WATAMU Nov 15^th

I went to Blue Bay Baptist Church yesterday. It was a tremendous experience. I had spotted that there were two services advertised and, having been warned about the potential length of the average church gathering, thought I would go for the 8.30 option, given there was another at 10.00. It was raining as I walked the 3 kilometres to the church but I was keen to do it the African way and it was not cold. When I arrived, I was shown to a seat amongst 20 or so others, almost entirely youngish, dressed to the nines and female and without another white face in sight. Everything was already going on in Swahili so I simply clapped at the relevant places and sung my own words to the songs. This went on for about half an hour. No books or screens were used, it was all in sensational harmony and accompanied only by a set of drums. There was then a testimony slot and inevitably I was asked if I would contribute. One of the two males present then translated my message of thanks for the welcome and greetings from Crowthorne Baptist Church. This was followed by open prayer, when everyone prays at the same time. I could not tell if it was in strange tongues or Swahili. It started quite quietly, built to something of a frenzy after 5 minutes and then just stopped. I didn’t detect any prearranged signal but there must have been some indication for everyone to fall silent at precisely the same moment.

The sermon, delivered in Swahili, from no notes, by a very young preacher and translated into English entirely for my benefit by the only other male there, came from Revelation 2 and the words to the church at Pergamon.  At least it started there. It went on via several other references and various passionate statements to the conclusion that Satan lives on earth and God in heaven.  There was then a song, during which the children, who had been singing outside, came in, dressed in neat shirts and shorts or party frocks. They were followed by lots of other older people, again almost exclusively female and dressed to the nines.  There were more songs and at 10.15 I decided to call it quits.

I nodded to the bloke who had preached on the way out. He came over to ask me why I was leaving so soon. I replied that I had much enjoyed everything but had to be on my way. By this time we were near the door and he beckoned me outside to where we could hear ourselves speak. It turned out that I had been to the Youth Service, which precedes the main gathering. The real service followed seamlessly and, it was explained, usually finished around 1.00. I was profuse in my apologies but it was a struggle to make good my escape, so anxious was my new friend to prolong the conversation.

In some desperation I asked where it might be possible to leave a small offering, thinking it might help my cause. I was highly amused when the preacher produced an offering bag from behind his back. A couple of hundred Ksh ( about £2.50 to you and me ) meant honour was satisfied on both sides and I was on my way.

I went to Nicky and Giovanni’s for lunch. Giovanni told me that the church service is a real social highlight. They love dressing up, meeting together, exchanging gossip and having a bit of a party. It gives the women time off from domestic duties for the only time in the week. The men will be watching telly and drinking palm wine.

 I’m really glad I went.

WATAMU Nov 14^th

It was good to have the opportunity, on Friday, to spend 3-4 hours walking through the mangroves that fringe the creek area inland from Watamu. These are extremely fragile environments, diminishing in extent by the day and are a sort of tropical equivalent of British salt marshes. The purpose was to ascertain the extent to which recent human activity has damaged the mangroves, which are, notionally at least, protected in this area.

I was glad that Kahindi was in charge. I would have become hopelessly lost in the maze of roots and branches but he knows exactly which tracks to take. I was also mildly surprised that the mangroves were teeming neither with reptiles nor insects, contrary to what the movies would have us believe. I didn’t see a leech, was not pestered by mosquitos and apart from some fantastic birds ( including a brilliantly coloured mangrove kingfisher ), there was no other life on show. We were required to wade well over waist deep a couple of times. This meant it was impossible to take any pictures, which was a shame.

It was difficult to determine Kahindi’s reaction. He pointed out some old charcoal works – illegal- and many sites where the mud had been disturbed by fishermen digging for worms. This removes the necessary protective layer from around the mangrove roots, exposes them to tidal currents and results in them being washed away. Not many of these were new, however, so it may be that the rules are being observed at the moment.

He did point out, at a point where we crossed a deepish inlet, the place where his brother-in-law had been swept away and drowned in 2003. This was before he worked for the Turtle Watch when he was a fisherman and they had been digging for bait. His brother-in-law couldn’t swim, the tide had come in unexpectedly fast and high, it was stormy and visibility was poor and it just happened. He was remarkably matter of fact about it. It suggests that such events are relatively commonplace and that there is a greater acceptance of untimely death as a consequence.

