March 4th; Nairobi

Jambo! This online journal will cover a recent trip to Kenya, where Dr. Steve Morris and I (Shawn Morris) partnered with a grassroots organization called Wana Duma Project (www.wanaduma.org) in the central region of western Kenya.

After spending four days in Boston visiting family, we are waiting in Amsterdam International Airport for our plane to Nairobi. At the gate, Dr. Steve and I sit next to a Maasai man on his way home from a lecture tour in the United States. He is a beautiful man, adorned in red cloth and holding a simple wooden staff to mark his status as an elite warrior. Although the weather is cold, he wears only thin tire sandals embroidered with colorful beads and no socks.

On the plane, Dr. Steve sparks a conversation with the people in the row ahead of ours; a doctor and an international aid worker bound for East Africa. The doctor is on assignment from Doctor's Without Borders, headed for the Masai -Mara on the far western border of Kenya. The man seated next to her is an Oxfam employee on his way to central Somalia to organize a development project. There is a large group of southern missionaries in the row to my left, on route to a school in the north of Kenya. In fact, my impression is that many, if not all, of the white people bound for Nairobi are on some sort of mission, religious or otherwise.

After a long plane ride we arrive at the Kenya International Airport in Nairobi, the capital city, at 8:00 pm East African Time. As we are approximately half way around the world from our home, Whidbey Island, Washington, the time zones are nearly reversed, and both Dr. Steve and I feel a bit strung out. Suzanne, the director of the Wana Duma Children's Project, and our driver David are waiting for us after we make it through customs and immigration. Suzanne, a tall, slender women with a casual good-humor and relaxed manner welcomes my dad and I to Kenya and leads us out to the arrivals parking lot.

Driving into Nairobi at night is an interesting experience. Advertisements for Western consumer goods are plastered along the roadside, and David tells me about the massive amounts of foreign direct investment (FDI) from Western companies like Proctor and Gamble and Mobile Oil that has been responsible for much of the development surrounding the capital city. We drive past tire factories, skyscrapers, legislative buildings built in the fashion of British architecture, and slum housing on vacant lands within the city. Apparently Nairobi is home to one of the largest slum-dwellings in all of Africa, and though it is dark, I can see that the slum is geographically immense.

We spend our first night at the Cheetah Research Center in a middle-class suburb north of Nairobi known as the Westlund's. The house is simple, with stacks of research papers, wooden furniture, a fireplace, and a small kitchen and bathroom. Early tomorrow morning we head to Gilgil, a town approximately 90 kilometers to the West where Wana Duma Children's Project is located. Once we arrive, Dr. Steve will begin treating patients and we will organize the pharmacy (we brought a duffel bag of supplements along with us).

March 5th, the road to Gilgil

After a strong cup of coffee and a restless sleep we are on our way to Gilgil, passing through the outskirts of Nairobi and out into the countryside. Driving here is a bit intense. The narrow, winding road to Gilgil is a two-lane highway, and, like the British, Kenyans drive in the opposite lane. Mutatus (small buses packed near bursting with passengers) go sweeping past our car every few minutes. Lines of traffic merge into the opposite lane to overtake semi-trucks in unison, and, not infrequently, an emboldened driver will drift into the far shoulder to pass ahead of the passing train of cars. Usually with traffic coming up fast in the other lane.

The Great Rift Valley

So, when not involuntarily clenching my teeth and silently reciting prayer I was able to look out the window and enjoy the passing scenery. This is truly a beautiful and majestic country. The road to Gilgil winds over a high plateau overlooking the Great Rift Valley stretching out into a wide plane below before rising again into desert peaks thousands of feet high. 



As we drive, Suzanne mentions that Lake Nakuru has been polluted by the cut flower agribusiness industry, which grows tulips and roses using heavy pesticides for export mainly to the Netherlands. It seems that the flower industry is responsible for much of the peasant migration towards the cities, buying up the farmlands outside of Nairobi. Many former farming families live in tent housing communities along the roadside, no longer able to support themselves or their children through agriculture, but left without work opportunities.

