Cross-country Rally
Kenya 1984
After a week in Nairobi it was time to leave — before I forgot what continent I was supposed to be in.
I was drawn to the sea. At first I had wanted to avoid the tourist resort of Mombassa, but a friedly Arab had offered me a lift.He even offered to pay for my room at the posh ‘Hotel Iqbal’, which I declined. But I accepted the lift. My mind was made up completely when he said I was certain to see dolphins off Mombassa. So that morning I checked out of the New Kenya Lodge and waited over a pipe and a cup of tea while the Arab took care of some business.
I never did get to Mombassa.
The caretaker at the ‘New Kenya Lodge’ was a burly bloke with the face of a boy, called ‘Big Boy’ by everyone. He had taken a particular shine to me and had helped me out before. The Arab was one of his mates. This morning he came up to my table, declared his undying love for me and said he was going to Mombasa with me.
He was deadly serious so I made my excuses leaving the boy-child waiting while I was off to “buy a few things, be right back”.
I took a cab to Nanonga. I was sad to leave Andreas and Joe with whom I had intended to travel south and who I would not now be able to meet in Mombassa as planned. But I did what I thought was best.
I sat on tenterhooks until the driver finally had assembled enough passengers for the trip, each of whom I believed to be a mate of Big Boy’s, looking for me. As soon as we were ready to go, a second cab filled up with people and the two drivers started to race each other.
As happy as I was to get out of Nairobi sharply, the race to Nanonga was a scary experience as the two cars hurtled side by side over the dusty dirt track skidding into bends and narrowly missing the burnt-out wrecks of previous boy-racers.
We skidded to a stop at the barrier at Nanonga, brakes squealing, at almost the same time.
Despite the fierceness of the race, I had seen some of the beauty of the landscape. Massai boys with their herds of cattle moved across the plains, women adorned with huge necklaces fashioned from countless tiny beads walked down the road, calm and tall on their way to a village and two zebras appeared around a bend, standing motionless, staring at the hurtling cars. We were past them in a flash. Antelopes and gazelles took flight in the distance.
Slightly dazed from the exhilarating drive, I stood at the border to Tanzania, my backpack next to me and blinked into the sun setting over the Massai Mara National Park. I was tempted to spend a night in the safari lodge but my budget would never allow it. So I took off my Sudanese arm-knife, put it into the backpack and turned to the Kenyan border post.
The Customs Officer cast a fleeting, disinterested glance at the money declaration form and took no further interest in either my luggage or my hidden cash reserves. Once again I had changed some money before crossing the border, unsure where I would next get the opportunity to do so. I crossed the border at sunset, accompanied by Patrick, an Irish traveller who was heading in the same direction and we almost immediately picked up a lift to Arusha with a local businessman.
The rally continued, with a solo racer this time. While we were shooting down the paved road the snowy cap of the Kilimanjaro came into view above a bank of clouds. We were soaking up the view when the driver suddenly jumped onto the brakes. We came to a skidding halt just metres away from three giraffes which unhurridly and majestically crossed the steet ahead. They stretched their long necks, looked at us for an instant then broke into a slow-motion gallop. I turned around to see them stand as dark silhouettes painted against the red evening sky. My first encounter with giraffes in Africa. The second would not be far behind.
It was a wonderfully clear night and almost completely dark when we passed another herd of giraffes outlined only as dark shadows but with eyes that glinted like spotlights in the beam of our lights. Minutes later, a large herd of zebras crossed the street ahead, one by one. They mysteriously appeared from the bush and disappeared once more into the dark beyond. I marvelled at the wonder of it.
“Driving in the dark is a bloody nightmare,” the driver grumbled.
I had to admit I prayed that we would not encounter a Rhino or a herd of elephants. But before reaching Arusha we only saw a few Hyenas rushing past into the shadows.
Denni