Africa Part 7 of 10

After taking everything down and packing it up (not sure why, since we would just need to put it up again the next day), we headed back for dinner. Us wazungu folk were going to have chili, and it sounded good. While it was being prepared, along came one of the Kisumu guys and invited me and another guy for another ugahli experience, probably because we had both shown interest in the whole ugahli tradition. So, thinking we were going to see it being made, I didn't give a second thought to going with him. As we walked into the house, instead of to the kitchen area behind it, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Not wanting to be rude, I played along. In keeping with their politeness for guests, they let me go first. The hostess handed me a plate with soup already on it, then once again slices off a large chunk of ugahli, and slapped it on my plate right in the middle of my soup (splat). I sat down and, as my stomach was still sinking, surveyed the damage.

A Kisumu dude sat beside me and as I looked at his plate, then mine, then the door, all I could think about was "I don't even like normal seafood". Yes, fish soup, not only that, entire fish soup. As his plate tipped, the fish eyes were staring at me through the soupy mixture. Back on my plate, I thought "at least I got the tail". Then I got to thinking, wait a minute. What comes out of the south end of a north bound fish? Yup, now my Huggies joke takes on a whole new meaning. Well, my stomach had finally stopped sinking and instead was just sort of churning. At this point I knew two things: 1) I needed to eat some of this food. 2) I aint gonna eat no fish, uh, tail. My mind wandered back to my childhood, and in just a couple of minutes, there in Africa, 30 years of pent up hostility vanished, as I came to realize that being forced to eat spinach wasn't the worst that could have happened to me.

Where is that malnourished dog when you need him? While trying to think "happy thoughts", I rolled my ugahli (which was already slimy from the fish head soup). I scooped some juices from my plate, and holding my breath, put it in my mouth. I tried to swallow it whole (like with peas, which, now that I think about it, are about the same size as these eyeballs), but that wasn't happening, so I was forced to chew it. I cringed with every bite, not sure what to expect. I did not, as far as I know, eat any eyeballs. I don't remember much of what happened over the next 20 minutes; my mind seems to have blocked out a large portion of it. If ever there was a time I wished for dental floss, this was it. I had some "stuff" stuck in my teeth. Do fish have eyelashes? Oh to have some mouthwash, I even pondered siphoning some gasoline to gargle with.

On top of all the obvious reservations I had, I also had no clue as to how this was prepared. I really expected to contract some exotic African disease. Then I'd be in trouble. At least in the states, you can hug the toilet in times of desperation. Out here, I'd have no such luck, no toilet here. I tried to merge another couple of thoughts here

1) Those massage type tables where you rest your face in those little cushioned face holders,
2) The bathrooms here with their own little 6' square face holders made of mud.

Moving on.... Well after my little "Eating Nemo" episode, I went back outside, hoping and praying that I had not missed my chance to have some chili. It was dark, but I wondered over to a couple lanterns and was relieved to see the chili and cornbread was about ready. Due to the lack of light, nobody noticed that I was a bit blue in the face. I just wanted to get something else in my stomach to hold down its contents. That chili sure tasted good, although I kept finding myself wanting to roll my cornbread into a ball.

Once I crawled into my sleeping bag, I realized how bushed I was (ha, ha, very punny), but I couldn't get to sleep. I could hear some music and singing off in the distance. This went on all night long. OK, technically, I cannot vouch for it playing all night long, but it was going every time I woke up. Kinda reminded me of sleeping in the dormitory during my college years. Come to think of it, the Swahili language bears a close resemblance to drunk Americans singing songs that, even when sober, they don't know half the words to and when drunk; don't know how to pronounce the ones that they do remember. Rumor has it that this was actually a funeral. I guess the tradition is to party for a week when a loved one dies. That gives a whole new meaning to being "The Life of the Party".

Saturday morning I went out on a walk to experience the sights and sounds of early morning Africa. I came across a couple of girls, who, I assume, were carrying their daily water supply back to their hut. They were each carrying a bucket of water on their head. Where I saw them, they were about a half-mile from the river already, and heading up the trail. That got me thinking of how much the kids (even in Kisumu, but much more so here), loved to grab our empty water bottles. I suppose containers are pretty useful out here, where there is no running water and you need to walk a long way in the heat just to get any water, or anything else for that matter.