The rolling hills of the high plateau are speckled with gardens and brightly colored cement homes: blue, orange, red, and lime green. Shepherds bring their goats to graze along the roadside. They are weathered and upright elder men carrying long wooden staffs, emptily gazing at the passing traffic beneath wool caps.

Although this time of year is the dry season in Kenya -- and many are worried about a prolonged drought -- the climate on the plateau is slightly temperate. This allows farmers here to grow pale green cabbage and kale in broad furrows rising up in mounds of dark, red earth. Because of the temperate climate in the high country, evergreen  trees such as cedar (not a Thuja plicata, if there are any botanists out there) and a species of long-needled pine form lush stands of woodland. After passing through a dense highland forest we begin our long descent into the Great Rift Valley below, driving another 40 km across the plains before turning off the highway towards Gilgil. Herds of zebras stroll through the dusty landscape, lethargic in the heat. Family's of baboons groom one another by the roadside, chasing after the occasional banana peel or empty chip bag tossed from car windows. David mentions that baboons can actually be fairly dangerous if you happen to be of the feminine persuasion. Apparently, a baboon will not threaten or attack a male human, even a child, but they are known to become aggressive towards women of all ages. Fair warning.

My first impression of Gilgil is that it is a bustling, crowded place. Bicyclists ride along the curb with impossibly massive stacks of crates bound to the back with twine. Vendors serve dusty bottles of coca-cola and fanta and plantain fries in paper napkins behind market-style stands. Every street we drive through is lined with a row of bright cement storefronts, including grocers, furniture houses, Western-style clothing stores, and bicycle repair shops. As we make our way slowly through town many people look up from their conversations to see the new "muzungus" (Swahilli for white people) in town.

...

The road to Wana Duma leads through a gated community and is like driving over a series of speed bumps. Pulling through the main gate, a good-natured dog, Bahati ("lucky" in Sawahili) comes to say hello. Wana Duma is housed in a townhouse-style abode split into two rentals. Susan, the co-manager of the Wana Duma project, welcomes my dad and I with the Swahili greeting, "karibu-sana." Inside, Susan introduces us to Mercy, a teenage girl suffering in the latter stages of HIV/AIDS, who slowly rises from the couch to extend her hand in greeting. Mercy is incredibly thin and is having difficulty with her appetite, but still has a bright spark in her eyes matched by, as Suzanne forewarned, an incredibly sharp wit. Unfortunately, Mercy contracted tuberculosis recently, and her doctor was forced to take her off anti-retroviral drugs so TB drugs could be administered, and the disease worsened considerably. Apparently, the current generation of AIDS drugs might have saved Mercy, but she has been on a regimen of the prior generation. However, this is not because the new drugs are unavailable. In fact, they are sitting on shelves in nearby hospitals, and, because they are generics, the current anti-retrovirals cost a paltry $300.00 (compared to the $10,000 copay many Americans pay for the same medicine).

This generation of drugs was, however, unavailable to Mercy because the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) has determined, in its wisdom, that it is more cost-effective to “use-up” the older generation of anti-retrovirals before breaking into the new batch.

...

Dr. Steve gets a bottle of probiotics from his bag to help Mercy with her appetite, while Susan introduces us to Doula, a young, kind-hearted Samburu man on school break. The Samburu are the indigenous people who live in the northern part of Kenya, while the Maasai are the indigenous people to the south. The central region of Kenya (where Gilgil is roughly located) has traditionally been occupied by Kukuyu people.

Doula

At Wana Duma, I pick up a book by Johan Buch Steen titled, “The Maasai People” and thumb through the pages. According to Buch Steen, of all these groups, the fiercely independent Maasai have resisted westernization and modernization most stringently, taking little to no interest in the procession of colonial and neo-colonial powers occupying their country. The Maasai are nomadic cattle-herders, erecting their camps centrally around a fence of spine-covered acacia branches, which protects their herds from prowling lions. According to Maasai belief, their rain god, Enkai (the Masai are monotheistic) gave them rights to all the cattle in the world, so cattle raids across the country are common. However, because the Maasai are deeply respected by their countrymen, these raids are rarely prosecuted.

