Maasai Mara, southern Kenya. An afternoon rest. Clearly the lion on the right wanted some more sleep, but her mate woke her up.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Lazy Lions
Maasai Mara, southern Kenya. An afternoon rest. Clearly the lion on the right wanted some more sleep, but her mate woke her up.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Maasai Song
It is dark. The elegant, small lodge is lit with lanterns. Lanterns that remind you of the Sultans. The fire roars in the massive fire place. An Irish man plays acoustic guitar and his voice carries off into the hills. The Maasai who work at the lodge listen intently, wide eyed. When the Irish man finishes, the Maasai are asked to sing. In their red shukas they gather and break into song and dance. It is an ancient tradition, a guttural song and pulsating dance. It is a privilege, an absolute privilege to listen and watch. To be a part of such an ancient custom. What will the world be like without these rich tribes? Will anyone notice?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Scars
Agree with me, a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty ok? Take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived. -- Chris Cleave, Little Bee
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Hippo
One of the greatest things is to see a hippo yawn. Their mouth opens almost 180 degrees displaying a massive throat, tongue and teeth. When god created the hippo, he asked if the hippo wanted to live in the water or on the land. The hippo said the water. God said fine, however, you can not eat the fish. So, the reason the hippo opens his mouth so wide is to show God that he is not eating his fish.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Election 2007 January 2008
Just weeks ago people stood in line to vote. Today they stand in line for food.
The Kenya election took place on Thursday, December 27. Two days after Christmas. According to reporters it was a clean, well run election, until the ballots reached the ECK (the Electoral Commission of Kenya).
We left Nairobi on the 24th. Took the train to Mombassa. To a lovely beach. Soft sand. Blue water. The hotel staff were fired up to vote. They all took shifts and went to a small town near the hotel, to vote. They felt change in the air. They wanted Odinga. It was clear that Odinga was the front runner. The election was his.
The day after the elections people waited for results. As the hours dripped by, people became restless. They wanted results. They smelled corruption, rigging. They took to the streets. By the 28th there was chaos in the streets. Tires burned. Shops looted. Roads blocked. People injured.
We were in a boat. On aqua colored water, cruising the white sands, looking for dolphins. We pulled into a reef. We slathered on sun screen to get ready for snorkeling. The driver’s cell phone rang. It was base. I listened and heard something about a loud noise and we must go back. Thunder I thought? Strange, the sky is clear. Our driver explained that on shore rioting broke out and guns were being fired, he thought it best we go back to the hotel. We agreed.
At the hotel, while people played tennis, sipped pina coladas, we were glued to the TV.
Saturday the ECK held a press conference. The head of ECK took the microphone, said he would report on the four final areas that had not yet been announced and then he would announce the final presidential results. As he read the provincial results “ODM X, PNU Y….” I thought “they are really going to do this.” As you started to tally the votes in your head, it was evident that the four final areas were going to put Kibaki ahead. But before he could even get that far, in front of our eyes, anarchy broke out in the press room. A man stood and challenged the speaker, more and more people stood. People got on chairs. Climbed over chairs. Yelled. Waved their arms. Pushed their neighbors. Remember, this is a political press conference. Soon the Chairman of ECK was escorted out by armed guards while others followed.
Within moments Ralia Odinga entered the room. His gang following. He sat in the chair of the Chairman of ECK. “Rigging,” he claimed. “This election has been rigged.” They would not accept the results.
One hour later, in a closed room, the ECK announced Kibaki the winner. Ten minutes later Kibaki was formally sworn in as President. Kibaki declared the following day a holiday. A friend said to me, welcome to your first African coup. People ran from their radios, phones and TVs and the real mayhem started. 30 minutes later all live media coverage was cut off.
People lit fires, hacked each other with machetes, blocked roads, burned houses. Yelled, screamed, cried and pleaded. Kenya spiraled.
Around us at the beach resort, people swam. The hotel “animation team” held step classes by the pool. The 4pm tea had a line of people.
The next morning we were to head back to Mombassa, but the airport was closed. Mobs had taken over the airport road. Reports in Nairobi were grim. Mombassa was no better. Stay? Go? We called the airlines and the next flight out was January 3. We were stuck.
While going back to Nairobi did not appear to be safe, staying on the coast was worse. Petrol would run out, the town we were in was out of gas. Taxi drivers immediately doubled their price. Food was limited—people stood in line in the next town over for maize. Limited transport, fuel and food, meant chaos. There is only one road in and out, meaning, to get to the airport, we’d have to take that road and a short ferry. Anyone with some boulders and a couple pangas could easily block that road.
We got a flight and left the hotel at 5am in a convoy of eight cars and armed guards to the airport.
We got to the airport fine. However, when we went to pay for our ticket the women said, we need cash, nobody is taking credit cards anymore. We had ventured out the day before to find cash. All banks on the coast were closed and had been for the last four days because of riots and holidays. All the ATMs were dry. We begged, borrowed and finally made it on the plane.
The Kenya election took place on Thursday, December 27. Two days after Christmas. According to reporters it was a clean, well run election, until the ballots reached the ECK (the Electoral Commission of Kenya).
