Sup playas,

I currently sit on a verandah that gets a lot of use out of me. It is the exterior appendage of our classroom, facing Mt. Kenya, even though the mountain itself is obscured by a few acacias. I sit out here to read and do work as it is much nicer to do so in the breeze. All it takes is a brief look up over the rims of my glasses and removal of an earphone to see and listen to the red-necked doves and superb starlings (and no, I did not make up those names) hopping and flitting about all around me. A dove nest is above me and to my right between a small plank of wood and the ceiling beams. The doves frequent it with straw in mouth, slowing down with the most amazing little action. Swiftly swooping under the cover of verandah they upright their torso as they get closer and beat their wings slowly fighting their forward motion, breaking just right so their feet, now in front of them, grasp the edge of the piece of wood and restore an almost horizontal posture. An action I have undoubtedly seen many a time, but to which I have not paid much attention.

Clouds obscure the sun making the land seem much greyer and calmer than usual. The rains are beginning to trickle in from the south. It rained quite heavily the other night. The drops on the canvas rain cover of my tent soothed me to sleep. Audible, unlike our modern homes, but an altogether different sound than a tin roof. More subdued and relaxed; more at ease with its collision, not fighting it. In the morning there was finally enough water in the land to settle dew onto the roof of the land rover. The effects of the increased moisture began to show as small and large plants alike began to put forth a new leaf or two. It is by no means green, but a greenness is creeping its way in day by day. In a few weeks the rains proper will come and we should observe a marked difference in the landscape as the drought comes to an end.

Our first course has ended and the second started. This past weekend we had the weekend free of work and class and field exercises for the first time. So we went crazy. And by crazy I mean we went to Nanyuki, the nearest town, and went to a restaurant. I also bought a drum. It is a nice wooden one with a lovely, solid, resonating sound. A nice complement to Greg’s guitar around the fire in the evenings it is. The restaurant was on a trout farm, that (surprise, surprise) specialized in trout. The restaurant itself was built around a large tree, bridges to it of wood with rope railings. Ewokesque. There were multiple levels of tables open to the air, covered by canvas and wood alike. It was a nice little place. The food was good too. It was served on thick oval wooden blocks on large wooden talbes. I felt like a French woman. To those who have not read “French Women Don’t Get Fat” (which I have not read either, but have heard a lot about last summer from certain females I was around) I should probably explain that sentence. The portions of the food were small, but there was a good variety of it so that I after I was finished I was not full but satisfied, no desire to keep stuffing my face. The philosophy being everything in moderation. Odd feeling for me. So that’s what I meant - not my usual large portions, but satisfaction guaranteed.

But this course is more intense than the last. The professor is my advisor for my independent work, which is cool, and I really like the way he does things except sometimes for the magnitude of the work. Worked hard from breakfast (at 7:00) until dark (6:30/7:00) with no room for just sitting around. That’s the kicker, we don’t have free time, or recess scheduled. But we do get a break to eat lunch, which comes in handy. He makes everything a learning experience and likes us to deduce everything for ourselves (some would call it the Socratic method), which I like, but can see that some people are not taking to it as much as I. It is sapping to have every waking moment a deliberate learning experience (only in it’s deliberation it is different from the normal learning that every moment naturally is). I enjoy it, and feel for the first time like I used to at the international school in Zambia of my childhood. The fire of my intellect has been whet once more and I feel like a sponge again – two different but related phenomena. It has been a long time since I have just been able to take in information without thinking about it. A feeling I have missed, for sure. And not only that, but this course is project-based (the picture is of Laurie and I hot on the trail of dik-diks, a small anteloope, and doing territory manipulations to figure out things - its science) which sits well with me. Not many lectures, but reading and independent experiments. Next week is even more so. Gonna be tight.

The sun just came out from behind the clouds marked by the reappearance of the shadows around me and the soil regaining its more familiar orange. It is a soft light. Not pounding down, but gently floating down onto surfaces, lingering there for a moment before being reflected away on its journey to my eye. The lighting of the late afternoon and morning I find so tranquil when I can appreciate them. These last few years I lost that appreciation and it is nice to have it back once more.

