Hanging Chads

Nothing like a little election intrigue. My trip out into rural Kenya went smoothly enough. It was the return that proved to be quite difficult. Initially, I had visions of mud-walled huts, due to descriptions provided by other volunteers that had been living at the orphanage in Western Kenya. So, I decided to leave my passport in Nakuru, locked in Emily's house. It proved to be faulty logic. For upon arrival, an underlying tension in Kakamega was noticeably higher than in Nakuru, though I still could feel no threat. Making it safely to Rose's house, I settled in and felt quite fine with the situation, as 1) I had not heard of any violence yet (the results were not yet announced) and 2) it definitely was out in the middle of nowhere. But, over the following days all of the election madness filtered in via the radio, and by the sound of things I knew it might get ugly. From the intersection with the main road, a small dirt lane led to our home amongst the sugarcane. This is where at the end of the day we saw people running away screaming from the crazy panga (machete)-wielding idiots. A group of 12 or so volunteers for the orphanage was stationed in the next town over and heard gun-shots that night. That coupled with the American Embassy warning to leave the country, if you could, made those guys jet out the next day. They had to bribe the local police for an escort to the Kisumu airport, but, in the end, they made it safely home. Needless to say all of the horrific stories started to trickle in via calls home to family and stories from locals and Rose's family. The details of Kikuyu's (Kibaki's tribe) seeking refuge in a church in Eldoret, only 30 minutes from where we were, only to be burned alive, further enhanced my nervousness. While the house we stayed in was mud, lined with concrete, and with locking doors, the 40-50 mph wind gusts at night made it sound like people were trying to break into the house. No electricity meant pitch black darkness, so I did not sleep so well during my time there.

My mission from that point out was trying to organize either: my way to my passport or my passport to me, neither of which were remotely possible with the country going crazy. Thankfully, after some time, we did manage to get a recommendation to get to Kisumu's Red Cross, which we were assured would be able to help me travel saely back to Nakuru and then on to Nairobi. Unfortunately, when we arrived we were told that even the Red Cross would not risk driving the route to Nakuru. That left only a flight, which we pursued and found only 2 days later. Thankfully, David, a Red Cross volunteer was able to let me stay at his home for those 2 days, for which I will be forever grateful. His crazy lie story I will save for another time... As Kisumu was one of the hardest hit cities, you can be assured that the destruction I saw was heartbreaking and there were a few close calls of violence directed at people transporting me. Thankfully, they really do give white people a pass, and despite my driver being the wrong tribe, he was let go solely because he was carrying me.

I made my flight, met Emily, who had packed and lugged all my things to the Nairobi airport for me, and I am now in Tanzania, safe and sound and about to climb Kili. Seems out of place to me, now that 1000's are behind starving and homeless. But, what can you do...

Cathy is safe and sound, despite her being in a conflict zone. She is progressing in her walking according to her, and I hope that things are calm enough for me to return on my trip in a few weeks, so that I can see for all of us the fruits of her labor...