Nairobi

The hotel reminds me of a time warp. The wall paper consists of large patterned prints and is reminiscent of the seventies. I become acquainted with my mosquito net for the first time. It's important to make sure that the net itself doesn't touch your skin, as the mosquitoes can stick their heads through, but not their thoraces. I wake up early the next morning. I quickly learn that an alarm clock is not needed in Africa. A spectacular chorus breaks at dawn. I discover the balcony outside a large set of glass sliding doors which stretch the entire way across the room and from the ceiling to the floor. My bedroom is on the second floor and I can see the pool, some unusual trees and many birds that I have never seen before. I find breakfast which consists of freshly made pancakes and fresh fruit. Passion fruit, pineapple and mango.

After breakfast I sit on the balcony in my room for a while. Listening to new sounds. Breathing in new smells. I roughly sketch what I can see. In the distance large aves silhouettes can be seen soaring. I can't be sure if they're vultures or eagles. The white sky behind them ensures they stay incognito. I had booked a taxi, but it was late. I take another one instead. The name of the taxi driver eludes me, so he shall from here-forth be known as Mamello. Mamello used to work as a tour guide and taught me some Swahili along the way. We laughed at my pronunciation. We drove to the baby elephant orphanage in Nairobi National Park. It's a charity funded by donations. Each elephant has a story. Many have been rescued due to their mothers being slaughtered for the Ivory trade. We arrive just at feeding time, where the rangers hold up enormous bottles of milk for the orphan elephant calves.

A family of warthogs crosses in front of the taxi as we leave. We then go to the Giraffe centre where I hand feed giraffes and get really close to the beautiful creatures. They are such laid back calm animals. They have a lot of land to roam across which is all part of Nairobi's national park.







Mamello waits for me at each location. We had to call to three different petrol stations as the first ones were out of fuel. Along the way, he tells me tragic stories of past violence which I dare not even write here. We drive past Kibera, one of Africa's largest slums. We pass the edge of a labyrinth of alleyways, adjacent to the main road, leading into the inner urban slum. I have to be discreet about looking in it's direction at all. Taking photographs this close is neither safe nor respectful. Huts at either side of the lane-ways are made from sheets of corrugated tin. Leaning against these huts are rows of men drinking from tin cans. Shots of whiskey and methadone. Mzungo (pronounced mmm-zung-goo) is a term I'd frequently hear. It's slang for a white person. Mzungos are not welcome in Kibera according to Mamello. Seeing this slum sends a shiver down my spine.

Mamello eventually drops me off at a Masai market at the edge of Nairobi. I'm completely alone now in another world surrounded by locals. It's wonderful. Ethnic jewelry, beads, Masai carvings, African masks and bowls create a colorful sight. Two men keep trying to sell me two Masai warriors. I want to purchase these from tribes in small villages instead, but politely declining doesn't go down well. They keep following me and by the time I'm surrounded by three of them, I am somewhat intimidated. I still haggle though. The carved warriors would later find a place at either side of my computer at work. The sellers at the market are more interested in trading their goods for western items instead of money. One wanted to swop an African bracelet for my beloved black wrist band which is adorned with metal spikes and skulls.