ENTEBBE – The Long Way Home

Uganda may be officially at peace, but it’s a country prone to explosion. Like all of East Africa, it treads a fine line between nationalism and tribalism. My final days in Uganda were marked by the latest in a long line of flashpoints in the country’s long, tortured history. The day after our return to Kibaale from Kisoro, it became clear that there was a situation brewing in Uganda’s capital, Kampala. The king of Uganda’s largest tribal people, the Buganda, was meant to be speaking at a youth rally close to the capital but the national government had made moves to stop him. This angered the king’s supporters, who protested and, soon, that protest became a riot. (The BBC covered the rioting and you can read more of the background at this page on their website.)


Most of the pics for this, final, entry come from Entebbe because, well, folks were distracted with other things elsewhere in the country. So, we start with pretty lilys...

The rumours were soon followed up by alarming e-mails from the Canadian embassy warning expats to stay out of the capital and to consider evacuating the country. A standard response for most western countries when local trouble kicks off; and a slightly unhelpful one since most road routes to the international airport at Entebbe pass through Kampala. However, what became clear over the course of the day as we scanned the Internet news headlines was that the violence was spreading south from Kampala and throughout the Buganda region. In other words: right towards us. When gunfire was heard in Masaka, a number of the Pacific Academy’s volunteers decided to leave town and head to Kibaale. But with the army beginning to shut down major routes to contain the riots, they were forced to take a long, circuitous route along back roads. Friday evening was uneasy as it appeared that protests were beginning in Kibaale as well… The Canadians gathered to play board games (as fine a distraction as can be conceived) and see what would happen on Saturday, when the controversial visit was scheduled to happen.

Thankfully, by Saturday morning, the king had decided to call off his visit and the announcement quickly ended the rioting. Kibaale and Masaka returned to normal but reports from Kampala suggested that the army’s presence in the city and manning roadblocks wasn’t going to end soon. This was destined to be a problem for me since I was due to be flying out of Entebbe on Sunday evening. So, after receiving advice from locals and from Kampala, we decided to make the trip a day early and try and find a different route to Entebbe. We travelled in two cars, each of which had an armed guard in the front seat. (Another first for me: a road trip in which someone really was ‘riding shotgun’) First stop was in Masaka where we left the rest of the Pacific Outreach team. The city appeared to have gotten straight back to normal; with only the occasional ominous black smudge on the road to mark where a tyre fire had been burning the day before.


... the impressive sounding Dragon Spider. Another of those charming species where the females kill and eat the males; and other such delightful things like that!

The main route to Masaka was also quiet and, although there were soldiers posted along it, none of them seemed to be blocking travel. Before Masaka we turned to the south east and towards Lake Victoria. Jeff had been told about a possible means of evacuation for those needing to avoid Kampala in a fishing village by the water’s edge. A series of motorized fishing boats on the beach seemed to be running an impromptu taxi service which, for only a few dollars, would take me across the mouth of the lake to Entebbe. A ten minute journey which would bypass an hour’s congested traffic, and possible roadblocks, in Kampala. And, after briefly stopping to help rescue a family whose boat’s engine had cut out halfway through the journey, we buzzed through the afternoon rain to reach the other side without mishap. (Jeff, Rachel and our guard headed back to Kibaale that evening without further incident and the past couple of months have been trouble free in Uganda)


Arriving on Entebbe's rainy shores; but still a little piece of calm after excitement elsewhere.

Compared to the tension which had gripped other parts of the country, Entebbe appeared to have remained as an oasis of calm throughout the troubles. Being away from the capital had helped to ensure that all flights in and out of the country had flown as scheduled, and the dock on leafy suburban streets was calm. Without a taxi in the vicinity, I took my large rucksack for a death defying spin on the back of a boda-boda through Entebbe’s streets to my motel.


Curiously out-of-place Californian palm tree in Entebbe Botanical Gardens.