Further, the Maasai marry in age sets, and sexual jealousy is forbidden among men or women of a given age set. This means that a Maasai warrior has the right to any woman of his age set, marking his intentions by placing a spear outside of the hut he intends to spend the night in. Although colonialism and globalization have threatened their culture, many Maasai still live in the traditional way, herding cattle across the plains of southern Kenya and northern Tanzania.

...

The interior of Wana Duma is modest and clean, and is arranged in a welcoming and warm fashion with handmade wooden furniture and textiles, a small library, and silk screen artwork hung from the walls. Making our way to the back of the house, my Dad and I get settled in our room and begin to get unpacked, bringing the bag of supplements to the upstairs treatment room and setting up a small natural pharmacy overlooking the courtyard.

Dr. Steve, Miriam, and Lucy

Already there are patients to see. Miriam, a comely young women from town, arrives with her two young sisters, Lucy and Sarah. Miriam is involved in the Wana Duma project, and works around the house on most days. Because Miriam's mother has passed away from AIDS and her grandmother has also passed, Miriam has assumed responsibility for her younger sisters. Although Lucy contracted HIV in the womb, Sarah is fortunately HIV negative. Dr. Steve goes through a series of health and lifestyle questions with Miriam and her sisters, taking notes at the desk, and checks the sound of Lucy's lungs with his stethascope. A physical exam reveals that both girls are in wonderful health, with bright, cheerful dispositions and strong levels of energy. After Miriam and her sisters leave, Dr. Steve takes a look at four more patients, selecting different immunity supplements and discussing lifestyle and nutrition concerns. Despite the various infectious diseases that the children are dealing with, such as tuberculosis and HIV/AIDS, most have a strong constitution and appear to be in good health.

After seeing patients, Suzanne, Susan, Dr. Steve, and I enjoy a simple meal of mashed plantains, yams, and stewed arugula, and then head off to bed early.

March 6th; treatment day

"Medicine is a service much more than a science...and when medicine is delivered with dignity to the impoverished sick, it becomes pragmatic solidarity."

~ Dr. Paul Farmer

...

Today is a treatment day. After rising I walk out into the the living room of Wana Duma house, already full of school-children dressed in plaid uniforms; the girls in dresses and the boys in slacks and pressed shirts. A group of young men crowd around the dining room table, joking with one another over a breakfast of eggs and toast, and little children in cut-off slacks and over sized wool sweaters run around with crayons and paper in their hands.

Miriam and Lucy

Walking into the busy room I greet Doula, who is immersed in his studies but looks up to say, "Jambo." Suzanne comes downstairs, followed by Mercy, and Suzanne introduces me to the young men at the table, Peter, Steven, and Joseph. Two of the young men are currently in carpentry school, learning to build furniture and wooden structures, and he plan opening their own furniture house. Peter owns a motorcycle repair shop in town, independently running his own small business. For Suzanne, these young men are incredible success stories, and it is easy to tell how fond she is all of them.

While Dr. Steve prepares to receive patients upstairs, I get my traveling guitar from my room and begin to play music for the children. Mercy mentions that her favorite music is country music, a musical taste shared by many of the children, though she also enjoys rhythm and blues and reggae. As I play her chords of country songs I know, she brings over a stack of her favorite cds and settles down in the chair next to mine.
Upstairs Dr. Steve begins seeing patients, working with immuno-compromised patients by recommending strategies for strengthening the immune system through nutrition and lifestyle patterns, occasionally prescribing supplements such as probiotics and multivitamins. He also checks the clarity of breath by listening to the children's lungs through his stethoscope. Many of the children avoid eye contact and are painfully shy, especially the younger patients, and they radiate a sense of humility and health.

