Kifaru
It’s been a long time since I’ve had an early morning start and it’s still dark as I awake the usual 5mins before the alarm tells me. I have a sneaky suspicion this won’t the last or the earliest!
Bags packed and ready to go, we gather in the hotel lobby and look expectantly outside for the arrival of our transport for the next 11 weeks. It seems highly unlikely that a big truck would get through the narrow entrance gate. Then we spot it reversing in. It’s VERY big and VERY yellow. The tyres are early as tall as me! Having paid our guide Kanyo, the kitty money (how relieved we all were to hand that over!), we lug our bags round to the side of the truck. Now, no-one explained to me when I was packing that I would have to be able to lift my back pack over my head like a weightlifter and throw it into some cavernous depth, never to be recovered again. Nor did they explain that to get into the truck you have to be able to lift your knee above your neck, just to reach the first step! Obviously dismounting requires a triple back flip landing with perfectly straight legs and hands above your head like a Russian gymnast.
Inside the truck, is a fairly basic steel structure with tarpaulin sides and plastic windows. The one concession to comfort is the fixed coach seats, each with a locker underneath. Some face forwards and some backwards. There is a good size chest fridge for us to keep our food in as we go. Welcome to Kifaru, our home for the next 73 days
It’s raining as we set off and we set about introductions. We are only 15 at this point, with 1 late arrival and others joining along the way so we will become 26. It’s going to be cosy. At this point, we are 3 couples, 1 pair of friends, 5 independent girls and 2 independent guys. The youngest is 18 and I may well be the oldest! Most are in their 20s. 2 New Zealanders, 2 Aussies, 2 Scots lassies, 1 Irish and 1 American. First stop is the Giraffe Park, and we are a bit bemused as we are shepherded into a corral with a raised hut with a platform about 8ft off the ground. A concrete wall about chest height prevents us from entering the giraffe enclosure. It feels a bit like a zoo, but as we climb the steps it’s clear to see that this is to ensure that the giraffes have plenty of space to themselves and can choose whether to come and see their visitors. Bribery is in the form of handfuls of corn pellets and we are encouraged to feed the female 1 pellet at a time and the male a full handful. Seems the lady is watching her weight! Their big doe eyes look at us hopefully as they decide who to favour with a soft grey, but very long tongue. As my hand disappears inside the mouth i fear it wil be the last I see of my fingers but the mouth is surpisingly soft and no teeth come to snatch the pellets. I decline the offer of a soppy kiss and go into the lecture hall where we are told about the work of the centre in breeding programmes to increase the number of Rothschild giraffes, who were used as shooting practice by Idi Amin’s young recruits in Uganda. Here in Kenya, we can also expect to see the Mara (guess where?) and Reticulated Giraffes.
As we exit the lecture, I am entranced at the sight of these beautiful and graceful creatures in the distance who , somehow, would not look out of place in Jurassic Park.
Onwards to the Elephant Orphanage where they rescue orphaned and abandoned baby elephants and keep them for until they are 2 years old and can be rehomed with a new elephant family in the wild. Our group gathers with many other groups, including local school children, in their immaculate uniforms. In the corral in front are giant milk bottles, each filled with SMA baby milk. Suddenly, there is a stampede of baby elephants as they run to get their feed from their keepers. Some have blankets on to prevent them catching pneumonia in the winter months as they have no mother to protect them and keep them warm. Once fed, they are playful , seeking attention and fuss from the keepers, who gallantly try to inform us about each elephant’ s history and character. One still has the cut of a machete across her forehead where she got between the poachers and her mum. One got stuck down a well, and was saved by one man from the rest of the villagers who wanted to kill her as revenge against the herd who had trampled their crops. Each has his or her own sad story. It all seems so much more real than the advert you see in the magazine asking you to foster an elephant when you are there looking into their eyes and seeing the work involved in ensuring they survive.
Our campsite that night is just outside Nairobi and as we pull into what looks like someone’s front garden, we see our accommodation for the next 71 nights (give or take a few hostels) pitched ready for us.There’ s no lighting but at least there are couple of toilets and a shower. Bookings are taken for the shower before Kanyo briefs us on what to expect and our participation during trip and then it’s not long before we’re heading out to the famous Carnivore’s for dinner. How do you get 17people plus a driver in a tiny matuto? I don’t know but we did somehow! So what did you have for dinner? Besides the usual chicken, beef, pork and lamb, I had crocodile, ostrich, chicken gizzard and bull’s balls. Just as much as I could eat and then a bit! Well, you never know whe you’re going to get your next meal on these trips. But I was left far behind. Our 2 independent blokes, Mark and John never said no to whatever passed inform but even they were well and truly beaten by our game wee Scots lass, Laura. Never has so much meat been fed into one so tiny. I don’t know where she put it.