This turn of events does mean that I get an unexpected day to wander around Entebbe; which is a beautiful little town broadly ignored by virtue of the fact that most who come here are either heading to or leaving the airport. I spend a lot of time in the Botanical Gardens, which appear to have been planted by a very diverse group of personalities over the years. There are Californian palm trees, coffee plants and aloe vera spread throughout the large area. Entebbe was formally the capital of Uganda and there are signs all over the gardens of some of that past. Idi Amin used to spend time here thinking over his most important decisions; although given what he came up with you have to wonder if he wasn’t interrupted… Apparently Hollywood also found its way here in the 1930s when Johnny Weissmuller’s Tarzan films were shot here. Truth be told there isn’t quite enough jungle to film that much; but the dark canopy complete with hanging creepers (strong enough to swing on!) do certainly have the right look.


Hanging out in the jungle part of the Botannical Gardens.

And after a few hours waiting at the airport, I began my epic 24 hour journey home. But compared to some of the journeys I’d just undertaken on the breakneck dulla-dullas of Zanzibar, the bush roads of Kenya and with shotgun toting guard across the waterways of Uganda; it’s probably tamest bit of travelling of the entire journey...


And, of course, no Phworld journey would be complete without the inevitable, and not quite chronological, line-o-map! So here's the East Africa one.

KISORO – The Gorillas of the Impenetrable Forest

It’s early morning in a misty jungle and Benjamin, our fifty one year old tracker, acts as part ranger and part school teacher as he runs through his briefing. There is no be no flash photography, no food taken beyond a certain point, anybody who is ill and does not disclose the fact to him before we depart will be removed from the group and, once we reach the appointed area, we must follow his every instruction. It’s 7am on the morning of our journey to track gorillas in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest; and the four of us are hanging on his every word.

Rachel and I arrived in Kisoro, the nearest town to the Impenetrable Forest, yesterday during a monsoon style rainstorm. We’d been driving for almost eight hours since leaving Jeff and the Kibaale truck in Masaka earlier that day. Our driver’s name is Norbet; and he’s become Rachel’s designated tour guide of choice as she’s been undertaking her various trips around Uganda. Apparently he, like our safari guides in Kenya, finds out his latest assignments at the last moment and so having just done the three day round trip to Uganda’s most south western point, he’s now about to do it all again. Most of the day’s driving was dry and sunny but as we left the plains behind and headed into the mountains, the sky began to darken and we began driving slowly through ever larger areas of mist as we ascended and descended on narrow mountain paths. We are in the Virunga Mountains, which straddle the borders of the south western region of Uganda, northern Rwanda and the east of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Inhospitable, rugged and under populated; this region has been a flash point for violence in all three of the countries which border it over the years. Which, coupled with the traitorous state of the roads, makes it strange that it’s become one of Uganda’s biggest tourist attraction. The reason for that is the reason we’re here: mountain gorillas.

In 1902, a German expedition to map the borders of German East Africa were the first to encounter gorillas on these mountain sides. It quickly became clear that the gorillas in this part of the world were a separate species to those found elsewhere. As it became clear that the numbers of gorillas in the region were small and in danger of becoming extinct, others came to study them including, most famously, Dian Fossey in 1967. Most of Fosse’s studies were done in Rwanda but, given the fact that gorillas rather understandably pay little attention to human borders, she would often travel to Uganda as she observed and studied the mountain gorillas (she was ejected from the Democratic Republic of Congo; the first instance of the violence and opposition which would follow her throughout her life in the region) and when she was in Uganda she’d often stay at the Travellers Rest Hostel in Kisoro, which is where Rachel and I stayed while in the region.


The Traveller's Rest in Kisoro.

Nowadays the hotel is a well developed operation which primarily houses tourists before and after their gorilla trekking expeditions. Gorilla tourism was publically condemned by Fossey, which makes it interesting that she’d constantly return to the Travellers Rest. Ultimately she probably realized that carefully controlled visits gorillas could both keep tourists away from making their own damaging treks through the delicate eco system and help to raise substantial funds for the conservation of the animals. And if the Travellers Rest is meant to be an introduction to the gorillas’ world, it’s certainly a dramatic one. The thunderous storm which began as we were arriving in town continues all night. And the morning brings an eerie mist throughout the lower lying areas; giving the region a sort of lost world / Transylvania feeling as we head out early to reach the starting point of our trek by sunrise.


The mysterious jungle which is the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest.