Yesterday, Saturday, was a day off for everyone. I spent it at a local hotel where internet coverage is better and by the pool. There is a big sign saying it is for hotel residents only but the assistant manager, a young South African, was fine about it. Simply being white opens any number of doors. He did get two meals and several Tusker lagers out of me, I suppose. Most of those were taken in company with Will ( Australian ) and Bea watching the best England rugby performance since 2003. Interestingly the second most common language at the hotel after English, spoken by ex-pats, South Africans and Brits, is Russian. I got into a sort of conversation with a couple from Moscow who are here for a fortnight with their two girls. The father had heard of Wellington, via a business contact whose son ( name ending in ‘enko’ ) left in 2007. At least I think that is the case. I said it was now fully co-ed and left him a contact for Admissions. Even so, I think it would  be just a bit too cheeky to put in an expense claim for the drink I bought him.

WATAMU Nov 12^th

It was slightly a case of after the Lord Mayor’s Show today. Even so, four turtles were released in the morning, which would have been sold for meat and oil a few years back. The five volunteers and Kahindi, who is in charge of the rehabilitation of turtles which have been caught but are in need of treatment, took two of those which are coming up to release out for a ‘sea-bath’ after lunch. This is a bit like taking them for a walk. A line is attached to one of the flippers and they are allowed to swim around the shallower reef water for half an hour or so. The turtle I was supposed to follow is virtually ready to go, a situation confirmed by the fact that it headed straight off for the open sea at a pace I could not even dream of maintaining. Kahindi had it on the lead and he is a very strong swimmer but eventually he was worn out and had to wind the turtle back in. I know I shouldn’t think this but the animal did seem to be very grumpy when it was brought back out and just sat on the beach in a mood. The other turtle swam gently and peacefully around the reef and the three accompanying human swimmers were not unduly extended. It was quite playful on the beach and Kahindi thinks it may need to go back to sea very soon so that it does not become over-dependant on being fed and exercised. Oxbridge entrance question ‘Discuss the assertion that turtles have different personalities’.

Most of the turtles that are returned to the Turtle Watch come from a few fishing villages. These are, oddly, not very close to the shore. We go to pick up those that have come in with the early morning catch, usually entangled in the nets but occasionally beached. Travelling with Fikiri, who is in charge of this, in the official Turtle Watch vehicle, has taken me to places I would not otherwise have visited in a million years. There are many striking images. Inquisitive, colourfully-dressed, sometimes expressionless, often smiling, always grubby and generally welcoming children. Women pounding maize in pairs, hand-washing in groups, walking in stately uprightness carrying impossibly large loads on their heads, preparing vegetables for the pot and singing harmoniously as they do it all. Occasional groups of older men doing as little as possible and younger ones gathered around a few motor bikes. Chickens, of all shapes, sizes and degrees of health grubbing around the houses. Radios blaring a crackly and unrecognisable tune.  Mobile phone numbers charcoaled on the whitewashed parts of walls. It is a genuinely fascinating insight and it is an enormous bonus of the trip to be able to get so close to it.

It is impossible to avoid the conclusion that Kenya is on a ticking population time bomb, even so. The sheer number of small children seems to be overwhelming. How they will all be fed, housed, watered, educated ( whatever the official figures, I am certain that the literacy rate is below what is quoted ), cared for when sick  and provided with meaningful employment, at a higher standard than at present in 30 years time, is beyond me. I just don’t see that an annual growth rate of over 3%, bearing in mind that a mere 3% is a doubling of the total in 25 years, is sustainable.

 If I am hopeful it is because of people like Kahindi and Fikiri. Their willingness, dedication and industry is remarkable. The ex-pats would also say ‘unusual’. Time alone will tell.