Bags packed and ready to go, we gather in the hotel lobby and look expectantly outside for the arrival of our transport for the next 11 weeks. It seems highly unlikely that a big truck would get through the narrow entrance gate. Then we spot it reversing in. It’s VERY big and VERY yellow. The tyres are early as tall as me! Having paid our guide Kanyo, the kitty money (how relieved we all were to hand that over!), we lug our bags round to the side of the truck. Now, no-one explained to me when I was packing that I would have to be able to lift my back pack over my head like a weightlifter and throw it into some cavernous depth, never to be recovered again. Nor did they explain that to get into the truck you have to be able to lift your knee above your neck, just to reach the first step! Obviously dismounting requires a triple back flip landing with perfectly straight legs and hands above your head like a Russian gymnast.
Inside the truck, is a fairly basic steel structure with tarpaulin sides and plastic windows. The one concession to comfort is the fixed coach seats, each with a locker underneath. Some face forwards and some backwards. There is a good size chest fridge for us to keep our food in as we go. Welcome to Kifaru, our home for the next 73 days
It’s raining as we set off and we set about introductions. We are only 15 at this point, with 1 late arrival and others joining along the way so we will become 26. It’s going to be cosy. At this point, we are 3 couples, 1 pair of friends, 5 independent girls and 2 independent guys. The youngest is 18 and I may well be the oldest! Most are in their 20s. 2 New Zealanders, 2 Aussies, 2 Scots lassies, 1 Irish and 1 American. First stop is the Giraffe Park, and we are a bit bemused as we are shepherded into a corral with a raised hut with a platform about 8ft off the ground. A concrete wall about chest height prevents us from entering the giraffe enclosure. It feels a bit like a zoo, but as we climb the steps it’s clear to see that this is to ensure that the giraffes have plenty of space to themselves and can choose whether to come and see their visitors. Bribery is in the form of handfuls of corn pellets and we are encouraged to feed the female 1 pellet at a time and the male a full handful. Seems the lady is watching her weight! Their big doe eyes look at us hopefully as they decide who to favour with a soft grey, but very long tongue. As my hand disappears inside the mouth i fear it wil be the last I see of my fingers but the mouth is surpisingly soft and no teeth come to snatch the pellets. I decline the offer of a soppy kiss and go into the lecture hall where we are told about the work of the centre in breeding programmes to increase the number of Rothschild giraffes, who were used as shooting practice by Idi Amin’s young recruits in Uganda. Here in Kenya, we can also expect to see the Mara (guess where?) and Reticulated Giraffes.
As we exit the lecture, I am entranced at the sight of these beautiful and graceful creatures in the distance who , somehow, would not look out of place in Jurassic Park.
Onwards to the Elephant Orphanage where they rescue orphaned and abandoned baby elephants and keep them for until they are 2 years old and can be rehomed with a new elephant family in the wild. Our group gathers with many other groups, including local school children, in their immaculate uniforms. In the corral in front are giant milk bottles, each filled with SMA baby milk. Suddenly, there is a stampede of baby elephants as they run to get their feed from their keepers. Some have blankets on to prevent them catching pneumonia in the winter months as they have no mother to protect them and keep them warm. Once fed, they are playful , seeking attention and fuss from the keepers, who gallantly try to inform us about each elephant’ s history and character. One still has the cut of a machete across her forehead where she got between the poachers and her mum. One got stuck down a well, and was saved by one man from the rest of the villagers who wanted to kill her as revenge against the herd who had trampled their crops. Each has his or her own sad story. It all seems so much more real than the advert you see in the magazine asking you to foster an elephant when you are there looking into their eyes and seeing the work involved in ensuring they survive.
Our campsite that night is just outside Nairobi and as we pull into what looks like someone’s front garden, we see our accommodation for the next 71 nights (give or take a few hostels) pitched ready for us.There’ s no lighting but at least there are couple of toilets and a shower. Bookings are taken for the shower before Kanyo briefs us on what to expect and our participation during trip and then it’s not long before we’re heading out to the famous Carnivore’s for dinner. How do you get 17people plus a driver in a tiny matuto? I don’t know but we did somehow! So what did you have for dinner? Besides the usual chicken, beef, pork and lamb, I had crocodile, ostrich, chicken gizzard and bull’s balls. Just as much as I could eat and then a bit! Well, you never know whe you’re going to get your next meal on these trips. But I was left far behind. Our 2 independent blokes, Mark and John never said no to whatever passed inform but even they were well and truly beaten by our game wee Scots lass, Laura. Never has so much meat been fed into one so tiny. I don’t know where she put it.
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