We left Nairobi on the 24th. Took the train to Mombassa. To a lovely beach. Soft sand. Blue water. The hotel staff were fired up to vote. They all took shifts and went to a small town near the hotel, to vote. They felt change in the air. They wanted Odinga. It was clear that Odinga was the front runner. The election was his.
The day after the elections people waited for results. As the hours dripped by, people became restless. They wanted results. They smelled corruption, rigging. They took to the streets. By the 28th there was chaos in the streets. Tires burned. Shops looted. Roads blocked. People injured.
We were in a boat. On aqua colored water, cruising the white sands, looking for dolphins. We pulled into a reef. We slathered on sun screen to get ready for snorkeling. The driver’s cell phone rang. It was base. I listened and heard something about a loud noise and we must go back. Thunder I thought? Strange, the sky is clear. Our driver explained that on shore rioting broke out and guns were being fired, he thought it best we go back to the hotel. We agreed.
At the hotel, while people played tennis, sipped pina coladas, we were glued to the TV.
Saturday the ECK held a press conference. The head of ECK took the microphone, said he would report on the four final areas that had not yet been announced and then he would announce the final presidential results. As he read the provincial results “ODM X, PNU Y….” I thought “they are really going to do this.” As you started to tally the votes in your head, it was evident that the four final areas were going to put Kibaki ahead. But before he could even get that far, in front of our eyes, anarchy broke out in the press room. A man stood and challenged the speaker, more and more people stood. People got on chairs. Climbed over chairs. Yelled. Waved their arms. Pushed their neighbors. Remember, this is a political press conference. Soon the Chairman of ECK was escorted out by armed guards while others followed.
Within moments Ralia Odinga entered the room. His gang following. He sat in the chair of the Chairman of ECK. “Rigging,” he claimed. “This election has been rigged.” They would not accept the results.
One hour later, in a closed room, the ECK announced Kibaki the winner. Ten minutes later Kibaki was formally sworn in as President. Kibaki declared the following day a holiday. A friend said to me, welcome to your first African coup. People ran from their radios, phones and TVs and the real mayhem started. 30 minutes later all live media coverage was cut off.
People lit fires, hacked each other with machetes, blocked roads, burned houses. Yelled, screamed, cried and pleaded. Kenya spiraled.
Around us at the beach resort, people swam. The hotel “animation team” held step classes by the pool. The 4pm tea had a line of people.
The next morning we were to head back to Mombassa, but the airport was closed. Mobs had taken over the airport road. Reports in Nairobi were grim. Mombassa was no better. Stay? Go? We called the airlines and the next flight out was January 3. We were stuck.
While going back to Nairobi did not appear to be safe, staying on the coast was worse. Petrol would run out, the town we were in was out of gas. Taxi drivers immediately doubled their price. Food was limited—people stood in line in the next town over for maize. Limited transport, fuel and food, meant chaos. There is only one road in and out, meaning, to get to the airport, we’d have to take that road and a short ferry. Anyone with some boulders and a couple pangas could easily block that road.
We got a flight and left the hotel at 5am in a convoy of eight cars and armed guards to the airport.
We got to the airport fine. However, when we went to pay for our ticket the women said, we need cash, nobody is taking credit cards anymore. We had ventured out the day before to find cash. All banks on the coast were closed and had been for the last four days because of riots and holidays. All the ATMs were dry. We begged, borrowed and finally made it on the plane.
Goat
A long day of community meetings and site visits with no lunch. At 5pm we, colleagues and some Maasai, stopped for a snack at the local butchery, a small wooden room, dark. The smell of goat was pungent. We sit at the one wooden table, which is caked in years of grease and meat. A huge plate of goat is placed in front of me. I waited, thinking plates would soon be coming. The elder nodded to me saying, you are the guest of honor, dig in. There you have it, fingers in, and down it goes. Ugali, a stiff starchy staple, was then brought to the table, along with shredded cabbage and tomato. Down the hatch. After “lunch” we enjoyed sodas and sat around the table picking our teeth with tooth picks and talking about land issues, as other Maasai wandered in and out.
Tanzania January 2008
A Maasai elder says a prayer before the meeting starts—a tradition. We are on a ranch protected for wildlife movement. We are gathered, a group of Maasai, myself and colleagues, under a large acacia tree. As a guest, the elder places a massive beaded necklace, the size of a record player, around my neck. I am asked to present myself in Swahili—it is a short presentation.
The ranch is a critical linkage between two parks. We are working to ensure the corridor stays intact through conservation . The greatest threat—agriculture. On the drive through we see elephant, eland, giraffe, warthogs and more. The diversity is impressive.
We drive to Tarangire National Park, known for its elephants and massive baobab trees. These ancient trees have witnessed centuries of life—war, peace, transition, independence. Some of the baobabs are bigger than a house . We are visiting a lion research team. 130 lions have been killed in the last two and a half years. They estimate roughly 400 lions in the Park. Like the supposed big bad wolf, lions have a bad reputation for killing cattle. Yet jackals, hyenas, leopards, cheetah take more cattle than lions. The research team is working with community members to make their bomas (the area where they keep their cattle) more secure, so that the cattle do not become prey.
