Nairobi to CapeTown...

If there ever was an adventure one could do, I think this takes the cake. Coming from South Africa, having travelled on a small scale and being open-minded and willing, these are all qualities Leigh and I are blessed with to have, however, our 2 months from Kenya to Cape Town will add, top and expand our wildest expectations!

arriving at O.R Tambo backpacks, handbags, rucksacks, waist wallets, camera bags, pillows - we were everywhere, bursting with excitement and anticipation... with a small sense of anxiety. said goodbye to Sharon who drove us to the airport cursing at the South African taxis and "slow" drivers the whole way.  Traffic seems to be an issue wherever you are. Being fairly on time according to our flight leaving at 11am, we went to secure our lives for the next two months with cling wrap..hmm... Casually looking at the departure screen searching...Manzini, Ab bu Dab bi... ah! Nairobi!...wait what... CANCELLED! Mid-way through Leigh's backpack, slight panic set in. BREATHE - and make a plan. Turns out we could get on a later flight and arrive in Nairobi at 6 thirty instead of 2 hours earlier. We just wanted to get there already! Carrying $3000 on you or in your bags is like walking around with a ticking time bomb.

Sitting at the back of the plane,

sipping on vodka and coke,

smiling at pictures in brochures,

the realization sunk in.

The amount of awesome things we were going to see and do. The people we'd meet along the way; locals and foreigners. Each bringing and telling their unique stories and characters into our story of Africa.

If you know anything about Africa; it gets hot and sticky, airports don't have air con, so after our 4hour flight, of which I slept 3hours, we were feeling it. Collecting our many bags and packing ourselves like donkeys, we headed out of the somewhat known (all airports have a "common feeling") to the unknown which is Nairobi, Kenya.

Yes the place you hear all the horror stories about, probably one of the most famous cities in Africa. Nairobberry, ticking time bomb, hot and sticky - this wasn't without it's challenges.
This was when we met Crispus. Swarm of drivers, tour guides, valets, other peoples' family and friends -all waiting for passengers. Crispus was waiting in the bunch. Up till now I hadn't imagined what he thought when he saw us for the first time. Probably "oh god look at all their bags". Two blondes sticking out like naive targets. Scanning the names on boards, paper and other materials... ROXY written on orange cardboard saved us from the chaos that was developing around us. Two soft hands holding it high above the others. Attached to those hands was a peaceful, happy and smiley face. While others were fighting for a chance to show their signs to outgoing passengers, Crispus was calm and collected. With a smile matching my own, we headed out.

Just when we had relaxed sipping (more like glugging down) a bottle of coke Crispus had brought for us, we hit the Nairobi roads. My aunt Sharon thought South Africa was bad, Nairobi is way more intense. There were roadworks, four lane traffic circles, no working traffic lights - or even if they did work, no one abides by them. Instead there is 1 brave traffic cop instructing hundreds of moving vehicles. From old-rusty-on-their-last-leg trucks to new Range Rovers with tinted windows. In between there are millions of Prada's and Land Cruisers, old models, show models. There are old Fords and Peugots, all with digs or "grazes" on their bodies. There are taxi's. There are lots of taxi's. These taxi's are life threatening. They call them Mutatu's. They zoom past when you think it is not possible for a solid object to fit in between the gaps in standstill traffic. A flash of neon light, a hoot, and a Mutatu is in front, next to, and behind you. Another form of taxi are the motorbikes - often three people on one. No helmets, along the main roads, also tonnes of these, everywhere. The occasional tourist 4x4 immersed in local traffic. There is no way Leigh or I could have handled driving ourselves around Nairobi. Anything goes. If there seems to be a space for two decent lanes, one going each way. There will be 4 Mutatu's or others alongside each other on either side. Somehow it works. Drivers seem to be "ballsy" but cautious, able to predict others without the help or use of indicators. It seems its been this way for years and it isn't about to change. Roads are poor quality at times, spotted with vendors, selling anything from "treenuts" to toys to locks to Mutatu decorations. The occasional beggar, walking with the disabled.
We got to Tate Close about 2hours later. Huge gates open to show our eager eyes a security guard, waving and smiling, an unusual house, big in its own way, single story, mixed makeup of cement, wood, bricks and canvas. A water tank on stilts up high and a garden full of vegetation. Well kept. We were home for the next 4nights. Luxury for the next 3 days - which we would further appreciate the more into our trip we got.
After meeting Penny, Gary, Tayla, Angelina, Crispus, the dogs, eating dinner, eating too much. We slept in Kenya for the first time. The next couple of days were incredible. Westlands Market, where it is "free to look" and sometimes "free to touch" - but once you've touched it, its hard for the vendor to let you go. Morning prices, first customer bargains, South African soccer conversations. The market reminded me a lot of Port Louis, Mauritius. The basic set-up, the same things in one stall as the one before or after, each vendor promising theirs is different or better. "But you have not seen my shop!" If a customer looks, thinks to buy but doesn't end up doing so, the vendors believe they will have no sales for the rest of the day. They can be very persistent, bartering is essential.
"How much is this?"
"That one is one thousand two hundred"
"Oh no that's too much..."
"okay okay, what is YOUR price for it?"
"no, tell me your best price?"
"my best price IS one thousand two hundred..."
"no no... (put object down)"
"no, look, this (object) is very special... tell me how much you think you want it for?"
"what is your BEST price?"
"okay 1000 shillings"
"900 shillings... I've got 900?"
"Ah but this one is special...."
"okay, no thank-you then."
"Here, give me 900" = SOLD.

