The only possible way to accurately capture today’s journey to Maasai Lodge and Kitengela Glass artist village is to tell it as if I am writing a fairytale. So pardon the exaggerated language and length, but the adventure is only told one way:
Once Upon A Time,
I woke up to the sound of birds singing outside my window. It is difficult to sleep in anymore since my body has adjusted to waking up at 6 a.m. On weekends, it feels luxurious to roll out of bed at 7:30 a.m., which is usually the time I am beginning my Swahili course. This morning, I had an hour and a half to shower, make coffee, get dressed, and watch East African music videos before hopping into the van at 9.
“Habari asubuhi?” [How are you this morning?] I smiled while loading myself on.
“Njema sana, na weweje?” [Good, and you?] Victor replied.
“Nzuri, I am so excited!” [Good, I am so excited!] I’m still in the Swenglish phase.
The whole crew went on the excursion today, including Victor (our main man for security), Francis (the Lady of Student Affairs), and Evans (the best van driver this side of the Blue Nile). We were joined by a surprise guest, Louis, Evan’s son. I’m not sure what was going on with our estrogen levels but we were gushing over this kid the entire day. He is the cutest of nuggets and a super trooper. You will see pictures of him throughout this post.
The drive out of the city lasted a little over an hour and was complete with singing from the hooligans in the back of the bus (guess who). Our repertoire includes “Seasons of Love”, “Take Me or Leave Me”, “Good Morning Baltimore”, “Be a Man”, “Wagon Wheel”, “We Will Rock You”, and more (available for birthday parties and bar mitzahs in the Nairobi area). Eventually, Victor was bothered by our gaggling and turned up the radio to overpower us. It’s whatever. He’s just jealous of our Broadway-quality show.
We arrived at Maasai Lodge only to quickly depart for a “nature walk”. It was definitely a hike. About ten minutes in we were hugging a rock wall to attempt to not fall into the river since the path shifted from a foot wide to a few inches. Wyatt fell in. He was also the first and didn’t realize the support ropes were a trick. They were far too slack and the rocks were slippery.
Once Upon A Time,
I woke up to the sound of birds singing outside my window. It is difficult to sleep in anymore since my body has adjusted to waking up at 6 a.m. On weekends, it feels luxurious to roll out of bed at 7:30 a.m., which is usually the time I am beginning my Swahili course. This morning, I had an hour and a half to shower, make coffee, get dressed, and watch East African music videos before hopping into the van at 9.
“Habari asubuhi?” [How are you this morning?] I smiled while loading myself on.
“Njema sana, na weweje?” [Good, and you?] Victor replied.
“Nzuri, I am so excited!” [Good, I am so excited!] I’m still in the Swenglish phase.
The whole crew went on the excursion today, including Victor (our main man for security), Francis (the Lady of Student Affairs), and Evans (the best van driver this side of the Blue Nile). We were joined by a surprise guest, Louis, Evan’s son. I’m not sure what was going on with our estrogen levels but we were gushing over this kid the entire day. He is the cutest of nuggets and a super trooper. You will see pictures of him throughout this post.
The drive out of the city lasted a little over an hour and was complete with singing from the hooligans in the back of the bus (guess who). Our repertoire includes “Seasons of Love”, “Take Me or Leave Me”, “Good Morning Baltimore”, “Be a Man”, “Wagon Wheel”, “We Will Rock You”, and more (available for birthday parties and bar mitzahs in the Nairobi area). Eventually, Victor was bothered by our gaggling and turned up the radio to overpower us. It’s whatever. He’s just jealous of our Broadway-quality show.
We arrived at Maasai Lodge only to quickly depart for a “nature walk”. It was definitely a hike. About ten minutes in we were hugging a rock wall to attempt to not fall into the river since the path shifted from a foot wide to a few inches. Wyatt fell in. He was also the first and didn’t realize the support ropes were a trick. They were far too slack and the rocks were slippery.
After conquering the first hurdle, we carried on the path over rocks and under bush and through the river until we were rapidly ascending over the gorge. Once the bush spaced out, we were in “Africa”. The flat topped trees in the Lion King were scattered about the terrain and animals grazed beneath them. We passed zebras, gazelles, impalas, and my favorite— baboons (sarcasm). The sun beat down on our previously unexposed skin, requiring us to continually coat ourselves in sunscreen.
I never apply enough. Despite growing up at the beach, my skin is usually the shade of paper. I’ve gotten teased for it forever. People thoroughly enjoy holding their arms next to mine to see who is tanner and I’m like, “K I’m glad my skin tone makes you feel better about yourself for some bizarro beauty standards nonsense but imma go put on some sunscreen now.” My shoulders still got a tad burnt. Whatever whatever. The parentals gave me other great genetics apart from easily-susceptible-to-UV-rays skin.