Gorilla tourism certainly isn’t cheap. The cost of a permit to track gorillas is $500 (hence my dalliance with Kampala’s ATMs!) and the lengthy list of terms and conditions makes it clear that no encounter is guaranteed by purchasing it. The permit allows a small number of tourists a day to track gorillas (no more than eight following each gorilla group, and there are perhaps four or five groups being tracked in Uganda each day) with the services of guides. Trekking is simply that; heading into the jungle and following the guides as they track the movements of the gorilla groups. Finding the gorillas can take all day and, as some of the displays at the Travellers Rest attest, in some cases it may not happen, especially if the gorillas have moved over one of the land borders.

All this and more is covered by Benjamin in his early morning briefing. As well as myself and Rachel there are two Australians making the trip with us; Jesse and James. There were, apparently, meant to be four others in our group but they do not reach the check in desk by the allotted time and so we leave without them (and, at $500 a permit, that makes that an expensive day’s sleep in…) As well as Benjamin we have a second guide carrying a gun. This isn’t, we discover, for the gorillas but for the possibility of other wildlife which might cross our path in an unwelcome way, including elephants! Benjamin tells us that this group of gorillas, the Nshong group, are always found at some point during a day’s tracking but that initial trek can last anywhere between ninety minutes and four hours. There’s no way of knowing that before we set out, although there are already three trackers in the jungle looking for the gorillas’ trail who we will be in contact with via radio.


Descending the first ridge on the trail of mountain gorillas.

We drive to the top of a mountain ridge above the Bwindi forest. The day’s hiking begins, therefore, with a steep 600m descent. This, for me, is my least favourite way to begin a day’s hiking. Downhill on sharp rocky paths isn’t a lot of fun, especially as sliding isn’t an option close to sheer drops. The early morning mist has cleared, though, so that the sky is sparkling blue. Of course, that also means it becomes very hot very quickly and we’re soon glad to finish the initial descent and find our way onto the valley floor (just to put our efforts in perspective, we pass several local houses clinging to the sides of the slopes, and their residents are nimbly making their way up and down the ridges as they undoubtedly to every day of their lives) We follow the river marking the border between the grasslands and jungle until we reach our crossing point: a fallen log over the fast flowing water. Once across, we are swallowed up by the impenetrable forest. Twisted trees are all around us and the sounds of the river are quickly extinguished. It may not be impenetrable; but it’s a different world under the boughs of these ancient trees.


Heading along the river valley towards the jungle edge.

As we get deeper into the jungle, Benjamin seems to loosen up considerably and becomes very animated as he tells us about his history with the gorillas. He’s worked in this region his entire life and, for the past twenty years has made this trip practically every day. He helped to habituate this particular gorilla group. In other words, he visited them every day and sat in their presence observing them and allowing them become comfortable with him, so that he could begin to bring in small groups of tourists without seeming like a threat. This habituation process is the same one Dian Fossey pioneered, and is still used by researchers as they seek to become acquainted with the groups of gorillas they wish to study.


During a quiet moment, Benjamin explains more about the Bwindi gorillas.

With each rest and check in with the early morning trackers, it seems like we’re getting closer and then, somewhere in the distance, we hear a prehistoric scream from the jungle. Benjamin looks into the air and muses whether it could be chimpanzees but, after a conversation with the trackers, it’s clear that they’ve found the Nshong gorilla group and after around ninety minutes walking from the bottom of the mountain, we’re shedding our rucksacks and preparing to enter their area.


Benjamin leads us into the gorillas' current habitat.


And here's what we were looking for. Mountain gorillas in their natural habitat. Or so the gorillas claim...

Benjamin goes first; beckoning and halting us as we approach the area where many of the female gorillas and their infants are waiting. The first gorilla is above us, sitting in a true and observing with a detached interest. Once we reach the resting site, though, we find that we are surrounded. There are gorillas everywhere. Sitting on the ground with infants, wandering around with even younger children on their backs and climbing some of the nearby trees. There are also huge silverback male gorillas patrolling around the area, giving us the occasional snort as if to remind us not to come too close. It’s abundantly clear just how much Benjamin loves his job; he barely contains his excitement as he points out the various family groups he has named and known for years, and shows us the best spots for photographs. Seeing as how my camera has a pretty poor zoom; I take a few token photographs then spend the time simply watching the gorillas go about their business. Really, it’s much like any family. Parents are spending time with their children and so we as the visitors are just distractions and; seeing as we’re not really moving, we’re not very interesting ones either.