Three kids in a hut about 100 yards over also spotted me. They came running out. I didn't know if they were just curious or if they thought I was stealing their cow. Turns out they just wanted to come and check things out. They came right out to me and just stood there side by side, they were from about 12 down to 7. I shook each of their hands. The oldest one spoke a little English. I asked how she liked living there. She said "OK". I asked what she did for fun. She giggled a bit, and then just kind of stood there. I didn't know if she didn't understand the question or just didn't want to answer (maybe her families hobby was to shrink the heads of white people). Turns out she was just thinking, and after a long pause, she finally said, "Work...and sing". Well, I guess if there is nothing else to do, you would rather work than be bored. But it is probably more likely that she works so much, she doesn't have time to do much else, I don't know. Well after talking to them and unsuccessfully trying to take some good bird pictures (the human zoom isn't ideal for bird watching), I headed back to camp.

We went out on visitation again before lunch. This time, my group went on down beyond the river. The river water was brown. There were people bathing in it, washing clothes and just gathering water. Much of the bank was a large rock formation and the water funneled from maybe 40 feet wide in some parts, down to about 3 or 4 foot wide where we crossed. We had to jump from the rock on one side to the other (supposedly it was about 20 feet deep at this point). On the other side, we visited more huts. I was getting hungry. I started to look around for the local fast food, didn't see any. I wasn't really expecting much, but had the strangest feeling that we were about to come across the very first, original Pizza HUT. We didn't. So we just kept going hut to hut. We were talking to one guy, and I was surprised to hear that he didn't know what church we were talking about on the other side of the river. I guess I figured all these people knew each other and wandered all over the place out here. Wrong again.

On the way back to camp, we found a snake in a tree; he was green and only a few feet long. I crossed over to the other side to get a better picture and saw he had a frog sticking out of his mouth. I got a great photo from a foot or two away. The frog, which still had three legs hanging out of the snakes? mouth, had no hope and was just staring at me as if to say "Psst, I don't suppose you have a snakebite kit on you?" The snake was a bit shy, or maybe he just didn't like to talk with his mouth full, either way, I felt much more comfortable getting close to him knowing his jaws were occupied. I have this permanent picture etched in my mind now, and will recall it vividly every time somebody uses the term "I've got a frog in my throat". Well, I guess that's better than having a snake on your back.

We got back to camp for lunch (which we had taken ourselves) and, while hanging out, saw dinner being led through the yard and to the back of the house. After lunch we did some more visitations, then back to set up the movie again. As I was walking back to the church, I heard a bunch of hubbub from the direction of the kitchen area. I turned to see a few kids chasing a mangy mutt, who was running like a greyhound (and looking even slimmer). The people were yelling and just kept chasing him. I saw him run down and beyond a hut. So at this point I ponder, just for a few seconds; Uhh maybe he was the scheduled appetizer for tonight or maybe he had just sniffed the wrong person. Either way, there was no way some teen girl was going to catch him. Well, as I continued to the church, I saw a turtle in the mud. He was an interesting little creature. He was looking right at me with these big ole round eyes. I had an unfortunate flashback to my fish head dinner and found myself wondering if I could swallow his eyes whole.

After snapping a few photos of the slightly mutant turtle, I continued on my way, and whom did I see but the dogcatcher. Yes, that girl had caught the dog. I then reminded myself that I was in Kenya, the country whose natives win more US marathons than any other country. That dog never stood a chance and probably began to slow after a couple of miles. Anyway, the whole event was becoming clearer to me now. She was carrying back this long piece of meat/bone combo. So, and I'm guessing here, it appears the dog had made off with some of tonight's delicacy. I'm not even sure what part of the sheep it was, maybe the backbone and associated body innards. I have a photo of the girl carrying it. Maybe we could play a little Jeopardy! "Yeah, Alex, I'll take "Boosh Meats" for a thousand please." I'm assuming this was part of the sheep we saw headed for slaughter earlier. This idea was backed up by the fact that we did have sheep (mutton) for dinner (along with that local staple, ugahli). With each bite I took, I was reminded of the meat-fetching incident and couldn't help but wonder if the dog had been chewing on it first. At that point it didn't really matter, as long as no one brought out the fish head soup!