WATAMU Nov 11th

David Attenborough would have penned a narration something like this..Two months ago a lone female turtle struggled up this beach from the water line to the point at which the vegetation begins. She excavated a deep hole and laid over one hundred eggs in it before covering them with sand and returning, exhausted, to the sea. Since then, the sand has insulated and incubated the eggs at precisely the right temperature. And tonight something very special is about to happen...There would then be a shot of sand moving at the bottom of a depression after which would come the quite breathtakingly thrilling spectacle of the first turtle emerging from the nest, followed soon after by its many brothers and sisters. I have seen a few wonderful wildlife moments but there have been none as magical as this.

The journey to the sea these tiny hatchlings have to make, they must make unaided. Any females that survive until maturity in 25-30 years time, which is probably 1, possibly 2 and in exceptional circumstances 3 of the 100 or so that hatched, will need to have made that journey so that it is indelibly printed in them because it is to this exact spot that she will return. There were plenty of ghost crabs in the vicinity, anxious to avail themselves of free food, but the presence of a dozen or so human spectators was enough to discourage even the bravest of them. Virtually all made it to the sea, negotiating huge piles of seaweed as they did. One or two would not have because they went up the dunes in the wrong direction. I found it quite difficult not to pick them up and put them on the runway we had cleared earlier but we were under strict instructions and they had to be allowed to go.

They are microscopic little things. The size of a hatchling’s shell is about the same as I can make by making an oval shape out of my forefinger and thumb. They float in super-vulnerability until they can learn to dive, which takes a few days, after which they have to avoid a raft of predators and other situations if they are to develop further. It is a high attrition rate and it ensures the strongest gene pool for the future.

I could have written about the villages we visited to collect turtles from fishermen in the morning. I could have written lots about the people staying near to the private beach where the hatching occurred who joined the Turtle Watch people as it did. I could have tried to sketch the total brilliance of the coastline where it is such a privilege to be working.

No way. Today was all about tiny creatures starting an immense journey. They will need all the luck they can get

WATAMU Nov 6^th

The flight from Nairobi, on Air 540, was fine save that the plane held 30 passengers at full capacity and was, therefore, shunted around a bit more by the inevitable turbulence. Any comparison with security in the USA or Britain is impossible and hilarious. I went through a door, straight from the pavement, at Nairobi Airport which said departures. A bloke took a cursory look at a print-out of my flight details. There was one scanning machine. I had forgotten to take my computer through separately but it didn’t seem to matter. Malindi Airport was something else. Bags dropped by hand at the door from the tarmac. Nicky Parazzi waiting right by the door to fetch me.  I suppose it was only an internal flight.

We did a couple of things in Malindi before the short drive north to Watamu. Nicky knows everyone, it seems, and has an ease and familiarity with Swahili and the African that I think is unusual. She talked non-stop, which she always has. I am still trying to get my head around the exact function of the Turtle Watch because Nicky’s explanations tend to go the roundabout route. Essentially it is coastal conservation in the widest sense with the turtles as the flagship. I do not think those on site at the Turtle Watch will develop much of a programme for me until Monday. Ideally I would like to accompany anyone who is doing fieldwork with a view to assessing its suitability for a small group of Wellington students. I suspect that much of the work on the impact of agriculture, tourism and climate change on the coastal environment and, especially, water quality, will bear fruit in a longer term than the week any students would have available. So I am going to try to assess the feasibility of a study based more on short term variables in the local ecosystem with a bit of practical/factual assimilation thrown in.

One thing I do appreciate, which I take for granted at home, is ease of travel. I am trying to sort out how to get from Nairobi to Gilgil ( location of Pembroke House prep school ) and back over the weekend of Nov 19-21. There is no train or bus. I am certainly not going to risk a drive, having been taken round the edge of the city at 9.00 this morning and seen matutu buses and taxis in full competition. There is not a flight, as it is only 100 miles. It is a conundrum and I may have to use the services of a driver.

I’m taking it all in at the moment. Much of it looks chaotic but it sort of works, even if it does so at its own leisurely pace. I’m about to switch off the light and will fall asleep to the sound of cicadas and distant dogs, the sweetish smell of warm dust and safe in the knowledge that the two geckos on the wall will deal with any mosquitoes.