Spotting gorillas through the undergrowth...


... and then just wandering around the corner and finding one right there!

As the gorillas move out of the clearing and onto the nearby jungle slopes, we slowly follow them. It’s a fascinating process as Benjamin motions around a corner and suddenly we’ll find there’s a gorilla sitting just metres away. Part of Benjamin’s briefing was to tell us that we need to keep at least six metres away from the gorillas; but obviously nobody told the gorillas as they often seem intent on surprising us with how close they will be before slowly slinking away.




These closer shots come courtesy of Rachel's camera and its zoom, which is several times better than the one I'm using!

We carry on this fascinating journey for an hour until, sadly, we have to leave. (The permits are strict in only allowing tourists an hour’s encounter with the gorillas) It’s clear that the way Dian Fossey described these incredible creatures is precisely correct: they’re peaceful, maternal and paternal and have no natural inclination towards violence. They’re not very many shades of development away from us; including the vein of curiosity which runs through them since as we begin hiking out of the jungle they begin following and observing us from afar (much as we’ve just been doing to them)


Heading out of the now hot and sticky jungle.

Being a regular hiker in Vancouver’s mountains; steep ascents in hot sun are a regular occurrence and substantially easier than doing the same route down. Rarely, for Australians, Jesse and James aren’t very quick hikers so I have plenty of time with the early morning trackers hearing stories about their daily hikes into the jungle. Astoundingly, when they have walkers who can’t make the entire walk themselves they’ve been called upon to actually carry them down the mountains and across the jungle. My mind boggles at how hard that must be; I can only assume the resulting tip for their services is very generous. I also fill them in on the latest developments in the Premier League. Or, at least, developments from two weeks beforehand when I was back in the UK.


Heading back up the hill. Hotter, yes, but a lot easier than the rocky slide to oblivion in the morning!

The excitement from everyone who observes these creatures is obvious. Once we’re back at the tracking centre; Benjamin hands out certificates detailing our day’s achievements. He takes this process surprisingly seriously. That’s partially down to his demeanour, and also because it’s clear that our experience as guests and participants is of primary importance to our guides. As an expensive and off the beaten track journey, gorilla tracking relies on positive reviews and word of mouth as advertising. And it’s vital to the local economy; both in protecting the gorillas (which is where much of the expense of the permits goes) and for the guesthouses which cater to the visitors. Whether or not the local communities see much of this benefit is up for debate. By my calculations; even if every gorilla tracking spot every day is filled there’s probably less than 100 tourists per day staying in the area and we’ve passed several guesthouses in and around Kisoro. Not everyone is going to be reaping the rewards of the industry. It’s clear, though, that what these mountains offer is an experience like no other. And with mountain gorillas still on the verge of extinction (the decline in their numbers observed since the early 1900s has stopped, but they’ve only risen by a few percent each year since) there is vital work going on here which is being subsidized. For Benjamin and the rest of the ecologists who work in the gorilla tourism industry, it’s the gorillas which are the excitement and getting the chance to share some of that enthusiasm as well as knowing they’re helping to preserve the species keeps them going back into the jungle day after day.


Looking across the ridges and farms of the Virunga mountains.

As we make our way back to Kisoro the clouds return and, as if to remind us of our fortune for finding the gorillas relatively quickly, by early evening the village is enveloped in another huge storm which we watch from the fireside at the Travellers Rest. Which makes me wonder what the gorillas and their families do each day as the rain falls around them…

KIBAALE – School Daze

Just to affirm how large a project Kibaale Community Centre actually is; when Rachel takes me on a tour of the site it lasts for pretty much half the day. We begin as the students gather for their morning assembly. It’s very much like the old style British versions; except with praise music filling in for hymns. The primary and secondary schools assemble in two different groups. For the younger students, especially, it’s a chance to make sure uniforms are complete and well presented before the start of the day.

As we look into the various school buildings and see classes underway, it’s clear just how large the Community Centre’s ministry has become. There are traditional academic classes, as well as a whole vocational school with tailoring, woodwork and baking as the mainstays (sales from the produced items form part of the centre’s funding) There are also special classes for deaf students. This is, Rachel tells me, a rarity in East Africa as usually if children with special needs are able to find a place to be taught, it’ll be at specific schools for the deaf or blind and far apart from the mainstream schools. To be able to minister to those with special needs as part of the whole school community is really rather special.


