chicken. After dinner, Kay brought Lia and me back to Stephanie’s, while Dave and Adrianna went to pick up Janie. I am very excited to meet her tomorrow. If she is anything like the other two girls, then we will get along very well. On the ride back, Kay told us about Gouchi, her favorite hyena. As if I didn’t like her enough already, she said that the reason is because of her intelligence and inquisitive personality. FINALLY, a Michigan State zoology professor who is not afraid to use the word “personality” without feeling the need to defend herself.

What in the jehanamu is making that noise right outside? It’s like a super loud, hoarse bullfrog. I keep waiting to hear a chainsaw sound, which is what I learned a leopard sounds like. I’d be worried for poor Dingo though. He is Stephanie’s fat Maasai dog, and I’m afraid he wouldn’t stand a chance against a leopard.

Raise your hand if you need to learn how to write a shorter journal entry. And to think that there is so much I forced myself to leave out! I think the biggest shame is having to leave out conversations in favor of events. I have met so many excellent people and learned so much from talking with them.