I kissed a giraffe and liked it

Happy New Year!

       The rest of my time in the Amsterdam airport was pretty uneventful. Unlike in the US, there is a security checkpoint by every gate instead of a central one at the airport entrance. This led to an awkward moment when I realized what exactly I was standing in line for and had to push my way back through the crowd to go empty my water bottle. As I sat at the gate I was starting to feel foolish in my ankle-length peasant skirt—the people around me were not dressed as I imagined travelers to a third-world country would dress. I’m not really sure what I had in mind, but skinny jeans, ballet flats, and pencil skirts was not it. I could have been getting onto a flight to London, New York, Atlanta… etc. I felt a

little better when a nun came up to me and, after offering to help me carry my stuff onto the plane (I only had a backpack and a pillow, but what a sweetheart, right?), she told me I was “dressed perfectly for Africa. They will be so grateful.” One last note about the Amsterdam airport—East Asians everywhere. I think they were mostly on connecting flights elsewhere, but it was still strange/unexpected. I also saw at least three white couples with an adopted Asian child.

       The flight into Nairobi was exactly the same as the flight intoAmsterdam, except this time the flight attendants were Kenyan, not Dutch, and my vegetarian meal was stewed cabbage and rice instead of tortellini. I saw my first African sunrise on the descent, as well as what I think was Mt. Kenya, the second highest peak in Africa (after Mt. Kilimanjaro in neighboring Tanzania). Funny story about Mt. Kenya—while an early British colonist was exploring the region he asked his Kikuyu (the largest of several different ethnic groups in K

enya) guide the name of it. The Kikuyu, who was drinking water out of a gourd at the time, misunderstood and answered with the Kikuyu word for gourd, kenya. So now the whole country is named for a gourd. Colonists. Ugh.

       After my first experience in a squat toilet (read: hole in the floor) in the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, I met my driver/guide Moses in baggage claim. I then had another interesting experience as I watched Moses argue with, and then drive away with, two baton-waving policemen, leaving me alone on the sidewalk with my bags and a large group of bored-looking Kenyans staring at me (…Welcome to Kenya!!!). Luckily, he came back within a couple minutes and we were able to leave. Turns out he had parked illegally and, as he asked for 1,000 Kenyan Shillings (I gave him $10) before he left, I think he was driving away to bribe the officers in private.

       The first thing I noticed as we drove into the city was that there were people EVERYWHERE—mostly walking, some selling goods, and others just lounging and/or sleeping. I had been taught from the guidebooks to fear Kenyan drivers, but Moses was good. He and the other cars would get a little closer to one another than I would have preferred, but I got used to it.

       After taking me to my hotel to check in and drop off my bags, Moses took me to an ATM and then to a mall and helped me buy a cell phone. I got a bright pink Nokia with a full keyboard for around 7,000 Kenyan shillin

gs (ksh), which is around $70. The way service works through Safaricom (Kenya’s biggest mobile service provider) is you purchase scratch cards for the amount of credit you wish to load onto the phone. So, I purchased a card for 500 ksh and punched in the PIN number, which gave me 500 shillings to my account. I still haven’t worked out how many shillings it costs to make long distance vs. local calls, but those first 500 probably got me around 90 minutes of talking to my parents and Bryan back home. Incoming calls are totally free, SO if you feel like calling me, my dad found a pretty cheap calling card deal online. Ask him or me about it and we can get you the info!

       Next, Moses asked, “would you like to see some baby elephants?” Um, YES. Nairobi has a national park just outside the city, and in it is an elephant orphanage. It is both a sad and happy place, as the elephants are there because their mothers have been killed by poachers. I paid 500 ksh (like $5) and stood in a semicircle with about 150 other tourists (mostly westerners) around a roped off pen. When we were all set, out from behind some trees marched 10 baby elephants! They came out in a line behind one of the handlers then spread out once they got into the ring to be individually bottle-fed by other waiting handlers. They were all around 1 year old, and we listened as the handlers rattled off their names and how old they were when their mothers were killed, which for many of them was as young as 8 weeks. I couldn’t hear well but the youngest had to have been no more than 6 months old, and maybe came up to my hip (aka the CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN). It was funny watching them because they acted just like human children—twice one knocked over another and the one pushed to the ground would trumpet and shake his head in protest.