A North American favourite; Duck Duck Goose.

We also take a look at the new clinic building; which appears to be very well equipped (I also get to see the corner of the old community centre where a pair of nurses ran what was the old clinic; it’s a vast improvement) and the even newer daycare centre for the children of staff members which, literally, had opened its doors for the first time that morning. Obviously the centre is well funded via its Canadian supporters, but it’s also clear that there’s a lot of passion among the senior Ugandan staff who run the ministry which keeps the centre seeking to do even more for its community. Rachel spends most of the time fielding questions and sharing ideas about what’s next for the school, she explains that the Canadian staff aim to direct the project and its funding; while equipping the Ugandan staff to actually staff the school, clinic and all of the centre’s other ministries. The trick seems to be matching the funding and resources with the ambitions of those growing the ministry!


The Kibaale Community Centre Clinic. Shiny!

Another impressive sight at the centre is the blzing hot smoke-filled kitchen where, each day, a small staff cooks lunch for the hundreds of staff and students. There’s a feast of rice, beans, chicken and matoke (that’s the name for the savoury mashed bananas which are a Ugandan staple) Like back at Alfa Gente in Brazil, the provision of a full daily meal is actually one of the most significant ministries of the Kibaale Community Centre. The school charges a nominal fee for students; but that’s mostly to ensure participation rather than for funding purposes. The need for nutritious meals is paramount and, when there is a drought and a poor harvest as seems to be the case in Kibaale at the moment, not every family can feed themselves properly.


Kibaale's kitchen. Imagine cooking for hundreds in here every day. Now that's commitment!

Later in the week Jeff and Shannon’s eldest son, nine year old Joel, takes myself and one of the other Canadian volunteers for a walk up a nearby hill to get a better look at Kibaale and the centre. Joel bemoans our unwillingness to scramble up vertical slopes of thistles as we skirt around the edge heading for switchbacks. Along the way we pass by a collection of dilapidated buildings. They look like classrooms but many are missing walls or pieces of roof. I wonder if it’s a former school but, apparently, it still is. This is one of the government run schools and the poor condition demonstrates why so many churches and foreign agencies are working on education projects in the country… From the top of the hill, the scale of the Kibaale Community Centre is even more obvious. Together with the staff housing and farm land it encompasses, it’s comparable in size to the town itself!


The town of Kibaale; you can see the beginnings of the Community Centre nearby.


Joel heading straight for the most vertical part of the hill...

UGANDA – Rigatoni on the Southern Road

I’ve never eaten macaroni and cheese at an American style diner in Uganda before. Especially not one situated in the corner of a busy parkade. But then, it’s not exactly macaroni and cheese anyway; rather it’s rigatoni covered in cheese sauce. Is this the strangest cultural experience so far in East Africa?..


Flying out over Lake Victoria.

Despite the various hassles of Nairobi, it’s a little sad to be leaving Jomo Kenyatta Airport for the last time. How I will miss its identical corridors of identical stores selling identical, overpriced merchandise. Excitement builds, though, as my flight takes me north west and over Lake Victoria. The dry Kenyan countryside is left behind for lush green grasslands and jungle. It looks like that this area of Uganda isn’t suffering the same drought as Kenya. The area in question is Entebbe, a satellite town to the capital, Kampala. As my friend Rachel Leng tells me after she meets me at the airport, Uganda’s straddling of the equator means it’s prone to all sorts of diverse climate patterns. What’s true in Kampala isn’t the same a few hours to the south west close to Masaka, where she and other Canadians work at the Kibaale Community Centre.


Flying into the lush greenery of Entebbe.

Our first stop is to head into Kampala and to pick up some paint for the centre. Then, on to the local mall where we meet up with Shannon, another of the Canadians working in Kibaale. Apparently mall visiting is a high point for Canadian missionaries; for Shannon it’s a chance to buy more books for her fast reading children (after being surrounded by Swahili for two weeks; it’s strange to suddenly enter an East African country where English is the primary spoken and written language) and for Rachel, a chance to get the Community Centre’s new truck cleaned.