Dr. Steve and Susan

For anyone unfamiliar with the practice of Naturopathic Medicine, it is a system of healing based on the fundamental idea that the human body, like nature, has the innate ability to heal itself. In line with this belief, the Naturopathic physician serves her/his patient as a teacher and facilitator of health, removing the obstacles to cure. These obstacles may include dietary, genetic, environmental, or mental/emotional/spiritual problems. Like medical doctors, naturopaths attend a rigorous four-year medical school, and are trained in the sciences, pharmacology, botanical medicine, and physical medicine among other subjects. Although Dr. Steve is trained in pharmacology and has the right to prescribe, he is here to work with the patients by strengthening their immune systems using simple methods. It is important to note, however, that with infectious diseases such as tuberculosis and HIV/AIDS, pharmaceutical drugs are one hundred percent necessary as well.

...

After taking the histories of twenty patients, Dr. Steve and I spend a leisurely afternoon reading, writing, and playing music, again heading off to bed early to catch up on lost sleep.

Dr. Steve and Sarah

Suzanne and Lucy

March 7th; early morning dialogue

I awoke early today to dogs howling outside and wind rattling the blinds. It is still very dark, and rolling over in my bunk bed I can see that my dad is awake as well, wearily massaging his temples and trying to sleep. Before falling back asleep we have a long discussion about the history of globalization and development, the focus of my undergraduate study of cultural geography at the University of Washington, though a topic I have never really spoken with my dad about.

We go through the politics of development issues, and the problems created by the free market ideology that has driven post-1970s globalization, discussing the long and impossibly sad history of human rights abuses that this kind of socio-economic system engenders. It is disheartening to see how this history of growing inequality and entrenched poverty has had a direct effect on the health and human rights of the children in Gilgil.

Clearly, many here are without access to basic human rights such as access to preferential health care, clean drinking water and food, adequate clothing and shelter, and the means to support themselves and their families. In Gilgil, the effects of this history are very real and tangible, unlike when I was studying these processes in the cavernous libraries of the University of Washington.

Reflecting on this history, Amartya Sen, Nobel Prize economist, writes:

We have to shift our attention from an exclusive concentration on incomes and commodities (often used used in economic analyses) to things that people have reason to value intrinsically. Incomes and commodities are valued mainly as "instruments"--as means to other ends. We desire them for what we can do with them; possessing commodities or income is not valuable in itself. Indeed, we seek income primarily for the help it might provide in leading a good life--a life we have reason to value.

Progress is more plausibly judged by the reduction of deprivation than by the further enrichment of the opulent. We cannot really have an adequate understanding of the future without some view about how well the lives of the poor can be expected to go. Is there, then, any hope for the poor?

In a similar vein, the initial statement from the leaders of the Zapatista Rebellion (a Chiapas-based indigenous revolution launched on the day the North American Free Trade Theory was signed) situates their struggle in terms of social and economic rights:

We have been denied the most elemental education so that others can use us as cannon fodder and pillage the wealth of our country. They don't care that we have nothing, absolutely nothing, not even a roof over our heads, no land, no work, no health care, no food, and no education. Nor are we able freely and democratically to elect our political representatives, nor is their independence from foreigners, nor is their peace or justice for ourselves and our children.

As market-driven approaches to development were advanced by Developed countries, international bodies (such as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund), and multinational corporations (MNCs) over the past forty years, we have seen some of the most fundamental human rights, including the right to life itself, stripped from some of the world's poorest individuals.

If these are issues you find interesting and/or intriguing in any way, I will include a reading list on the topic of international health, human rights, and globalization at the end of this online journal as well as a list of internet resources.

March 7th; the Grandmothers

The Earth is a Satellite of the Moon

by Leonel Raguma, Sandinista, 1949-70

   Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
   Apollo 1 cost plenty.

   Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
   Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
   Apollo 1 cost plenty.

   Apollo 4 cost more than Apollo 3
   Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
   Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
   Apollo 1 cost plenty.