Staying with Penny was a great way to learn more about Nairobi, Kenya (and other countries) Her insight having lived in the country and most neighbouring ones was like our tour-guidelines for the trip. Such a different lifestyle, bringing up your children with issues like no electricity for days, rationing of food, lack of availability for most things. Stories of her children getting involved at young ages with animals and their communities. Doing things that are taboo to Africa and unimaginable to city slickers. There were horror stories too.  Having to up and leave everything because of "revenge antics"

Wednesday afternoon, we went for drinks at Lord Errol's with Penny. An interesting experience. 2 Tusker Malts later, Leigh and I were caught up in the lives of the ex-pat wives, girlfriends, mistresses, basically, the gossip of Nairobi. Laura, a gracefully aged blonde Kenyan women, loves animal print, smokes, drinks large glasses of white wine in copious amounts. Her husband having an affair, her drinking to deal with it. Her brother-in-law, based in California, having worked on films such as Out of Africa and Born Free. Sandy, an Indian beautician, claims to be 60, looks 42max. Sandy being out casted by her ex-boyfriend. Not allowed into Matheiga club because he made sure. Her stories of being single in Nairobi, her in depth "too much information" about how she deals with it, in every size and colour. The sad side of being an ex-pat wife - the fact that husbands are away, new boyfriends are hard to come by, and golf seems to be the only outlet, or thing to do, that helps them get from day to day, week to week, year to year. Then moving on to another country, another set of friends, another life - yet the same.
Another night in Kenya, another person's story, adding to our own stories.

Thursday, we had another blissful slow day in this country. Seeing different sides, from the humble apartment of the silver jeweller; the Rasta who creates unique rings, bangles, pendents and other things from silver forks, spoons and what he finds. His floor covered in scraps, tools, masterpieces - his bed in the corner. Simple. Happy. Doing what he loves. That Thursday we saw and experienced the humbling effect that the largest mammal in Africa can have on a person. Being as young as two weeks old, the baby elephants caught Leigh and my hearts from a distance as the sped up from out of the bush to where all the school kids, robust Americans, pale Pommies, and two reddening South Africans stood. Next stop - kissing giraffes. Blue, rough and long - not exactly the description one would use to describe their first kiss in Kenya. South African are used to seeing giraffes, these towering, docile, fluttering eyed animals. Kenyan giraffes are somewhat the same, yet these ones in particular were the main attraction. Living on a huge property with an old school (huge) farm house, where we witnessed the giraffes on the front lawn trying to get in through the door, but being chased out by workers. Africa at its best.