I, meanwhile, need to obtain some Ugandan shillings to pay for an excursion we’re planning which, first, means a trip to every bank in a mile’s radius looking for one which takes Canadian cards, and then means withdrawing a pile of notes so large I don’t need to worry about being robbed as I could easily beat someone to death with them. (A thousand dollars equates to almost two million shillings, and for some reason the cash machine won’t dispense a note with a greater value than twenty thousand) Following lunch at the aforementioned New York themed café, we head out in the sparkly truck for a drive through Kampala’s wondrously random traffic patterns and out into the countryside. The experience is probably more terrifying than Kenya since, rather than having large minibuses to dodge, on the mean streets of Kampala the cheap taxi driving is done via motorbikes; which seem to get everywhere at a moment’s notice. Traffic lights are untrustworthy devices and it seems lone traffic police at major junctions are all than stands between Kampala’s drivers and certain disaster. There’s one frightening moment where we and three other directions of traffic are all hurtling straight towards each other and it looks like nobody is going to stop until a few waves from the local police suddenly slow them all down.


On the road in Uganda

The drive to Kibaale takes several hours. We’re dodging pot holes all the way along sealed and not so sealed roads. We cross the equator but, as I’ve done it a few times and Rachel and Shannon do it every couple of weeks, we decide not to stop. Kibaale is far to Uganda’s south; within striking distance of the land border with Tanzania. On the outskirts of town is the large, guarded compound of the Kibaale Community Centre. In actuality, a community centre is just one of the functions of the site. Since the mid 90s, the site has grown to include primary and secondary schools, housing for staff, visitors and workers and, most recently, a community clinic. Much of the money for building these projects comes from Canada, via the Pacific Academy in the Lower Mainland of BC. Rachel and most of the other Canadian staff are either alumni or have close connections with the school, which is how they became part of the work in Kibaale. Rachel’s professional background is as an accountant; and so she came to Kibaale Community Centre to run the project’s finances. No small task when there’s over a hundred staff on the site and it’s easily the biggest employer in the area!


The guest house and staff accommodation at Kibaale Community Centre.

School has finished for the day by the time we arrive, so there’s enough time to meet Shannon’s husband, Jeff, and their children before settling in to the Kibaale guest house. The best feature of which is a large jigsaw lying unfinished on the dining room table. A great distraction although, sadly, it turns out to be impossible. Or, perhaps, just very, very difficult. But I prefer to think that it was impossible. It eases the pain.


The guest house at Kibaale Community Centre. All the comforts of home, including impossible chimpanzee jigsaw. Yes, you heard me: impossible.

NAIROBI – The Ol’ Sudanese Refugee Trick

Nairobi has a fearsome reputation among the world’s cities. One of the most dangerous, one of the most crime ridden, every tourist is guaranteed to be robbed / stolen / mutilated etc. etc…. As with most such reputations it is, of course, mostly undeserved. The dangers of Nairobi are well away from the CBD; which is constantly being patrolled by police and private security firms. The trick with any city like Nairobi is to memorize where you’re heading to on a map and then simply to follow the Doctor Who advice for new places: just wander around like you own the place.

Nairobi’s problems, I find, have less to do with crime and more to do with the fact it’s a really very annoying city. Wandering around the streets and markets of Nairobi is the single most irritating experience you can have in a major city. On practically every single block you’ll meet someone who wants to open a conversation. And, in every single case, these conversations are leading to you hopefully handing over some money. I would like to say that these are exceptions but, no, sadly I didn’t have a single conversation on the streets of Nairobi which didn’t end up this way (and I was happy to speak to everyone who I could; at least until the twelfth or so time when pure exhaustion kicked in) Let’s run through some of the characters you might meet on the streets of central Nairobi:

1) Safari Salesmen
Stand outside travel agencies with cards and brochures and, of course, attempt to sell safaris.

2) Taxi Drivers
Same as above, but with taxis rather than safaris.

3) Market Boys
Met at the entrance to street markets. Or, indeed, several blocks away. They’ll wander in with you and follow you around. Any attempt to ask them to leave is met with an insistence that they must stay with you because “markets work differently here” and you need them to help you make purchases. And, of course, you don’.

