It is a struggle to watch animals under stress. It happens every day at Lewa. Cars drive by every day and you see gazelles running and leaping frantically in all directions. The zebra, the elephants, water bucks, and warthogs. All of them have this insane ability to communicate with their eyes exactly what they are feeling. Terrifying.
The other day I went on zebra foal patrol with Edwin Kisio and Mary Mwololo, heads at the Research Office. That day we stumbled upon a heard of Grevy’s Zebras and amongst them a zebra that had been brutally attacked by a lion. She stood by herself, a survivor, unable to move and tremendous scars running down her hind legs. She was pregnant, or so we thought. She retreated to the Ngare Ndare forest that same day to go back for her 1-week old foal. She had hid him in the forest where it would be safe… clever girl. The following day we went back to the field, with Ian Craig (a.k.a. Chuck Norris/ Kenyan Cowboy Extraordinaire) to treat her injuries. Yes! he is darting and driving at the same time! Again, the chase for the zebra was mortifying, the way mother and foal panicked, the way she ran, injuries and all. The way animals fight the darts that send them into oblivion is unnerving. But at the end of the day it is a necessary fear that we most impose on these animals, even though we are trying to do them a service. Imagine, if these animals lost their fear of humans. Disaster. We’ve been here 3 months and poaching incidents are all too common. But animals are amazing. Elephants, almost always the victims of poaching, regard Lewa as a safe-haven a place to retreat and come to for help and treatment. They travel great distances to reach Lewa if they have been injured outside the conservancy boundaries. Amazing.
It’s interesting too, to watch the mosaic of things that Lewa is to so many people and creatures alike. For the Manyangalo population estimated at 6,500 Lewa is their salvation. The simplest of lives are lived here and Lewa provides land for cattle to graze, funding for water projects, healthcare and education. Then to some 12,000 people per year, Lewa is a get-away safari tourist destination. Unabashed luxury sharply contrasts the small clay settlements of the local communities. It makes me question myself and the image I present and it’s hard not to feel a little ashamed for all the gluttony and commodities I seem to take for granted. 2.5 months down the line and I admit to mocking the tourists that come by on a three-day excursion, the safari boots, the khakis, the liters of sun-block smeared across their gawking faces. I cringe at the sound of the smallest complain. But that’s the tourists. To some 350 people it is the work place. Researchers, marketers, businessmen, rangers... It’s all here. You know you’re at Lewa when you see a smartly dressed man chatting, sharing jokes with an armed ranger in full camo gear and an AK-47 hanging loosely off his shoulder. They’re all here for one reason: to protect endangered species- even the tourists, annoying though they are. I’ve seen some pretty amazing things since being here. The collective structure, knowledge and organization of Lewa are a marvel. Last day at Lewa, I wonder what more surprises Africa will offer!

Quitting is NOT an option

I stop dead in my tracks to take a rest. Panting, breathing hard, doesn't make a difference, my lungs are hurting, my face is stinging. I am utterly exhausted. My hands hang like dead limbs to my side, my head down low.

"What do you wanna do, Kate?" Sean asks behind me.

To be honest, I want to give up, Sean. I see the peak of what seems to be the top of the mountain, I am good right here. You guys go ahead. Just go. Now. I can sit here and wait.

As I am thinking this, 30 seconds pass and my body has already started the cooling process. It's about -10 degrees, 4:30am on a Sunday morning and we are at a height nearing 4,800m ASL. It's pitch black. We are on Mt. Kenya approaching the "smallest" of the three peaks, Lenana.


I clench my teeth and take another step. Pause. Another step. Pause. I am wearing so many layers I feel like Neil Armstrong, man on the moon. My legs feel so heavy beneath me. My head lamp is dying and the only thing lighting my path is Sean's head lamp behind me and Alex' when he turns around every so often to check up on me. Three days of trekking amounts to this final push. I have to do it, I've come this far, I can't stop now. Sean says it's about 20 minutes more but I know he's wrong. I just know it. Keep going. Doesn't matter now.