Apollo 8 cost a fortune, but no one minded
because the astronauts were Protestant
they read the Bible from the moon
astounding and delighting every Christian
and on their return Pope Paul VI gave them his blessing.

Apollo 9 cost more than than all these put together
including Apollo I which cost plenty.

The great-grandparents of the people of Acahaulinca were less
   hungry than the grandparents.
The great-grandparents died of hunger.
The grandparents of the people of Acahaulinca were less
   hungry than the parents.
The grandparents died of hunger.
The parents of the people of Acahaulinca were less
   hungry than the children of the people there.
The parents died of hunger.
The people of Acahaulinca are less hungry than the children
   of the people there.
The children of the people of Acahaulinca, because of hunger,
   are not born
they hunger to be born, only to die of hunger.
Blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the moon.

...

Me, Grandmother Kikuye, and Dr. Steve

After a few more hours of sleep, Dr. Steve and I head into the kitchen to prepare a breakfast of eggs and rice. After breakfast we pack a bag for the day's outing: Suzanne is taking us to visit two grandmothers. Our driver takes us through Gilgil, across the highway and into one of the more dangerous housing projects of Kenya, where the grandmothers live in mud, twig, and wooden huts. The weather is dry and windy, and the air carries the scent of salt from nearby Lake Elementaita. Although the region is apparently an unsafe destination for a Muzungu tourist, the environment in no way feels threatening. Unlike the urban slums of Nairobi, each house rests on quarter acre lots that are clean and well-kept, and the homes have a natural, artful look to them; made by hand from earth, manure, and sticks.

Grandmother Kikuye

The fist home we visit is nestled in a forest of acacia trees, pepper trees, and thick cacti. Stepping out of the car, Suzanne introduces us to Grandmother Kikuyu, who greets us warmly and welcomes us inside her home. Grandmother Kikuye's living room is arranged with wooden furniture draped in vibrant cloth, and the floor is composed of packed soil. Grandmother Kikuyu begins to speak in Swahili, a beautiful and fluid language, and Susan translates her medical history to Dr. Steve. Grandmother Kikuyu is experiencing problems with her ribs and has suffered from malaria. She also has difficulty because clean water is so far away and, at 89 years, she can no longer make the long journey.

Although Grandmother Kikuyu is a farmer, the furrows in her small garden are barren due to the prolonged drought, and she supports herself by weaving blankets and winding baskets. As Grandmother Kikuyu speaks with Dr. Steve, a young boy wearing a bright smile and an over-large sweater comes running up and leaps onto Suzanne, holding her legs in a welcoming embrace. Suzanne introduces us to Moses, Grandmother Kikuyu's grandson, a very bright child who is struggling with hyperactivity. Moses also suffered a bout of malaria and pneumonia recently. Dr. Steve requests that Moses refrain from sweets, and checks his lungs and heart, finding him in good health despite his hyperactivity.

Dr. Steve and Moses

Once Moses heads back to school, we say goodbye to Grandmother Kikuyu and drive to the home of Grandmother Milkewanbui. Grandmother Milkewanbui is 75 years old and lives in a simple house made with wooden slats and a cement floor. Photographs of family, artwork, and a large portrayal of Jesus Christ hang from the wall in her living room, and the ceiling is stapled with cloth to keep out the rain. Bald-headed chickens anxiously rut for tubers outside, occasionally venturing inside to bob around our feet.

Grandmother Milkewanbui has a strong constitution and is in good health. Dr. Steve takes her medical history and goes through the physical exam while Grandmother Milkewanbui and Susan catch up on things. After saying our goodbyes, Suzanne tells Dr. Steve and I that Grandmother Milkewanbui has raised 15 children. 8 of these children have died of AIDS, and her husband has passed as well. Because many of her children have passed on, or are otherwise incapable of raising a child, Grandmother Milkewanbui has also raised 21 of her grandchildren only to see many of them die from AIDS or other infectious diseases.


