It’s dark. We left Marsabit an hour ago, by which time night had long fallen, but as I clamber down into the lorry’s cargo hold, the darkness becomes a dense, clinging oil. Occasionally pierced by small torches as the dozen or so others in the small space jostle for enough space to sleep in as the frame of the vehicle bangs and squeaks and unexpectedly leaps into the air.
Taken straight out of my journal notes. Disclaimer for poor grammar,etc :)
At the matatu station, I am relieved to find that there are still matatus departing for Isiolo via Nanyuki, despite Nairobi’s ungodly rush hour traffic thoroughly interfering with any attempt to arrive and board quickly after leaving the Sudanese embassy. A wired and wide-eyed but friendly, khat-chewing conductor named Martin gets me packed tightly into the next-departing matatu, managing to fit me, my pack and my day-bag into the tiny interior without upsetting the rest of the passengers’ seating arrangements. Truly a miracle. While sitting out the long wait for out matatu to get a nose in the jammed traffic in order to pull off, Martin lectures me extensively about khat. Where it grows (Kenya, he tells me). How to eat it (you just chew it and pack it in your cheeks, in the style of a hamster). It’s authoritative-sounding advice and I make a note to try and find some khat in Ethiopia (he was wrong on that score – it in fact grows there extensively) Read the rest of this entry »
Taken straight out of my journal notes. Disclaimer for poor grammar,etc
It’s moving day again today. Somehow another three mosquitos managed to get into my mosquito net and haunt my dreams. I wonder sometimes if it’s not called a mosquito net because it attracts them. I’m not feeling entirely well this morning – almost fluey. Putting it down to the effects of extended travel, I make a note to find some vitamins somewhere this morning. I’m al;so quite thirsty, and realise that i’ve not actually drunk anything since around lunchtime yesterday. I’ve not seen much bottled water on sale here (as compared to, say, Tanzania) and a quick check in the guidebook is silent on the issue of water drinkability. So I chance it and drink from the tap in my room. I’ll know in time if that was a silly idea or not.
66 days remain. I know this because I finally caved and set up the exact same system of daily mailers that I so derided previously as being overkill. So now I receive a pretty picture of something East African in my mailbox every night at seven thirty sharp (today was the Simien mountains) and a countdown to the number of days left (today was 66 days to departure). Sixty six. As in, less than ten weeks. A little over two months. Three fortnights. Not very long.
