Following camels into the Chabli Desert

Back on the road, pointed in the direct of the Marsabit Forest Reserve. Kenya has some incredibly strange geography, so immediately after leaving the rocky terrain of the Samburu game reserve, we drove through dusty fields of nothingness on a road that left much to be desired. A short stop in a small town introduced us all to the corrugated tin, hole-in-the-ground, roll up the pant legs ‘cuz there’s pee and poop on the floor kind of travelers bathroom. Mom emerged feeling rather proud of herself, I’m sure, especially when Monique announced that she’d just wait because she’d rather pee behind a tree.

The kids crowded around the car, asking and answering their one phrase of English (“How are you? Fine.”) and asking for sweets. When I answered one in Swahili, they were delighted and it led to a lot of hand shaking, which Mom found rather disgusting, as the kids were decidedly dirty.

When we stopped for lunch, we had our first pangs of tourist guilt. We’d watched dozens of people scrounge for water and knew that the drought meant they were hurting for food. Here we were, pulling off the road and watching as our cook, Quell, threw together a nice salad and some cold-cut sandwiches and some slices of fresh pineapple for dessert. There was even some juice concentrate to add to our water. While Quell was pulling the meal together, a man older than Moses appeared out of nowhere, his face so wrinkly his features nearly disappeared. His toes were curled almost on top of one another and he was so dusty it seemed he may have just taken a small break from wandering the desert for the past 40 years. He eyed the food. A handful of dirty kids peeked out at us from a hut next to the Kenya Wildlife Service office, moving closer and closer. We all ate lightly, thinking that our leftovers would find very appreciative and rather empty bellies.

After passing hundreds of women searching for water, traversing dried up river banks and line-ups at the boreholes, we climbed up into Marsabit and immediately noticed that the ground had gone from parched yellow to fertile red. I guess Marsabit is a highland and holds onto its water, for some reason, so the whole place seemed lush and green, dense with forests and dotted with crater lakes. We were all a bit stunned by Marsabit town, with its hustle and bustle. It looked like Tamale, with lots of men wearing Muslim camps and people riding bicycles and signs pointing to NGO offices.

We pulled into a campsite and tried our hands at setting up tents. I had to snap a few pictures of Mom, as I can’t remember her ever setting up a tent, although she must have helped when we went to the Pinery as children. The bathrooms had no water (they had no toilets, either, but lots of spiders, a few cockroaches and a handful of bats.) We were soon back in the truck, headed for the crater lakes. Daniel told us that they really only use one entrance to the park, as it’s so neglected that it’s often impassable because of fallen trees. It wasn’t more than 20 minutes before we came upon just that, a huge tree collapsed across our path. Daniel devised a Plan B that proved his prowess as a driver, skirting the tree and the bush with just millimeters to spare. We drove up to the crater look out (helpfully reminded not to fall over the edge by a sign saying “Don’t Go Beyond This Point) and watched a few elephants and buffalos. We drove further and came across another lake, this one ringed by Masai or Samburu and their cattle. There were a few men bathing in the water and mud.

We watched the elephants fight and Daniel told us about how they mourn their dead, about how they communicate with the rumbling of their bellies.

By the time we left the park, the Kenya Wildlife Service workers had gathered by the fallen tree. It was nearly dusk and there were six of them, one with a chainsaw, two with assault rifles. Daniel pulled another neat driving trick and we were soon on our way. The KWS guys followed closely. I guess there’s no job worth doing today that could be put off until tomorrow. Besides, all the tourists had made it safely around the tree, so what’s the rush?!

We had another delightful dinner and Daniel and Quell told us about some of their other clients and how few people make the journey north, then we stared up at the sky for a while and poked some more fun at Mom, who had nearly killed us with laughter when she answered Monique’s question of “What is that?” in her kindergarten teacher voice that a sucker (S-U-C-K-E-R) was a candy on a stick. “I mean what flavour is it,” Monique said. Mom had been spelling things for Monique for a few days (V-U-L-T-U-R-E) and from then on, it became a bit of a joke to spell out the obvious.