The researchers are monitoring 11 prides. Their study is critical to understanding lion movement and protecting them as they move out of the Park. Eleven lions have been collared. We stop on a small hill and hold up the telemetry antenna. We here the magic “beep.” They are close. After following the beeps, hearing it get louder and louder, we find a pride of eight lions lounging in the grass. The researchers know each of them. They identify them by the spots on their cheeks, no lion pattern is the same.
The scenery is stunning and the landscape expansive. On the way to camp, we pass a women’s groups that we have supported. One group greets us with song and dance. They are dressed traditionally, blue and red kikoys and elaborate beads. They are a co-op, women joined together to generate money for their families. I am asked to explain who I am in Swahili. When I finish they burst into song and yelping. They adorn me with a necklace. We drink sodas in the dusk and hear of their needs and challenges.
That night we are in a community conservation area. Out “tents” are beautiful. Lovely bed, stone decorated shower and a porch overlooking a lake—the birding is awesome. A family of dwarf mongoose hangs out on the termite mound outside my tent. The next day we meet with the chairperson of the conservation area and a committee member. The cement office building is off the main dirt road (all the roads are dirt in this area.) In the one room office is a desk, five chairs and some poster boards taped to the wall. We discuss the conservation area and their challenges—lack of funds, lack of game scouts (the people who patrol the area for poachers, illegal grazing.)
We depart to visit the game scouts. There are eighteen of them, dressed in army fatigues. They are in a training in a small classroom. Our arrival disrupts the class. Handshakes, introductions, chai is served. Scouts are paid $70 per month to monitor the conservation area. They have no money though, so, these scouts are yet to be paid. They have no vehicles, so they monitor on foot or by bike if they are lucky. They have no guns, but the poachers do. After chai, chapatti and mondazi (doughnuts like fried dough) we are on our way.
On route we see a group of Barba tribe members march down the road. Over a hundred of them. They carry bow and arrows and spears. Its from another world. Their cattle have been stolen. They are marching down the road to Maasai land to reclaim their cattle. We pass them in our vehicle.
The ranch is a critical linkage between two parks. We are working to ensure the corridor stays intact through conservation . The greatest threat—agriculture. On the drive through we see elephant, eland, giraffe, warthogs and more. The diversity is impressive.
We drive to Tarangire National Park, known for its elephants and massive baobab trees. These ancient trees have witnessed centuries of life—war, peace, transition, independence. Some of the baobabs are bigger than a house . We are visiting a lion research team. 130 lions have been killed in the last two and a half years. They estimate roughly 400 lions in the Park. Like the supposed big bad wolf, lions have a bad reputation for killing cattle. Yet jackals, hyenas, leopards, cheetah take more cattle than lions. The research team is working with community members to make their bomas (the area where they keep their cattle) more secure, so that the cattle do not become prey.
The researchers are monitoring 11 prides. Their study is critical to understanding lion movement and protecting them as they move out of the Park. Eleven lions have been collared. We stop on a small hill and hold up the telemetry antenna. We here the magic “beep.” They are close. After following the beeps, hearing it get louder and louder, we find a pride of eight lions lounging in the grass. The researchers know each of them. They identify them by the spots on their cheeks, no lion pattern is the same.
The scenery is stunning and the landscape expansive. On the way to camp, we pass a women’s groups that we have supported. One group greets us with song and dance. They are dressed traditionally, blue and red kikoys and elaborate beads. They are a co-op, women joined together to generate money for their families. I am asked to explain who I am in Swahili. When I finish they burst into song and yelping. They adorn me with a necklace. We drink sodas in the dusk and hear of their needs and challenges.
That night we are in a community conservation area. Out “tents” are beautiful. Lovely bed, stone decorated shower and a porch overlooking a lake—the birding is awesome. A family of dwarf mongoose hangs out on the termite mound outside my tent. The next day we meet with the chairperson of the conservation area and a committee member. The cement office building is off the main dirt road (all the roads are dirt in this area.) In the one room office is a desk, five chairs and some poster boards taped to the wall. We discuss the conservation area and their challenges—lack of funds, lack of game scouts (the people who patrol the area for poachers, illegal grazing.)
We depart to visit the game scouts. There are eighteen of them, dressed in army fatigues. They are in a training in a small classroom. Our arrival disrupts the class. Handshakes, introductions, chai is served. Scouts are paid $70 per month to monitor the conservation area. They have no money though, so, these scouts are yet to be paid. They have no vehicles, so they monitor on foot or by bike if they are lucky. They have no guns, but the poachers do. After chai, chapatti and mondazi (doughnuts like fried dough) we are on our way.
On route we see a group of Barba tribe members march down the road. Over a hundred of them. They carry bow and arrows and spears. Its from another world. Their cattle have been stolen. They are marching down the road to Maasai land to reclaim their cattle. We pass them in our vehicle.
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