Africa Day Four
Part Two
(Monday 12/13/99)
Part two is
actually quite short. I just wanted to
make it a separate page because I’m going to try and include a map and some
pictures at some point and I didn’t want the whole page to take forever to
load.
After we left the
two boys behind we got a taxi and went to a place called Hippo point. You can probably guess why Hippo has its
name, and to answer your question, no we didn’t see any. First things first though, the taxi ride.
Taxis are an interesting experience here. As I’ve already said, driving is an experience unto itself, but
taxis are another story. In the States,
when you say taxi it means something very specific, often something
yellow. There are characteristics that
we think of that define what a taxi is.
Since the kids from the suburbs may never have set foot in a taxi,
here’s a brief description. A cab
should have a little light on top of the car that tells you whether or not the
cab is available, a fare meter, a little crown or Christmas tree shaped air
freshener, a massage bead chair cover for the driver, and maybe a glass
dividing the driver and passenger. You
get in, you tell them where you want to go and sit and watch the fare grow and
grow with each second. I guess there
are some more stereotypes of taxi cab drivers, but we can leave those things
aside and concentrate on the essentials of a cab.
In Kenya they hang out on the street with little homemade taxi signs on
the roof of their car, waiting for a fare.
You don’t just hop in to a cab announce your destination and go. You have to negotiate a price for your
destination. Just agreeing on where
your destination is, and whether or not they can find the place is sometimes a
challenge unto itself. In the
negotiation of the price you can really do that theatrical negotiation tactic
of walking off if they don’t budge on a high price, because there are a dozen
taxis in either direction. You settle
on a price and them clamber into the car.
I use the term car a bit loosely here.
I used to call dented up, barely running cars “beaters.” Some of you who know Zac, know of his
penchant for beaters. I can name them
all…Sherman, P.F. Lloyd, Green Thunder, and The Maroon One (actually, I don’t
know if this current car has ever been properly christened.) Fine cars one and all, and certainly not a
one of them to be ashamed of, but beaters.
The cars used as taxis here are so many levels below beater as to make
the scale nonsensical. With each bump,
no matter the size, you can feel the whole suspension system flatten out and
creak. The tires are bald, the brakes
are worn down to the “squeaky” part, there is no power steering or brakes, the
upholstery is worn, sometimes with springs sticking out, seatbelts have gone
missing, and the engines! I couldn’t
tell you what is wrong with the engines (you know I don’t know anything about
cars really,) but something clearly is.
They do run, obviously, but they wheeze, cough and splutter through each
kilometer. These are cars in constant
need of duct tape and baling wire.
So you clamber in to one of these cars and bump and grind your way to
your destination. That is, you start
driving there. Sometimes you have to
stop first for petrol or an errand or something. I’m hoping I can find a map of the neighborhood roads of
Kisumu. They twist, turn and wind
around each other, changing from tarmac (pavement) to dirt and back again. And the speed bumps are everywhere, the
result being that they drive as quickly as possible up to the bump, slow down
to go over it (with a groan from the shocks) and then floor it away from the
bump. This assumes that they actually
go over it, often they will just drive off of the around to go around it. The evidence from the roads without bumps is
that their absence allows them to drive dangerously fast. The part of town that we are staying in is
particularly labyrinthine and well paved (remember we staying in the nicest
part of town.) It is also one of the
parts of town that has a large percentage of named streets, not that you’d know
from the lack of street signs. So
navigating can be a co-operative effort between you and the driver. An effort that is made doubly difficult if
neither of you really knows where you are going.
These things were almost all true of the taxi ride that we took on this
day (still the Monday mentioned above despite the passage of time on the
page. I’m trying to keep it brief I
swear!) We negotiated a price of two hundred
shillings for the ride out to Hippo Point.
We got in to the car and started off.
The car was in relatively good shape, but definitely sub-beater.
We drove away from town along the same road that the guesthouse is on
(by the way, not a maisonette, we discovered today, oops.) A little way past the guesthouse is the edge
of Millimani. We could tell the moment
we left because the road turned from gorgeous tarmac to what can only be
described as the surface of the moon.
It was no longer a question of avoiding potholes, it was now a search
for a portion of the road where the wheels on one side were not more than a
foot or more higher or lower than the other.
I know that we’ve all been on dirt roads before, and I don’t want to
exaggerate, too much, how bad this road was, but Wow! I think that the biggest differences between dirt roads in the
States and these are that they don’t appear to be graded with any frequency,
despite being less than five minutes from the middle of town, and there is no
gravel on the road, but there are large rocks, both on the road and in the
road, if you catch my meaning. They are
also used by a lot of people.
I will say this again and again and again, I’m sure. Every time I think that I have had a “real
African experience” or that I have a handle on the place something happens that
points out that I haven’t really figured anything out. It is sort of like driving up a mountain
range; every time you think you’ve reached the top, you find that there is an
even higher mountain behind that, and another behind that. And every time you near the top you think,
“this is it, I have finally arrived!”
After walking through the town and the market, I thought I had it. But then when the boys followed us around
town, I knew that the market wasn’t it, ah…but this, this is really it. Well, not an hour after the boys, I saw
another mountaintop in the distance.
After we crossed the boundary of Millimani, we passed a little distance
through some fields, passed the Kisumu Yacht Club, and then into a little
village called Dunga. Again, I wish
that I had pictures that I could show you.
Maybe someday I’ll work up the courage to take some out here, and I’ll
add them later. Dunga is basically a
village in the real sense of the world.
People live in close quarters in little huts, some of which are actually
grass, and in shacks with tin roofs.
There were little businesses, road-side food stands, markets, hair
salons (with a choice of four different kinds of hair cuts as pictured on hand-painted
boards), workshops, and tiny, tiny “hotels”.
We drove through this village towards Hippo point and a restaurant
called Dunga Refreshments. It turns out
that Dunga Refreshments is not on Hippo point but rather a little bit past it
on another point. We continued through
the village and up to the restaurant. Despite
being recommended in every single guidebook on Kenya and Kisumu, the place had
closed down. Our cab driver convinced
the guard to let us through the gate and on to the point. He talked to a couple of guys hanging around
the area and they said that the place had closed down earlier in the year, but
if we wanted something to eat they would go get it. We gave them some money for some Cokes, made arrangements for the
cab driver to pick us up and went out into the park.
Here’s another part where I wish I had pictures. In one direction we could see Hippo Point
and beyond it Kisumu. Straight ahead
were the mountains. To the left we
could see the beginnings of Lake Victoria proper. Along the immediate shore were huge old wrecked wooden fishing boats
nestled in huge masses of reeds, the kind that rest on the surface of the water
and bob with each wave (I’ll get the name at some point.) Along the shore to the left were a row of
boys and men standing in the water fishing with long poles, casting into the
oncoming swells.
As we watched, the sun set into a small fluffy patch of clouds with a
golden pink fuzzy explosion. The sun
sets really fast here. Kim says we have
a very short corpuscular period. If you
think about it makes sense, because the Earth is rotating faster here than it
does in Michigan. If you look at a
globe you can see that Kisumu is at 0.05 degrees South. We are at the largest circumference of the Earth. If you look at Michigan you can see that it
is much higher up on the globe and the circumference parallel to the equator (that
is the circle of latitude) is much smaller.
So during the same period of time, 24 hours, we both have to go around
only once. Since we’re going farther
during the same time period then it follows that we must be going faster. The practical result of this is that the Sun
drops like a rock and rises like a rocket. It makes for beautiful, but brief, sunsets.
With that we went back to the guesthouse and went to bed. Again, pictures and maps are forthcoming….