Welcome to Hell

The next day I got my life in order and on Tuesday morning, I left to head up to Fisherman’s Camp. I got in the matatu to town and when they dropped me off, an older and ADORABLE woman helped me to find the next matatu I needed to head to Lake naivasha. It took about twenty minutes of asking different drivers to continue heading us in the right direction. Along the way, she told me about how she had been religiously saved as a child and how much she loves Jesus (she asked me if I had been saved. Umm, I’m working on it?) She used to study economics in India and then in the UK and has been back in Kenya for twenty years with her husband and three children (all of which are in universities or soon to be. I was quite amazed with her strength to have the opportunity to live and study in another country thirty years ago. I asked her how old she was and when she told me her age (51) I told her she didn’t look it. She stopped and look back and me and said, “It’s Jesus, honey.” lol, Christianity apparently cures wrinkles. She’s so devoted; she doesn’t understand how people live without faith or “if they’re even happy since they have so much hate without the love of God in their hearts.” She is grateful for what the British came in and did—bring the English language so they were no longer disconnected from each other linguistically, urbanization and, of course, Christianity. I find it so brave and strong of her to focus on the positive aspects of colonialism and that sometimes you have to make a few mistakes in order to move forward. I mean, I agree with her to an extent. But she doesn’t seem to notice or mind that they have lost so much of their tribal history, not everyone agrees with Western integration, just because a group of people doesn’t know the glory of the Iphone doesn’t mean that their lives are sad and pathetic and they need modern technology in order to be happy. I think a lot of the Western world is jaded in that way, that if someone doesn’t live the capitalist life that they must be miserable. I could really go on about this for a while, but the point was that SHE was focusing on the positive and I admired that. We were also discussing how naïve people are concerning their perceptions of Africans. When away in the UK, she’d be asked where she lived in Africa (response; oh, in trees!) and how she got a phone that TAKES PICTURES (umm in AFRICA!) and my favorite was when she was asked how she learned English (Oh, in the airport). hahaha. Her sense of humor was phenomenal.

The bus took less than two hours and from there I got into another matatu to the camp. The woman at the ticket booth said the price was 70ksh but the guy tried to write it out for 200! I laugh and said no, that the other woman already told me another price and he just said, “ oh, ok” and that was it! I got to the camp and set my new itty bitty “two person” tent; this was the first time I set up a tent on my own and I was oh so proud! I know it’s not difficult to set up a tent, especially one that’s the size of a Fed-Ex box, but even small, personal accomplishments are exciting! It was after three at this point, so I didn’t have time to do anything too interesting. I had a snack and chatted with a young Brittish couple and read my book, ate more (surprise, surprise) and went to bed.

The next morning I went to Hell! Hell’s Gate National Park, that is (so cheesy, sorry). I took a matatu to the gate and had to walk two km down the road to the entrance. The woman (Rachel) in the office was so sweet. She asked for my e-mail address so she could write to me after telling me I should find myself a Kenyan husband. I held up my ring finger and said I was married but she was persistent that that could change. They got me a bike to rent and she suggested I hike the gorge before trying to ride around the Buffalo Circuit. Initially, I was being stubborn and wanted to bike the 14 km loop, first, but my bike was struggling to go up the hill, the gears kept switching and it began making a loud clicking noise that I was sure would scare away all of the animals. Also, the path was so sandy I could hardly peddle and my back tire kept sliding out. I decided I might as well turn around and hike the gorge first and, wouldn’t you know it, once I turned around the gears worked perfectly fine—a sign perhaps? Yep, wait for it.

I headed over the painfully bumpy road towards the Ranger’s Post where I would be able to hike to Hell (seriously, that’s what it’s called!). The path cuts through the grassy park and in the distance as well as alongside the road, I watched tens (probably up to 100) zebras grazing, a few giraffes eating off the tippy tops of some trees lining my way, impalas, ostriches, the odd cow, and groups of warthogs scurrying for a place to hide from me (they’re so funny w/ their fat bodies wobbling on stubby legs and covered what looks like hair plugs all over their bodies). Though, generally, the animals were thoroughly unimpressed with me.