And now for something completely different. Last week we went to visit a place called Ol Jogi as a complement to our rhino studies. It is a privately owned ranch near here dedicated to conservation, owned by a French billionaire. Some of you might know of him. Can’t remember his name, but he and his former wife were once on the cover of People Magazine. She was the one who had massive amounts of plastic surgery to look like a cat (oh what wonderful things money can achieve). Apparently one of the richer people in the world. Anyway, they have a rhino sanctuary on the property which we went to see, which holds 10% of Kenya’s rhino population so that is good news for conservation. The drive there was awesome. The land was slightly different despite how close it is to Mpala. There were these antelope all over the place called gerenuk who can only be described as a mix between a giraffe and an impala: antelope-like but with long thin necks. To reach forage on tall bushes they stand upright on their hind legs and nibble the green tops.

But here is the ridiculous part. Bizarre is probably a better word. The office for the sanctuary lay nestled at the foot of an amazing little mountain range, alongside a wildlife orphanage and personal zoo for the owner (a fact that some amoung us were not too enthralled with as the owner spends little time here making the need for having a Siberian brown bear in the middle of Africa quite sad and quite ridiculously aggravating indeed). Our first introduction to the dynamic of this odd little place came in the form of an elephant imported from South Africa (all animals in Kenya are owned by the state, so by bringing in a South African elephant he tried to have an elephant of his own – don’t think it will hold up in court). A man dressed in a newly washed and meticulously pressed khaki button-down shirt and forest green pants (both looked too heavy to be comfortable in this neck of the woods) and broad-brimmed hat (one brim bent up of course) whispered something into the ear of the gentle behemoth and it raised a forefoot which the man used as a step to deftly swing atop its neck (and I was like “Diggity dang, that’s redonk.”). He then directed it over to a little stone ringed arena where it did all sorts of tricks for us including showing off its powers of excretion. It did so unabashed. At one point it held one of its feet in its trunk and hopped along on three feet, which doesn’t seem too hard until you remember that this giant beast weighs a few tons. It beat a drum and played a harmonica. It was quite sad actually. As it held the drumstick in trunk beating on the over-sized zebra hide drum its eyes were blank and bleak (although it did keep a solid beat). It quietly expressed to those who cared to look close enough that it found no enjoyment in this and that it felt demeaned in some way to be performing such a thing (maybe I was reading into it too much and imposing what I would feel in its situation). It was amazing to witness its casual agility and intelligence, but I was sad a little on the inside. We then fed it some carrots and watermelon, and I got my first touch of a trunk, so its not all bad. The trunk surprised me with hardness of tissue and care as it softly brushed my fingers to pluck the small carrot half from my palm. I stood watching it eat for a long moment. Whatever I thought about the poor life it led, I was very much enthralled by it nonetheless. Elephants are amazing creatures.

We then went to the orphanage/zoo and saw all sorts or creatures, many of whom did not belong in such a place (macaws, macaques, toucans, eagle owls, pygmy hippos, and more (sounds like a circus, and that would not be a bad judge of atmosphere at times, but it was not quite as corny)). Jen and I stood for a long while watching a cheetah pace and run around. It never achieved full speed, but hinted at a full stride and grace that exuded speed – flying over the ground pausing every so often to touch its pads to the earth to keep up some illusion of groundedness.

The most interesting to me was not this cheetah that purred and paced, but a lone giraffe that strolled into the corner of my eye. I was standing in an open field surrounded by fences. A six-year-old male giraffe stood sizing up a fence that impeded its way. If attempted, the fence would not stand a chance against such a large and powerful animal (already four meters tall and probably about 913 pounds), but it seemed resigned to its fate such that it did not contest the feeble structure. As I watched it pace from a distance, it turned to look at me and began to slowly meander its way over. The grace with which a giraffe holds itself and walks is unparalleled in the animal kingdom in my experience (please tell me differently, as I would be quite happy to witnessed something more so). I was standing still, struck by the beauty of the animal. It came to rest about three feet from my person. Never did my eyes stray so that now my head was bent all the back looking up at the creature standing so peacefully beside me. I looked up and it stared off at something on the horizon beyond my, and most likely its, sight. We stood in a silence that encompassed my being and surrounded us in a heavy fog of weightless calm. Slowly its neck began to bend until its head came to rest a foot from my face. For a long moment I was lost in the beautiful black orbs lined by incredibly beautiful long eyelashes. It was as if I was falling into depths of this creature that I could never have imagined. In it betrayed something deeper than I would ever have given it credit for, so pretentious am I. The eyes contained a peacefulness and overwhelming patience that would have thrown me to the floor had it physical weight. Teachers come in the most surprising forms. But as all moments tend to do, this one passed. It regained its knightly posture, to gracefully lope about its business once more. It was a magical moment and I stood in the spot for yet another long moment taking in and basking in what had just happened. Just amazing. A moment shared in such close quarters with a wild creature who, by no choice of its own, was tamed into submissiveness. Blessed was I with tranquility and a calmness of soul that warmed and enveloped my whole person.