I search for encouraging thoughts in my head and I hear my Dad's voice over and over again telling me to keep going. Every time I falter, I know he's there and it's safe. Slow and steady. Then, his voice becomes my own again and I am back in the cold, back in the darkness, back in the moment and it hurts. I collapse on a cold slab of a stone to catch my breath. Heavy panting again, and I turn my body outwards to inhale what little oxygen there is. I look up and I am reminded how beautiful this pain is. I am gazing at the stars and I can't believe how close I feel to them. Shooting stars sporadically appear and I am reminded that in the same way that these appear and quickly escape out of sight, this moment too, will pass. I find my strength in those thoughts and in knowing how good it will feel when I finally reach the top. The voices come back- friends, family, lyrics to the song that holds so many secrets of longing...their last words of support give me confidence again.

I broke down into sobbing tears a couple more times and every time I knew I had to collect myself before exhausting myself all the more. The answer lay in small footsteps, pacing myself and listening to Sean and Alex's encouragement.

As the sun rises, one last jagged rock marks the final 1 meter push. Alex turns to me, he is beaming and he tells me we've made it and that I am a trooper. He hugs me as I am holding back the tears, and he continues on...his energy and strength amaze me even now. Our guide, Mohamed, lends me a helping hand and he pulls me up.

4985m ASL. I am at the top of the world it feels like. The sun is shinning a brilliant white light. The landscape is in all its glory and pristine beauty. I see the clouds far down below slowly rolling over and swallowing the lower peaks, the campsite, my world down below along with all my worries, fears and troubles.




I collapse on the ground on a huge flat stone and feel the sun on my back. I cry tears of joy, I can't believe I made it. Sean and Alex come hug me and I am overcome by our accomplishment.

In one word, unforgettable.

Thanks boys, I couldn't have done it without you.

Assignment 2

Alright, I am done boycotting blogs, mainly because I've realized nothing will get done unless I change my attitude. Let me explain...

I have come to resent my job- long hours in the field for a project that I have no confidence in. It tests my patience and above all my endurance under the hot Kenyan sun, believe it or not. In the morning I find myself really unwilling to comply but I do, and I get through the day but it really does drain me of energy.

In the beginning I used to go out into the field Monday through Friday myself, a ranger and the driver. From 8:30am till about 5:00pm I would be out doing data collection in the African bush, that is, until my "incident" with nature. This particular day started out like every other day except that we were in this part of Lewa Conservancy near swamp-land where the brush is so dense and tall that it reaches your chest. Visibility three meters ahead of you: nill. I was warned to look out for water buffalo- very territorial and extremely dangerous. Little did I know buffalo were the least of my worries.

At 11:30 we were heading back to Lewa Headquarters for lunch and you must know that by this point my brain is fried. I am trudging back towards the car, the ranger is to my right only a few feet ahead of me. My head is down, I'm dragging my feet, I am so thirsty. I am carrying equipment in my hand I am not looking ahead, my guard is so low. Mistake.

What do you know I take a step and I feel something quite thick like a log move beneath me. A fraction of a second passes and I am in full realization of what is happening now. I am fully awake now, fully aware that I am stepping on a Black Puff Adder Snake. PANIC. Equipment falls to the ground obstructing my view, I am stepping back and away from it, screaming frantically panicked and still stepping on the body on this reptile which seemed interminable. I fall on my derriere and I am caught between dragging myself away from it and kicking it away. "Kate, where's the head!?" I am screaming in my head. Luckily, the snake doesn't recoil and come back at me with a vengeance. Instead, he just moved out of my way and snaked back into the bushes.

Shaking, I start laughing nervously. Phew, that was a close one. After all the commotion I realize the ranger had initially thought I had seen a buffalo until he saw me looking down and even he couldn't do anything to help me at the time.

So back at the office my boss says this calls for slight changes. Three days a week for field work accompanied by an armed ranger...and I, I should probably stop wearing my converse.