Once I arrived at the post, I told the workers that I’d prefer to hike alone (as I stubbornly do). He was a bit weary, but didn’t put up much for a fight. One many showed me to the start of the path, which is quite tricky to get to since you have to crawl over boulders and scale down narrow crevices that are not made for wide, baby-making hips, that’s for sure. He gave me the run down of where to go; basically, follow the water (a small, trickling river of sorts) and when I get to the hot springs about an hour and a half down, take a right at the yellow Acacia tree and follow the path back up. DO NOT PASS THE TREE; then you’ll be in native Masai territory where the predatory animals live. OK, easy enough, right? Follow the water, so I did…and got lost. I followed a path along the water and was looking down into a crevice with three small waterfalls while singing “George of the Jungle” (the Jane remix), to myself when a boy of about ten years old, a goat herder I saw earlier, ran up behind me tel.ing me I was going the wrong way, that I was headed towards the forest—oh, God. He showed me back down, and apparently I had to LITERLLY follow the water, like, IN it. Meaning I had to go through that narrow crevice, UNDER the three falls. Time to get wet! This is called the Devil’s Shower; the first two falls are hot and the third is cold, it’s so bizarre! After that, the path widened out significantly and I was left trekking through the water and sand while staring up at steep, eroded cliffs on either side of me. I saw some steam up ahead to my right and two guys chipping at rocks on the other bank. I thought the steam was actually smoke from a fire, at first, so I asked the men where the hot springs were; they stared blankly so I figured I needed to keep going. One guy then ran after me and brought me back into a wooded area where the ground was rumbling beneath my feet and there was a puddle of bubbling, sputtering muck that was apparently the hot springs. Ok, so where’s the path? He points back to the “river”—nom, there’s another one. He shakes his head “no.” I walk a few feet and see a dirt path heading up, “does this go back to the Ranger’s Post?” He shakes his head “yes.” Ok, thanks.

This path isn’t very well marked in places and diverges into many others; I kept guessing (which is never idea in my case) which to follow and soon I ran across some more herders who told me I was still going the right direction. Somehow the path came to an end and I was left wondering on the edge of a cliff; I kept walking back and forth, but couldn’t figure out where to go. I started shyly yelling out “hello,” but received no answer. I let my fear get the best of me when the thought that I had wondered into Masai territory popped into my head. I let myself cry and flip out for a few minutes and then stood there trying to settle down and figure out my best option. The issue was that I didn’t have all day because huge black clouds were quickly rolling my way. Plus, I had just accidentally stabbed myself in the leg w/ a large pointy plant that I had no idea whether or not it was poisonous (took picture for safe measure upon hopeful survival). Then, on the cliff on the other side of the gorge I was following, I saw a young man waving and yelling “wrong way!” My voice broke as I shouted, “ I KNOW! Where do I go!” I had to head back down and he lead me up to the opposite cliff and brought me to the road. I was only about ten minutes from the post. I gave him some money and water before he set off. I rolled into the hut just as it started to thunder and downpour. I sat under the awning with the workers for a while, chit-chatting until the rain slowed.

“Good thing you got out, when it rains, there are flash floods and you get a free ride, hah, hah.”

OMG! I would’ve been done for!

I got on my bike and headed back the eight km to the gate, only to, somehow, end up climbing to the top of a private road hill before realized I managed to get lost on a circular road. I went back and finally found my way. At this point, it was four PM and I hadn’t eaten since eight and ran out of water in the gorge. I was too exhausted to take photos of more animals, though at one point I looked to my left and saw a field full of baboon on all fours all slowly crawling towards me while staring in my directions—creepy. I dropped off my bike and walked the two km to the road. I ended up walking five km back because every matatu that passed was full. I was in such desperate need of water that I could hardly get myself to smile at the school kids yelling at me, the whole time, “How, are you! How are you! How are you!”

I struggled to take shower and then collapsed in my tent for a few hours before dinner (Ugali and beef stew, mmmmmmm). That night I got to see my first hippo! The camp is on Lake Naivasha and after dark, the hippos come out of the woods to graze between the lake and the electric fence which is protecting the campers (little did I know, Hippos are one of the most dangerous animals). At about 3 30 am, the hippos started going nuts; I could hear them making loud noises and scraping at the ground. In my daze, I was sure they were going to charge through the gate and trample my tent. That’d be just my luck, at the end of my trip to die by hippo stampede. However, it was all in my head and I got up in the morning to a massive full breakfast and to take the trip from hell to Lewa.