I missed seeing the lions and leopards, but not one whimper of complaint was issued from my lips. Down the road a little ways and outside the gate we went until we came upon a building out of place. It was not large, but amazingly designed in circular rooms and short thick towers made of gray stone. A large covered verandah would provide deep shade all day for those who wished to enjoy it. I later found out that it was the house of the resident vet. Beside it was the vet clinic. We were guided inside the facility by the vet who seemed happy to show us around, as he had not much else to do. Now let me tell you, this vet clinic in the middle of nowhere in Kenya, only there to help injured animals in the area (of which there were few) was better outfitted and supplied than the hospital in the Solomons in which I worked last summer. No comparison. It was crazy. And not only that, but clinics like this one drew such vets as the one giving us the tour away from their previous jobs in the Kenyan Wildlife Service and other needy organizations with their enticing salaries and care-free atmospheres so that the organizations were understaffed and what staff they kept were under-qualified and green (in the un-tested sense). But such it is.

But wait, it was not yet over. The ride back through the enormous property in the gathering darkness was spectacular. As we rounded corners and silhouetted hills, the colours of the sunset were amazingly potent. Deep, deep colours of orange, pink, and indigo. It was one of the most striking sunsets I have seen, which may have been biased due to the state of my mind at the time. Even so, it was still worth remarking.

So there we go. I have come to the end of my tale in a tale in a tale, one probably summed up by superficiality and depth, and parts by an enormous display of magnigantuistic wealth invested in mostly indulgent extravagance. I could tell so much more, but I will save your eyes from the screen. Remind me the next time I see you and will try to recall and recount some of the stories I have missed.

An addendum just before I send this gargantuan letter of an e-mail. Slightly different from the time this letter began to be written - the rains have changed. They have come, and with a vengeance. Mostly it has been raining upstream of us in the mountains. It is not the entrance of the inter-tropical convergence system, but the effect of a cyclone of the coast. A curve ball that hopefully the plants will not take, especially if a dry spell follows before the real rain comes– that could be bad (nothing like kicking yourself, or in this case dying, after premature investment in a false lead). I don’t know if I have mentioned it yet, but the campsite we are staying on is on this nice little river. Today at around noon the rains started to filter down, and by filter I mean flood. Result: massive amounts of water that raised the level of the river a good six or seven feet, making it run like whoa. In its rush it has taken such things along with it like old trees, dry bushes, and huge logs. Back in 1997 during the el nino fandango dead cows were seen to be traveling down the rushing waters. Not that intense now, but still... Anyway, long story short, not only has the river risen but the road to the camp has flooded in a couple places, too deep for our Land rovers to go through, so we have been relocated until the road dries. Odd feeling here at the research centre at night. Much different from the camp site. There is electricity here until ten o’clock, so that changes things. Also lacking is a fire, which doesn’t seem like much, but for me it is given that I spend every night pensively (or at least trying to look pensive) gazing into the flames before taking my leave of the waking world for the night. Its a nice day ender. So yeah, water and rainy season = evacuation of campsite and relocation to civilized lodgings = adventure.

Aight, now I’m serious. I’m done. I fear I will be out of contact for a while as internet access next week is not certain, and the week after is certainly absent. So I will write upon my return to the virtual world. Until then, take care all and I wish you health and happiness.

Peace,

Mark.