That night, we enjoyed another outdoor movie and even more people showed up for it. During the movie, clouds moved in and when we turned the movie off, it was sooo dark. (How dark was it?). Well, it was so dark, that even the fireflies were bumping into each other. All the BABC team had flashlights (or as Kenyans called them "torches"). But, and try to get another visual here, middle of nowhere, no, wait a minute. We are like way past nowhere, let's call it the "far end of the Earth". So there we were, at the far end of the Earth, nighttime, no stars (not even the Big Ugahli-scoop). Add to this visual the thorny bushes, thorny trees and black mambas (the most poisonous snake in Africa). I didn't see any, but supposedly there are some down by the river. Once you get that in your mind (some of you will need to make room), then picture a couple hundred people, many without shoes. Then picture these people just "disappearing" in all directions through the bushes, headed home in the dark without streetlights, flashlights, or moonlight. It was quite a strange scene, kind of like the cornfield in Field of Dreams: except, of course, these weren't dead people. Off they went. Who knows how far they had to go!

The huts weren't in sub divisions, there was quite a bit of space between them. Before we got here, I kinda pictured it as more of a village. Maybe like with the American Indians, with all the Teepees in close proximity. Nuttin' like that. They were spread way out with acres and acres between them (at least). So, bottom line, some of these people had quite a walk ahead of them.

So, I went into my tent to sleep and I saw a rather large spider in the middle of the floor. Not necessarily an overly scary spider under normal circumstances, but standing barefoot in a small enclosed space after dark in Africa, this thing was a force to be reckoned with! So I stood there motionless, waiting for my lightning quick wit to come up with a sure fire plan of attack. I didn't want him to get away, because then I knew I wouldn't be able to lay there, much less sleep. Of course, then maybe I could go join the funeral festivities. Well, he wasn't moving, so I kept the light on him, and tried to recall any and all arachnid information I had gleaned from watching the Discovery Channel. Well, that didn't take long, pretty much nothing. He didn't look poisonous, but then again, how does anything LOOK poisonous? I did notice that he had a bit of meat on his hairy legs, so I got a little nervous thinking he might have a 4-foot vertical leap. I resisted blinking, knowing that by the time I got my eyes open again, he could be straddling my nose.

Well, the brilliant plan finally came; smash him with my shoe! I had set them beside the door inside the tent. So, as I reached down for my shoe, not taking the light or my eyes off him, I pondered how long it would take me to unzip the tent door and exit if he became hostile. Once I grabbed my shoe I moved with the stealthest of movements until, Wham! Ha! He's not so tough.

I didn't sleep well that night. I had this eerie feeling that all the dead spiders? relatives would soon show up and, in true bush tradition, have a funeral party in our tent. I would have a front row seat to the Ugly Bug Ball. They would all be gathered around his round very, very flat casket. His Black Widow would be in mourning and, at the request of his father (Daddy Longlegs); Tobey Maguire would give the eulogy:
"Harry was a good spider, a spider's spider. From his younger years, when the other youngsters called him "16 eyes", all through his brief adulthood, he never stopped striving to be the best he could be. When, a tangled web he'd weave, he was quick to find a new website and start again. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's a bit ironic that Harry, who wouldn't hurt another soul, was, in the end, hurt by another sole. So now, in remembrance of Harry Crawler....Let's Party!!!"

Then they would kick off a musical extravaganza including songs from Jim Stafford (Spiders and Snakes), ZZ Top (Legs) and Tom Jones (Ghost Spiders in the Sky).

Morning rolled around and I was still alive, so my story continues. I took a walk down by the river and just kinda took in the scenery and enjoyed the time just exploring alone. Then we were all kinda getting ready for church and packing up. Most of us BABC guys dressed in jeans and a nice shirt for this and, of course, our still mud caked shoes. Well, out came the KBC guys, in slacks, dress shirts and they were all polishing their dress shoes. What the? I felt a bit like a heal. I just assumed any long pants would be good for the boosh, and I only brought one pair of shoes. Church was supposed to start at 9am, but apparently not everyone was ready because it didn't really get going until 10:30. Not sure why, I think it was just an African-Time thing. During the service, I would periodically go around the back of the church to get a photo from the other side of the congregation. Sometimes, in doing this, I would come across someone using the facilities. Well, actually, they would be using the lack of facilities. They would just be squatting back there somewhere. "Excuse me, pardon me, pardon me, excuse me", and I'd be on my way.