4) Refugees / Refugee police
These folks are involved in a highly elaborate scam which involves them being a Sudanese refugee with a scholarship to come study in your country, and if they can only get 40 / 50 dollars to get out of Kenya they can escape. After dealing with them, you head around the corner and meet a couple of ‘police’ who are looking for illegal refugees. Apparently this has been going on for decades but, sadly for them, in the era of 419 e-mail scams, the formulaic scamming is all rather sad.

(N.B. Obviously this is not reflective of the entire breadth of such a cosmopolitan city as Nairobi; these are merely a few particular brands of local who happen to stand out on a visit to the city as they’re encountered so frequently)


Some of the many birds in the national museum. Ah, swallows. African and European as well. If only they listed the speeds when they're flying unladen...

On their own, these are annoyances. But after half a dozen city blocks the ‘wandering around a city’ part of wandering around the city becomes exhausting. Which is a shame as that’s my favourite part of being in a new city. So, instead, it’s time to go see a bit of Nairboi’s cultural quarter and go hit the National Museum. Like Nairobi itself, the museum is a slightly confusing place to navigate. First of all, you have to get into the place. The museum was apparently designed to be as difficult as possible to reach on foot; and is strangely located in a piece of park directly opposite a casino. Inside, there’s a whole range of conflicting design styles and dispirit exhibits. The first chambers are large and lofty, with just a few minimalist displays of art and pottery. Wander through a couple of doors, though, and you quickly find yourself in cramped corridors weaving through hundreds of stuffed birds. There’s a rough distinction made between natural history exhibits on the ground floor and human history above; but some of the temporary exhibits don’t seem to belong anywhere. A particularly incongruous contribution on display whilst I was in town was a photography exhibit which featuring the entire Manchester United squad holding doves. Oh, and Sir. Alex Ferguson as well. Really.


The mammal room in Nairobi National Museum. The skeleton in the middle is a real elephant. The others? Not quite so real.

In amongst the madness, there are some gems buried away. There’s a very impressive elephant skeleton in the mammal room featuring some almighty tusks. Most excitingly, though, is a room which is somewhat hidden away in back of the human exhibits (check out the *hilarious* DVD slideshow if you make it that far.) This chamber, which looks like every futuristic bank vault you’ve ever seen in the movies, houses a number of glass cases containing skull fragments. These skulls, found in East Africa, are some of the oldest found anywhere in the world, dating back millions of years. It’s a small, understated display of breathtaking finds. The only detraction from the wonder comes from the the bizarrely cheap waxworks depicting neanderthal life which have been erected in one corner.


A screenshot from the 'history of humanity' video at the museum. There's other great moments, but this caption is my favourite.

After scouring the depths of the museum, it was time to go shopping. Despite the annoying presence of over enthusiastic hawkers, Nairobi really does boast a fine selection of every type of tourist craft you can imagine. In fact, it’s rather too fine a selection. The problem in Nairobi’s Central Market is that every store features the same collection of beautifully made but absolutely identical wares. From ebony statues of elephants to Massai beads; there’s often no questioning the quality but there is a problem finding anything distinctive. And that’s a problem with me because, if I do find myself souvenir shopping, then I’m going to be looking for genuine tourist tack. I don’t want a beautiful soapstone carving of something which is identical to all the other millions of soapstone carvings in every other city store. I want something so utterly horrendous; so devoid of any charm, that it surely must be a one in a million or the universe is doomed to failure. Thankfully, on my careful scouring of Nairobi’s many tiny emporiums, I finally found a piece of tack worthy of my purchase.


My favourite piece of Nairobi tack. How long and hard I had to work to find such a beautiful piece of ugliness!

A successful shopping trip behind me, and a fine meal of sizzling Kenya stew in front of me, I was able to reflect on the fact that Nairobi certainly isn’t the worst city on Earth. It’s a fairly boring piece of urban design, but it there are streets of tiny stores and curios for the wanderer (touts aside) It also has another, interesting, virtue: it makes you want to get out as soon as possible. Whether it be at the beginning of a trip and you’re heading for a game reserve or a smaller town. Or you’re at the end and perhaps feeling wistful that you want to stay in Kenya just a while longer. Nairobi chews you up and spits you out; and spurs you on for the next phase of your trip wherever that may be. And in a country where supreme natural beauty and the general friendliness of rural life is a much bigger draw than the cities, anyway; that’s actually not a bad thing.