I never apply enough. Despite growing up at the beach, my skin is usually the shade of paper. I’ve gotten teased for it forever. People thoroughly enjoy holding their arms next to mine to see who is tanner and I’m like, “K I’m glad my skin tone makes you feel better about yourself for some bizarro beauty standards nonsense but imma go put on some sunscreen now.” My shoulders still got a tad burnt. Whatever whatever. The parentals gave me other great genetics apart from easily-susceptible-to-UV-rays skin.
Something I either inherited or was acculturated to notice and appreciate is contrast. At a high point on the trail, you could look over the miles of land to see the city buildings of Nairobi in the distance. It is surreal, almost like an oxymoron— Shiny, cosmopolitan skyscrapers peering out of the horizon miles beyond the park. If you didn’t know any better, had lived in isolation since birth, you may think they were misplaced flora. Like someone must have dropped those strange seeds in the wrong place and not meant to sprout gray blocks. They obviously do nothing for the natural environment except maybe create shade for some overheated homo sapiens. I don’t know. Sometimes I get tripped up thinking about who in their right mind thought it was okay to start designing buildings that are completely isolated from the terrain. It didn’t used to be like that. Solar and geothermal heating is as old as life itself. If I had the slightest skills in geometry I would’ve studied sustainable, harmonious architecture.
Anyways, I didn’t take a picture of the view. You can find them online if you’re curious to know what it looks like. But I was too perplexed by the sight to think I could possibly capture what I was experiencing just then.
It was difficult throughout the day to take pictures. On one hand, I appreciate the natural world so much that I don’t want to ever be seeing it through a lens or be focused on freezing it in time so I can show all my friends online like “Look at this beautiful place I went to.” I want to be in the moment, hold onto the views in my memories and grasp them as all mine. At the same time, I love photography and what better way to learn than to try to capture the world in moments where it seems its beauty could not possibly be frozen onto an SD card. I’m not going to lie, I really struggled with framing photographs today. I’m not particularly proud of the ones I got in contrast to the incredible images my memory was soaking in. There are only two pictures that absolutely repeat the depth and scope of Kitengela’s beauty. I hope they channel a sort of emotion in you that seeing the sights did for me.
It was a gorgeous first hour along the trail, full of stopping to attempt to grasp the natural wonders of the area. One of my friends asked me how the landscape differed from previous places I’d been in Africa. It looked like the dusty, dry parts of Zambia and northern South Africa to me, but nothing like the southern coast. But the hills and mountains of this walk were unlike anything I’d seen, apart from maybe out West in the States.
Then all of a sudden, structures began to come into view on a nearby hilltop. I thought my eyes were lying to me— maybe I had seen buildings like these before in my childhood dreams or in fantasy cartoons. They were nothing short of the product of someone’s imagination. But they were real. The first reminded me of a large walnut or possibly a beehive suited for a colony of human-sized bugs. The second was bright red, greatly contrasting the neutral shrubbery surrounding it. Its roof was twisted as if it had been originally constructed by a giant out of play dough. The third structure was some sort of rounded treehouse with glass walls. It was modern, apart from its thatched roof and questionable tree base. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more excited to explore something in my life.
Anyways, I didn’t take a picture of the view. You can find them online if you’re curious to know what it looks like. But I was too perplexed by the sight to think I could possibly capture what I was experiencing just then.
It was difficult throughout the day to take pictures. On one hand, I appreciate the natural world so much that I don’t want to ever be seeing it through a lens or be focused on freezing it in time so I can show all my friends online like “Look at this beautiful place I went to.” I want to be in the moment, hold onto the views in my memories and grasp them as all mine. At the same time, I love photography and what better way to learn than to try to capture the world in moments where it seems its beauty could not possibly be frozen onto an SD card. I’m not going to lie, I really struggled with framing photographs today. I’m not particularly proud of the ones I got in contrast to the incredible images my memory was soaking in. There are only two pictures that absolutely repeat the depth and scope of Kitengela’s beauty. I hope they channel a sort of emotion in you that seeing the sights did for me.
It was a gorgeous first hour along the trail, full of stopping to attempt to grasp the natural wonders of the area. One of my friends asked me how the landscape differed from previous places I’d been in Africa. It looked like the dusty, dry parts of Zambia and northern South Africa to me, but nothing like the southern coast. But the hills and mountains of this walk were unlike anything I’d seen, apart from maybe out West in the States.
