A Year in Nairobi: Hiking in the Rift Valley

This weekend, we had the pleasure of hiking in the Rift Valley with a group of four new friends and three Kenyan guides. The only Americans in the group, our companions have lived in Zimbabwe, Tanzania, Liberia, Germany, Britain, Nigeria, and Houston (that's a country, right?). Our destination was a long, low series of waterfalls that is only "active" during the rainy seasons.

We drove West from Nairobi. The further you get from Nairobi, the easier it is to remember that you live in a poor country. The city, with it's coffee shops and well appointed business men, doesn't resemble the countryside ("upcountry" as they call it). At the same time, the further out you drive, the more relaxed you feel, until suddenly you look around and you see blue mountains, green valleys, and Masaai boys herding goats through the road in front of you. Then you take a deep breath and think "this is Kenya."

After about an hour of driving, we pulled off the gravel road onto a dirt path that alternated between red mud and mega-stones. The first path we tried was impassable, having been washed away by a swollen stream, but we finally made it to the village where our hike started. A half dozen very dirty, barefoot children came running up as we dismounted from our safari-version Land Rover. They weren't asking for anything, just curious to get a look at us. We met our guides, the sons of the land owner, handed over our backpacks (at their insistence), and were off.

It was a gorgeous day with clear skies, hot sun, and plenty of florescent birds and bugs to marvel at. Though the terrain was fairly flat, we hiked in a valley looking up a towering ridge. Because of all the rain, we found ourselves forging a creek with our hiking boots in hand, and one of our friends slipped into 2 feet of mud, but after a couple of hours, we could hear the welcome rush of water. Leaving our guides to lounge in the shade, we jumped into a pool of very cold water at the bottom of one of the waterfalls.

Lunch was our only break from swimming. Our picnic consisted of baguettes, cold cuts, cheese, hummus, quiche, greek salad, and apple pie. When I asked "should we give some of this to the guides?" our friend Mark, a 6-year veteran of Kenya, smiled and said "I always offer, but they don't really like our food." I looked around and had to laugh at the very imported spread in front of us. We were sitting in the wilderness of Kenya- in a place that Mark calls Jurassic Park for it's completely untouched beauty and pre-civilization feel- spreading hummus on French bread.

The hike back was exhilarating. We hastened our pace, trying to beat a big storm cloud that was rumbling toward us. The whole landscaped had changed. It was cool and a humid wind blew through the shrubs and low trees. We saw some baboons scrambling up the side of the ridge, and the birds were nowhere to be seen. The sky was a sight to behold. In one direction, blue skies. In another, a dark mass looming, in another, shafts of vertical light pierced through the clouds to create the Jesus-ascending-to-heaven effect. It made me feel small and strong at the same time.

Driving through the rain back toward Nairobi, we stopped at a restaurant known for its nyama choma (my translation, "meat feast") and finished the day with a Tusker and a tray of goat ribs. A good ending to a great day.