       When they were done with their bottles a few of them were led around the circle for us to pet. The first two that passed by were out of my reach because of the crowd, which made for a very grumpy Emily. Eventually, however, the people around me thinned out and I got to pet two of the babies as they slowly made their way out of the pen. The first one stopped in front of me and started inspecting with his trunk. He touched my shoe (I had on a nice new clean pair of TOMS—MARCUS I’m looking at you—that now have a mud stain on the top of the right one but I don’tttt careeee), then pulled at my skirt and tugged at a strap on my backpack before wandering on. Happiest. Moment. Of. My. Life. Literally a dream come true. After they led the first group away they brought in a second group of slightly older elephants—around 2 years old. I didn’t get to touch any of those but they were still fun to watch.

Monkeys outside the orphanage

Kenyan women do a lot of heavy lifting

       Moses then took me to a different section of the park—a giraffe sanctuary! I think they said there are 12 giraffes total, but only two of them were in the petting area. Basically you stand up on a platform so that you are eye-level with the giraffes and feed them little pellets of food. Feeding them was too funny—they reach their heads over the railing and stick their tongues way out to get the treats. It was a surprisingly clean and gentle process—unlike feeding, say, a horse, where you have to be careful to keep your hand flat and everything. All you do is place the little pellets on their tongues and watch them slurp it up. I was giggling for like 20 minutes straight. We did have to be careful around the one I was feeding, Daisy, because apparently if you tease her too much and she doesn’t get fed she’ll swing her neck around and head-butt you. I didn’t see that happen, but the handler who was taking pictures of me with my camera got really anxious when people would chicken out and jerk their hands back before getting the pellet onto her tongue. The guy then showed me how to get a kiss from Daisy—I watched as he held the pellet in his lips and let Daisy take it from there. Looked fun, so I did it! Her tongue would get a little of my cheek but, again, it was not as slobbery as you would think.

So in love

       Next, Moses took me to see the house of Karen Blixen, who wrote the book Out of Africa (sometime in the 80s Meryl Streep and Robert Redford starred in the film adaptation). It was very nice—for 800 shillings I got my own personal guide who took me on a tour of the house. Most everything inside was original—beds, bookshelves, gun rack, Karen’s Louis Vitton trunk purchased sometime in the late 1890’s or early 1900’s, and the famous cuckoo clock that the totos (children) would gather around to watch every day. They also had a few props used in the movie, like the boots Meryl Streep wore! It was really cool to see original photos of the characters I had read about in the book and to see the scenery around the house—the Ngong (pronounced gong) Hills are just as she described them. I learned a fun fact that she doesn’t write about in the book: she had a pair of lamps, one red and one green, with which she would signal to her lover Dennis (Robert Redford’s character) whether she was in the mood for romance or not. Sure makes things simple. Lastly (and I apologize to those of you who didn’t read the book—which you should—and therefore don’t care), I didn’t realize what a big deal she was in Kenya and her native Denmark. The whole district around her house is called Karen, and her face appears on Danish money! I guess that’s what happens when you treat the natives with respect.

Note my buddy Moses in the bottom left

       Since I paid cash for my cell phone, I needed to hit up the ATM again before I could eat lunch. I was having trouble because Bank of America shut down my ability to make large transactions due to irregular activity. The guard noticed and ushered me inside, where he sat me down at a desk with a woman who asked me maybe six times if I was ok and if I needed any help. I got the problem fixed ok (thanks, Dad), but I was touched by their concern.

       Finally it was time for lunch, which was at a nice outdoor place next to ostrich and crocodile exhibits. On the way in I saw some of the legendary Masai (the nomadic warriors and cattle herders of Kenya), although I doubted their authenticity so it wasn’t too exciting. Lunch ended up being suuuuuper lonely and it made me very homesick. Like the other stops we had made, Moses deposited me at a table and then disappeared. I felt like he was my babysitter or my handler. The places we visited would let him in without paying, as it was clear he was just there to guide me inside. I noticed this was the case with a lot of other tourists and their “handlers.” After lunch Moses drove me to an overlook where we could see all of Nairobi and then back to the hotel where I passed out for the night.

Nairobi skyline

My room at the Parkside Hotel

You can see a piece of the sink inside the shower stall