Bye the time we had to leave, the ground had dried so the vans could come all the way in. But only after we sent a scout out to meet them at the main road and show them the way. At this point, we said goodbye to the KBC team. I had a weird feeling, thinking that now they would go back to the life that we had just gotten a glimpse of, and we would travel to the game park then back to the other side of the world to our lives. In reality, if our paths are ever going to cross again, it would be us going back over there. They can't feasibly come here. At one point in our trip, one of them asked me how much it cost for the plane tickets to get there. I thought for a moment then said "roughly 170,000 shillings". His jaw dropped and he said that "that kind of money is unheard of here". These people made quite an impression on all of us and we hated to say good-bye and I for one, wished they could have gone to the game park with us. They live in Kenya, but none of the ones I asked, have ever been to the Masai Mara game park.

Before we left, our host family wanted to thank us for coming, and the lady wanted to give our women a gift. So she handed one of them a chicken; yup, alive and well. Her legs were tied together (the chicken not the lady) so she wouldn't get away. Classic, simply classic. None of us had ever received a chicken as a gift before (at least not that anybody admitted to). And off we went across the fields, down the paths, through the trees, over the bumps and around the corners. Every once in a while I could hear a little squawk from our new friend "Chicken Little", who was rolling around on the floor with her feet tied together. Periodically, she would come into reach and I could give her a little kick (just kidding, Sheesh, back off). Soon she will be running all around, because that's what they do when you chop their heads off.

That evening, we went to some club type place that had some tables out by the lake and legend has it, hippos come up out of the lake, walk past the tables and graze on the grass. Hmm, not sure how safe this all sounds, but, bring them on. While waiting for this "Amazing Graze", we enjoyed the view of Kisumu across a portion of the lake and had some "chips" (french fries). The ketchup there is like a thinner, runnier version of the ketchup we have here. We also got to see a "fish eagle" which looked a lot like a bald eagle, with a little more white down the front, and we also saw some other bird. I have no idea what it was, but it was normal bird size and looked very prehistoric. Like a not-so-terra-dactyl or something. The back of its head looked similar to one of those fancy, aerodynamic bike helmets that come to a point.
If you put him on a tiny bike; I bet he could really fly. Turned out, the hippos were down by the golf course. Makes sense, if you are going to eat grass, why not at a golf course? Perhaps we should have gone there in the first place. Maybe we could have seen someone shoot a double-fish-eagle.

Monday (at least I think it must be close to Monday), we had an "off" day. We decided to do some souvenir shopping and had an appointment with Pendez Weavers. The day started out by hitting the Curios (souvenirs). The Curios consisted of a couple dozen different booth-type vendors. Each booth was about 5 feet wide and went back 12-15 feet. They were placed just far enough apart for one person to walk between them at a time. There was a variety of stuff to choose from. There were many woodcarvings, some woven baskets, chess sets, nativity scenes, jewelry and other miscellaneous items.

If you like to barter, this is the place for you. Nothing is marked with a price. So you need to ask the vendor. He will then tell you some obnoxiously high price. Well, here is an example of how it might go:





Curios Guy: Jambo, come look at my shop.
ME: Jambo, I am.
CG: What you like?
ME: I don't know, I'm just looking.
CG: OK, look down here?
[They would try to get you between the shops and then block you in so you couldn't leave. I only fell for that once]
ME: No, I can see.
CG: (watching my eyes, and if they paused on anything, he would grab it up and hand it to me) Look, very nice.
ME: (taking it and looking it over) Hmm, how much?
CG: 800
ME: (scoffing a little) What, are you kidding me?
CG: No, very nice.
ME: I don't think so. (handing it back to him)
CG: (will not take it back). Make me offer.
ME: 300.
CG: Nooo. 700. Make me an offer.
ME: Well, maybe 350.
CG: What else you want, I give you good deal if you buy more.
ME: No, just this, 350.
CG: You are my first customer, so I give you special price: 600.
ME: There are some similar at the next shop, I'll go there. (when he won't take it back, I set it on the ground to move on)
CG: He picks it up mumbling and says 500.
ME: 400 or I'm moving on.
CG: OK 400.

Each vendor would try to keep you in his "area" because as soon as you stepped into the next "area", the next dude took over. It was a bit draining. All I wanted to do was to walk from one end to the other to see what was there before I bought anything. I started in the middle and headed toward one end. The amount they would barter varied a bit, but, on average, I paid less than half of their initial MSRP. I did buy some stuff on the way up, but by the time I got to the end, it was time for us to go to the weaving place.

This was a small local business that used a spinning wheel to make their own thread, died it, used looms to weave material by hand, and then made various clothing and household items. It was very interesting to see the process. We bought some stuff there then headed back home for lunch.