On our way to the car, we pass Grandmother Milkewanbui's small graveyard, where, over the years, she has buried the majority of her family.

...

"Rats and roaches live by competition under the law of supply and demand; it is the privilege of human beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy."

~ Wendell Berry

March 8th; Our last day at Wana Duma House

...

Today is our last day at Wana Duma house, and Dr. Steve is scheduled to see a large number of patients. Downstairs, I play folk songs for the children while they draw crayon pictures of flowers, houses, families, and animals. If I leave my guitar lying around unattended one of the children takes the instrument into their hands and begins to strum away. There are a group of young girls who whisper in hushed voices, occasionally stealing a glance my way.

Upstairs, Dr. Steve treats patients suffering from HIV/AIDS, asthma, and diarrhea (for which he prescribes green bananas), and goes through each patient's medical history and conducts physical exams. After seeing fifteen patients today, around five last evening, twenty the day before, and a few more in between, Dr. Steve has compiled files for over 30 children and young adults during the course of our stay. The pharmacy will provide the necessary medicines Dr. Steve has prescribed.

In our room, we collect our belongings together and organize our suitcase. Tomorrow, Suzanne is taking us to stay at Sunbird Ecolodge above Lake Nakuru, where we will spend the rest of our stay in Kenya. We say our goodbyes to Mercy, who is leaving to stay with her Grandmother. Doula left the day before to begin a new term of school, and the house has an empty feel as we pack our luggage. For dinner, Susan purchased Talapia from the market, which she fries in butter with herbs and serves with steamed vegetables. After dinner, we read in the common room before heading off to bed.

March 9-13th, Lake Nakuru Park

Sunbird Ecolodge was a beautiful place to spend the last few days of our trip, situated on the edge of a canyon overlooking Lake Nakuru below, where Greater and Lesser Flamingos flock to fish for crustaceans in the brackish water. Brightly colored birds (Grenadiers and swallows) eat seed from feeders outside of our room.

Lake Nakuru

On our second day at the lodge, Milcah Cheru, a wildlife guide and botanist who works at Sunbird takes Dr. Steve and I down to the lake, where we see flamingos, spoonbills, the Sacred Ibis, and other shorebirds. Milcah tells us to be wary of the Sacred Ibis. In Kenya, parents tell their children that if they go and speak to a Sacred Ibis, the bird will follow them home and eat off their ears. Milcah's botanical knowledge is extensive, and Dr. Steve and I learn a great deal about the local species of trees and shrubs. There is the Fever Tree, which is a den for mosquitoes carrying the yellow fever, a wild mint shrub, as well as an abundance of Aloe vera.

...

On our third day at Sunbird Dr. Steve and I head to Nakuru national park for a half day drive through the wilderness. April, a cheerful American also staying at the lodge -- on leave from her USAID job -- joins our adventure. To get to the park we pass through the city of Naivasha, a quick-paced, built-up town about ten kilometers west of Sunbird Lodge.

At the park entrance, baboons (some with young babies swinging from their backs) walk aimlessly among the human visitors. After paying the fee we pass through the park gates and head to the lake, where thick flocks of storks and cranes gather in numbers. Eagles roost in the Acacia trees above the truck, and gazelles stroll warily amid tall blond grasses. It is here that we come into contact with the most dangerous animal in all of Africa, and probably the world: the infamously irritated water buffalo.

Herds of them in fact. An adult male water buffalo has a helmet of horns nearly a foot thick that wind out into menacing points; framing a massive face that silently says, "You don't want to f*** with this." But, the lethargic buffaloes take little interest in our passing truck as they lazily chew cod and grass; occasionally shaking an army of flies from their hide. As we continue our drive, we pass herds of Zebra and a solitary Giraffe before winding our way up to a high plateau, where we are rewarded with an expansive view of the valley below.