Then all of a sudden, structures began to come into view on a nearby hilltop. I thought my eyes were lying to me— maybe I had seen buildings like these before in my childhood dreams or in fantasy cartoons. They were nothing short of the product of someone’s imagination. But they were real. The first reminded me of a large walnut or possibly a beehive suited for a colony of human-sized bugs. The second was bright red, greatly contrasting the neutral shrubbery surrounding it. Its roof was twisted as if it had been originally constructed by a giant out of play dough. The third structure was some sort of rounded treehouse with glass walls. It was modern, apart from its thatched roof and questionable tree base. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more excited to explore something in my life.
Despite all this fascination, we were once again dumbfounded and in a collective jaw drop when we descended back into the gorge and came face to face with the only way in and out of Kitengela: the suspension bridge.
Created out of wire, glass, and who knows what other recycled materials, the bridge stretches from one cliff to the other, seemingly hundreds of feet above the gorge (I really have no spacial gauge). It is less than a foot in width and in length, it feels like a football field. We were instructed to go in groups of five and to stay close together as to not mess up the distribution of weight. I let my group know that I would like to go first so I could turn around and take pictures of them. Even for me, a total thrill seeker and often reckless outdoor adventurer (It is very difficult for me to not scale undesignated rock walls that have perfectly natural handgrips), that first step onto the bridge gave me vertigo.
Created out of wire, glass, and who knows what other recycled materials, the bridge stretches from one cliff to the other, seemingly hundreds of feet above the gorge (I really have no spacial gauge). It is less than a foot in width and in length, it feels like a football field. We were instructed to go in groups of five and to stay close together as to not mess up the distribution of weight. I let my group know that I would like to go first so I could turn around and take pictures of them. Even for me, a total thrill seeker and often reckless outdoor adventurer (It is very difficult for me to not scale undesignated rock walls that have perfectly natural handgrips), that first step onto the bridge gave me vertigo.
With no one in front of me, I began to take baby steps as the bridge tilted from side to side with every movement. I had no idea where to look. In front of me? At the river? Maybe my hands? I was too intrigued by how high we were to not look down. I watched us cross through our itty bitty shadows dancing across the water below. I’m still grappling with whether today was on Earth or not or if I was finally transported to Never Neverland without my knowing.
Once on steady land again, I scurried up a path that was paved with clay and bits of glass. I assumed I was going the right way, but everywhere seemed the wrong way in this bizarre, unfamiliar place. My long legs had taken me too far ahead so I arrived in the village on my own, to be greeted by a clay man with a mosaic glass pocket protector. He smiled at me, I smiled back, and headed in the direction his hand instructed. I maybe should have said “Asante” [Thank you] but after all he was only clay. | |
My eyes widened as I followed the path between outdoor workshops and pieces of partly finished art. It was all so whimsical and wondrous that I forgot I was supposed to be finding the rest of my group. After a few minutes of peeking about in childlike curiousity, I followed the sounds of their voices to a place labeled “Coffee Shop.” Of course they were in the coffee shop.
But this was no Starbucks. In fact, this was the treehouse with the glass walls and I had to travel up a makeshift bridge to its entrance. The rest of my program was inside awing the metal, glass, clay, and painted works scattered about the space. I found utopia when I wandered to the back of the cafe to the outdoor porch. I’m not a good enough writer to encompass what it felt like to sit on a swing overlooking the Kenyan wilderness. Words left me. They leave me now. This is why I am more akin to visual art. Please enjoy the photos.
But this was no Starbucks. In fact, this was the treehouse with the glass walls and I had to travel up a makeshift bridge to its entrance. The rest of my program was inside awing the metal, glass, clay, and painted works scattered about the space. I found utopia when I wandered to the back of the cafe to the outdoor porch. I’m not a good enough writer to encompass what it felt like to sit on a swing overlooking the Kenyan wilderness. Words left me. They leave me now. This is why I am more akin to visual art. Please enjoy the photos.
The following hour was visual overstimulation. Every door, window, gate, sculpture, and piece of furniture was astounding. The stairs were colorfully tiled, the benches were modeled after female bodies, the fountains were metal dragons, and the buildings had clay serpents extending from their roofs. I’m telling you my pictures are telling me this all was real but I am not convinced. I also am sitting here in my apartment next to several pieces I purchased from the artists, so I guess it happened.
Our adventure concluded with the hike back, lunch at the Masai Lodge, and a swim in the pool. I’m so tired now that I’m having trouble writing a mellifluous conclusion. I feel like I hate to just drop off on this ending but I’ve told enough of my tale.
And they all lived happily ever after. Except for the part where they never have Wifi. More pictures to come...
And they all lived happily ever after. Except for the part where they never have Wifi. More pictures to come...