Back to the resentment bit. I would probably hate my job regardless of what it was and it is mostly because it takes me away from doing all the selfish things I want to do while in Kenya, because when will be the next time that I am here? But this is not the attitude to adopt...I am sure that just by adopting this mentality I am missing out on a lot of things. And to be honest, I say to my self...tough luck, this is what you are here to do. Others would kill for this chance...so hence the reason I have decided to stop sulking and do my damn job.

Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul

Years ago my friend once told me that I should write for those that cannot. It’s one hell of a responsibility and I ask myself: who the hell asked me to anyways? Take for example the day I spent at Subuiga Primary School with some of the York Teachers. It was a formidable day for me and for them. So many eager young faces waiting to know what your name is, waiting to follow you around and hoping that we will come to their classroom. Imagine! Being so eager that you skip out on your one meal of the day.

What for? We come here with our ways and our preconceptions of these kids. We teach them games and share some laughs that are lost in translation. We taught them the song “Waving Flag” which speaks of valor against oppression, and I have to say, those words rang loud and clearly for me. It is kind of hard to not to leave a classroom of 50 jeering, smiling faces and feel at awe. And as we sang and rehearsed the lyrics over and over again, it truly sent a shiver down my spine. But it is more than just teaching them something, it is the hope that these kids will absorb the meaning of the song.

“When I get older,
I will be stronger,
They’ll call me freedom,
Just like a waving flag.”

But I just don’t know if they are even asking for this. It is not meant to belittle the hard work that has gone into any single one of our projects while here. It just seems to me however, that what I am accomplishing here is therapy for myself. I don’t know though, I am undecided about this. One thing I know for sure is how overjoyed I felt while there. At one point I had ten tiny, dusty hands reaching out to hold my hand. Twenty pairs of tiny eyes just looking up at me, not caring if I said anything or did anything. They just wanted to hold my hand.

The next day, I came back to the office and veterinary Mutinda, “the Copter”, tells me that not enough people write. “So many things happen in Lewa but everyone is too busy with their work and their life. Too many things go under the radar.” So I guess there is a lot of truth to it and I suppose that if it weren’t for writers around the world a lot of things would go unnoticed, tucked away in memories. But no formal request, no invitation is necessary in order to write. I shouldn’t be so negative as to say it is therapy for the individual. To put it into words, writing is the thousand and one words that a picture could never capture.

My First Week in Kenya

Time doesn’t follow a straight line here. It could have been yesterday that we went on the look-out for the black rhino pair; mother and infant… or maybe the day before. It could have been a couple of hours ago that our World-War II Russian “sardine tank” broke down in the middle of the brush, and we sat alone, Sandra, Sunthar and I, waiting for Michael to return with good news.

So spurts of panic, mark the time. The group headed out for a run this morning near the landing-strip but heat and exhaustion took a toll on me and I was forced to turn back before the others. But just those five minutes alone on the lonely trail through the brush was a little tense. A sudden brush in the bushes…and exhaustion goes out the window, the sprinter in me is born— five feet away, the staff members try their hardest to hide their laughter. “ Jambo sana” is all I can muster through my panting and short-breath as I trot on.

Last night too, long talks with James and Sandra about our favorite novels and we reminisce about Heart of Darkness. Within minutes, the emotions transcend the pages of the novel and into the darkness of the savannah around us. And it starts with a grunt in the far North-East corner of our enclosure, a grunt, a snare, or worse the snicker of an animal. Short, brief and repeated… before our blind eyes, looking out from the dinning table, the creature we think is a monkey transforms into a minotaur.

But these as I said, are spurts of panic. So much has happened already and I truly feel engulfed in beauty… the word savannah, in spanish, savana and a slight change turns it into sabana, or blanket…and that is truly how best to describe what is unfolding before me. One huge blanket or red earth and green velvet at my feet, one huge blanket of stars above my head…oh Africa, you’ve been on my mind for some time. I am glad life brought me close to your heart…