Careening over the ruts in the road on the far side of Lake Nakuru, our driver slows the engine as we approach a family of white rhinoceros: three adults and a baby, passed out cold in the heat of the day. They are unreal creatures, and, like so many of Africa's animals, appear to have sprung to life from the pages of a Dr. Seuss book. Herds of Giraffe run wild between the shaded trees, their long necks whipping to the beat of massive hooves. As we leave the forest and re-enter the plains, our driver slows a second time, creeping up behind a group of trucks huddled at the base of a large acacia tree. Lying in the shade of the great tree not five feet from the side of the road there is a pride of lions: two young males and a mature female.

The lions, thankfully, seem wholly uninterested in the tourists, who themselves seem wholly oblivious to the fact that they are within easy striking distance of one of the world’s most dangerous and powerful predators. One English couple has their six year old daughter climb out on the roof of their truck to get a better view of the lions, while a courageous group of American teenagers snap photos from the hood of their van--with lunch-sized legs dangling over the windshield. In our truck, meanwhile, April silently slides the window shut as I remember to breathe. Horrific visions from “The Ghost in the Darkness” of full grown men being dragged screaming from tents come to mind.

The lions are the exact shade of the surrounding grasses, and we are fortunate to see them so close. After a few minutes of constant attention from the tourists, the older female raises herself up on legs the size of my waist and ambles into the bush; vanishing after walking twenty or thirty feet.

Past the acacia tree, we drive into a landscape blackened by a ten-thousand acre wildfire that occurred the week before. Smoke-colored bones stand out against the black earth, and the landscape feels alien, almost lunar. The last animals we see before leaving the park are a family of beautiful
Columbus monkeys, with long, regal tails and luxurious 
black and white coats.

March 14-16th; Nairobi, Amsterdam, home

Suzanne meets us at Sunbird Lodge on the 14th of March and together we make our way back to Nairobi. It is a hot, brooding day. Dust devil’s whip across the plains and clouds hang limply in the dry air. We spend our last night in Kenya at the Cheetah Research Institute, this time joined by a group of researchers from the U.S. In the middle of the night the rains finally come, and they are as loud as thunder. Our flight to Amsterdam is not until tomorrow evening, and we spend the day touring Karen Blixen's coffee farm, visiting the elephant orphanage, and picking up some gifts for family and friends at the Masai Market in town. Returning to the Cheetah Research Institute, we grab our luggage, say farewell to Suzanne, and head to the airport with David.

Karen Blixen's Coffee Farm

Elephant Orphanage

...

Our flight to Amsterdam is long and restless, and already I am missing the natural and cultural beauty of Kenya. We arrive to Amsterdam early in the morning of March 15th and take the train to our hotel, where we refresh ourselves with a shower and a rest before heading into the city. 

On our way to the Van Gogh Museum, we stroll through the open air flower market, where rows of vendors sell cut tulips and roses to passing tourists. As we walk past the endless plastic buckets full to the brim with pristine flowers, I think about the rows of greenhouses along Lake Nakuru where all these tulips and roses were likely grown. I imagine the animals: gazelles, shorebirds, zebras, baboons, and buffalo drinking from the lake water that is fouled with pesticides from the flower farms. I think about the countless refugees living in road side slums outside of Gilgil -- the same refugees who threw stones at passing cars on our way to the airport -- outraged and confused as to why they must leave their homes so tulips can be grown in the desert. I remember the police standing in silence beside the protesting refugees with automatic weapons slung from their shoulders.

It is also easy to imagine the endless trucks that transported the endless flowers to the endless ships that sailed them around the Atlantic; docking in Dutch, European, and American ports, where they were unloaded in crates and delivered to more trucks. Then there are the hands of the flower vendor trimming the long green stems beside the early morning canal, and, finally, the young man bicycling to work who stops to purchase a bouquet of red tulips wrapped in wet newspaper as a gift for his girlfriend. Thinking of all this, it seems that the whole world is in a single tulip.

Diego Rivera
...

After visiting the Van Gogh museum and going out for dinner, Dr. Steve and I return to our room overlooking the canal to read and rest before our long flight over the Arctic Circle and back to our home in the Pacific Northwest.