Daniel told us the KWS guys had warned him that the waterbuffalo were on the move and that we should be careful if we got up to go to the bathroom, as waterbuffalo won’t hesitate to charge someone and their curved horns make short work of a tourist with a full bladder. Monique vowed to hold it, probably until we got back to Nairobi. The girl should have brought a catheter, or maybe some Depends.

That night we awoke to the sound of animals screaming again, and the response of “Pop! Pop! Pop!” of a gun. Turns out the elephants were approaching town and the KWS guys were trying to scare them away with air guns. (Or what we hope were air guns.) The screaming was the baboons, who like to voice their opinions loudly and often. Daniel told us that each night, the baboons hold court. They count up the perceived transgression of their women and children and dole out beatings in the hours just after sunset, which accounts for all the screaming and howling. They’re vicious, apparently. In the morning, we watched them use our bathroom as a jungle gym, flitting across the metal roof and swinging from the wood rafters. Imagine being in there when that started!

Back in the car, dirty and unshowered since there was no water, and on the road north. We stopped to fill up one of the gas tanks and watched as the gas attendants swayed the car to fit in every last drop. Within minutes of leaving the limits of Marsabit, the terrain turned dusty again and soon we were seeing camels on the horizon. The road became tire tracks through acres and acres of dark lava rock. There was virtually no other traffic. We came across two boys herding camels and Quell reminded us that a lot of people up here don’t like having their pictures taken, after one of the boys picked up a rock and made to throw it at our truck. We stopped at the signal of two camel herders, who walked up to the truck looking very fierce and intimidating, but in search of some water for their empty bottles. Their dozen camels trotted past, canteens of their own milk tied around their necks. The farmers turned down our request to take photographs of their camels, but we did it anyway once we’d driven far enough away from the herders.

On and on we drove, further and further into the mounds of lava rock, the bleak landscape holding a few spindly trees and thorny bushes. The occasional sheep or camel herders let up a yell when we passed, but otherwise we heard nothing but the sound of the tires crunching over the rock.



Then the rock gave way to crusty sand as we entered the Chalbi desert. There was an oasis coming up and we started to see more and more camels. At one point, we could see a shimmering water source and literally hundreds if not thousands of camels all gathered, their stinky musk wafting over to the truck. We drove on, past a few raggedy round huts made of palm fronds and past elaborately dressed women and dirty children, all out with their jerry cans looking for water.

The heat shimmered up from the desert and we slipped and slid on the tracks through the reds, blacks and whites of the salty ground. This was normally under water, Daniel told us, so they usually took an alternate route that added hours to the journey and set one’s teeth on edge. For us, I suppose, the drought had its upsides.

Eventually we pulled into Kalacha, a desert town where the African Inland Mission ran a forest reforestation project and drew water up from the underground reserves using a windmill. There was so much water, they actually had a swimming pool. The problem, one of the missionaries explained, is that the water is so low in the ground, it doesn’t support any grass for grazing. And in the hills where there is grazing ground, there’s no water to drink. So now without the rains, there’s nothing to graze and the animals are dying. The first food aid shipment arrived two days before we did – maize and oil, neither a part of the Gabbra or Boron’s traditional diet of meat and milk – and they had to pay for the transport.

We made good use of the water source, having showers, rinsing out some laundry, swanning about in the pool. The sun was relentless and Mom turned that telltale shade of pink while trying to put up the tent. There was just no relief for her, as she doesn’t swim. When we got back from the pool, Daniel and one of the missionaries were under the truck and its back wheel was off. Apparently one of the rocks we’d driven over had bent the U-something that does something important. But they were able to fix it. (What safari would be complete without at least one break down!?)

We had a quiet evening, capped by a dessert of banana custard, and climbed into our stifling tents, which had turned into convection ovens during the day. The flies had been biting, but by the time we turned in, a brilliant breeze was blowing and the four of us slept half out of our tents to take advantage. Luckily, there were no animals prowling about. In fact, across the road there were maybe 10 goats, bloated up in the heat of the day, dead from dehydration and hunger.