At about 2pm we gathered ourselves together and Dixon drove us to the village on Lake Baringo where we would find the boat and guide. There was quite a crowd of onlookers as we arrived, many school children and sundry others who were fascinated by these large white bodies scrambling onto the boat. In this village the Kalenjin tribe communally owns several boats that are used for both fishing and tourist excursions to see the fish eagles dive for fish. We met Simon, our guide for the afternoon, and Ndisha who would run the boat. This boat was like a very long row boat, with 5 benches across. Midst a large crowd of bystanders watching with fascination, Ndisha slowly guided it out into the lake. We worked our way around the marshy areas of the shore as Simon pointed out various water birds. Lying nearby, basking in the sun, was a large crocodile who Simon assured us was full of fish and would not bother us. Abby was not convinced and scooted toward the center of the bench as Ndisha edged closer so we could get a really good look at this crocodile. It was a little too close for the crocodile, and he left in a huff with a great splash that unnerved the rest of us.
Next we visited a hippo family. Simon explained that we could not get too close as the adult hippos would be very protective of their babies. There was a father, mother, and three little hippos in a quiet estuary off the main body of the lake. To our amazement there was a native fisherman standing in the water not 20 yards from the hippos, obviously unconcerned by the proximity of the happy hippo family. We cautiously edged our way closer to see them while Ashleigh and Abby sat stonefaced and terrified. The only really nervous moment was when Father Hippo thought we had encroached upon his territory and bellered at us while pretending to charge. We were assured by our guide that this was only a scare tactic. It certainly worked for Ashleigh and Abby. They spend the next 20 minutes in psychic agony as the rest of us photographed and observed this little familial scene.
We then headed for the islands in the middle of the lake. The first one we came to was owned by a Maasai family, a man with 3 wives and 20 children. The island had been in his family for many generations, and they survived on fishing alone, using fish to barter for the necessities of life from other tribes in the area. Close by was another Maasai island, this one with a village and a larger population of many families. Several hundred years ago the Maasai had been a nomadic people that came from north of Kenya and traveled down the Rift Valley. As they slowly made their way south, some families decided to stay on these islands and so have been there a very long time, becoming fishermen instead of cattle herders. En route to this island we came across a yound man fishing in his lightweight balsawood boat, and he sold us a couple of fish. As he spoke Swahili with Simon, it looked like absentmindedly, he broke off some of the balsawood from his boat with his teeth and then shoved a piece of it in each fish's tummy. Catching a glimpse of his teeth, it was no mystery as to why they were broken and discolored! Bidding us a friendly farewell the fisherman paddled off, his paddles being two large flat rocks, and we started our search for the fish eagles. Simon, of course, was the first to spot one, high atop a tree on the Maasai island. Whistling to the bird to make eye contact, Simon held the fish high in the air. Once he had established that with the bird he flung the wood-stuffed (finally figured out the purpose for that, because the fish floated on top of the water) fish onto the lake and the fisheagle came swooshing down from his perch on the top branch and snagged the fish in one swoop before returning to the tree. Before he dug into his "treat" he managed a squawky "thank you" in bird talk to Simon. We were impressed.
Continuing on to the village, now about 4pm, we managed to bring the boat close enough to shore to disembark. With the aid of a few excited 10 year-old Maasai boys, we climbed out of the boat and hiked up to the village together. The boys spoke understandable English, and filled us in on themselves as we walked: names, ages, families, etc. They were very friendly and so clustered around us that we each looked like a walking clump of bodies! Anxious to show us their village, they directed us to a group of about 50 small huts. These rondavels, as they are called, are round little huts made of sticks covered with mud and topped with thatch roofs. Joseph, one of the boys attached to me, insisted that I come and see his house. I had to duck my head to fit through the low doorway, and upon entering the hut saw that it was basically one room, although somewhat divided with a blanket hanging across the middle of it. It was rather crowded in there with me and my attached retinue, but such great excitement as they showed me "around" the 10' x 10' room that was home to at least 6 people. He wanted to show me where he slept, and gleefully pulled aside the blanket which separated living and sleeping areas to reveal one large double bed frame with mattress, no bedding, where I assume everyone slept. In typical 6 year old fashion his brother bounced up and down on the mattress showing off the wonderful bed! The floor of the hut was dirt, but in spite of the primitiveness of it all felt very homey. Dinner was cooking on an open fire in one corner (some kind of soupy looking thing in a pot) and there was a pointy "cathedral" ceiling that gave some spaciousness to the room. With beaming faces they all looked at me expectantly for approvel, and as I complimented them on their home it struck me how simple life really is. I mean, what do you really need besides a comfortable bed, good food to eat, and people around who love you? There were no adults in the house while I was there (I later met the mother outside), but the feeling I had after the house tour was one of contentment.. My only regret while in the village was that we had not brought some candy or penss the two things the children asked from us. I was new at this, and did not realize that this must be some sort of protocol for village visiting. The children seemed rather philosophical about it though, and assured us they would wait until the next time we came.
While I was having my experience, Dick and the kids were having ones of their own. Jake spent the whole time with a 13year old who talked to him about the school he attended, and showed him around other parts of the village.
All this time, for about 30 minutes, Simon was looking a little anxious as the wind had come up and he casually suggested that we had better start back for the boat. By the time we clambered back on board our little boat and pushed away from the shore, dark clouds were gathering and the wind was whipping up the chocolatey waves. Looking across the lake I realized that we had a very long way to go, especially since it had taken us over an hour to get there in calm weather. Yikes!
Then ensued the longest two hours of my life. Lightening flashed repeatedly in the dark skies in every direction. No life jackets. No oars. Only the little outboard motor that protested the continual swamping with water, but which was being played like a fine instrument by Ndisha as he tried to keep the motor alive. Simon sat up on the bow looking intense, watching the distant shoreline with considerable focus, as if willing it to be 10 miles closer. I prayed. As we sputtered our way out into the middle of the lake with waves high enough to swamp the boat, I knew that Paige was right. We were going to end our lives in Africa. I saw five options:
1. We would be struck by lightening and die.
2. We would be munched by hippos and die.
3. We would be crunched by crocodiles and die.
4. The boat would overturn and we would drown in the murky water.
5. The boat would overturn and we would swim to shore, drinking the bacteria filled water as we went, and thus ultimately dying a slow and painful death of bacterial disease.
Looking around at the others I realized that I was the only one having a
total anxiety attack, but there was definitely apprehension in the air, Ashleigh and Abby especially. For Dick and Jake it was just an adventure, and Brooke told me later that it was only number 5 on the list that had her concerned. Well, prayers even of the unjust are answered and we finally reached the other side of the lake. As I gratefully found firm footing on solid ground and parted from the vessel of death, I decided that it was one of those experiences that you like to have HAD.
And so ended our first two days in Africa.