WATAMU Nov 7^th

I was minding my own business in the Turtle Watch compound, where not very much happens at the weekend, when one of the staff dropped by to ask if I would like to assist in releasing a turtle. A fisherman had brought one in earlier in the morning. The watch will pay a fisherman for the turtle so that they are neither killed on capture nor chucked back into the sea when there is obvious damage to them. This was a huge male and it occupied much of the back of the jeep in which it was transported the short distance to the beach. It took four of us, one at each corner of a harness, to carry it across the beach to the sea. They are proper animals and this one was clearly keen to be returned to its natural environment, given the amount of flapping and flipper-waving that went on as we got closer to the waterline.

Nicks came round, just after I got back. She told me to get ready to go out to lunch with some friends and that I would need a hat and swimming things. I think this would be the first occasion I have travelled to a social event by boat. The venue was about 3km as the crow flies from where Giovanni’s boat is moored ( Giovanni is Nicky’s husband ). It was on the other side of the creek, however, and so it was 45 minutes plus by road. We waded out to the boat, went slowly across quite a shallow reef and moored just off a deserted beach. At the top of the sand dune, a very pleasant couple, Andrew and Errie, have built a beach house. It comprises a roof, an open plan sitting and dining area, no walls and a ladder up to the only bedroom. The view, over lunch, was the Indian Ocean. Andrew is in the business of broking and/or selling boats. His business has expanded significantly on the inland lakes ( Victoria, Tangyanika, Malawi etc..). This is because the trade in small boats on the coast north of Mombasa has almost ceased, thanks to the activities of the Somali pirates. It was a most sociable occasion and Giovanni drove us home in about 5 minutes, so we got quite wet.

I got back to my room at the Turtle Watch to discover that there was a power cut. It didn’t matter that much as there was nothing I particularly needed to do. I did spend half an hour with my fellow volunteers. Amy is from Maine, knows a vast amount about turtles, is about 25, I would guess, and has decided that she is not for settling down just yet. Will is from Sydney and is here with Beatrice, ex-Heathfield. They met when she did a year as a Nottingham University student at the NSW University. I didn’t know such options were possible. They are taking a joint post univ. Gap Year and have come here via some time teaching in a school on the Tanzanian border, some time in the game parks and some time visiting relatives. Beatrice reminds me much of Sarah at that stage and is about as well-versed in the whole idea of travel. They were all very nice to me and duly indulgent of my more antiquated views.

It has, in short, been a truly brilliant day on which I have seen and done things that are totally new to me and on which I have experienced the need to go with Africa’s own unique flow.

WATAMU Nov 10^th

There are just so many contrasts in this relatively small area. The most noticeable is that between the hotels and the dwellings immediately beyond their boundaries. One all pools and bars and gin-slings and designer wear, the other mud walls, palm leaf roofs, corrugated iron reinforcement and the nearest clothing that comes to hand. There is the contrast between men and women, too. The men often hanging around in groups, while the women are mostly seen in or near the home with the children doing the domestic work. Young and old is another. The younger men are noisily obvious, tooting their motor-bike horns, hailing their mates and laughing ostentatiously. The older men sit quietly, smoking, talking, drinking tea and appear to be more at ease with themselves. Still further is the dichotomy of the creaking communication system on the one hand and the fact that virtually everyone over the age of 20 possesses a mobile phone on the other. The Kenyan people, with the possible exception of the Masai, who consider themselves superior to all others, are fiercely loyal to their country and their tribe and yet all the males are fanatical supporters of English football teams and the crowds for live games, beamed to small ‘cinemas’, can be huge. Replica football shirts are in huge demand and, had I known this, I could have virtually paid my way round the country with the cheap versions available on European market stalls.

One other striking feature, especially given my observations in the USA, is just how crowded all the roadsides are with pedestrian traffic. Whereas people in the US think nothing of driving a few blocks, here they think nothing of walking a few kilometres, even when the sun is at its zenith. Quite often this will be womenfolk carrying vast loads of shopping/wood/produce on their heads. Men don’t do that, apparently.

I enjoyed my first ride in a tuk-tuk today. Initially the taxi I was going to take to the hotel where, supposedly, internet connection is better turned out to be a motor-bike. It was only a mile and was 80p instead of £1.60 but with all sorts of farewell advice – ‘stay safe’, ‘don’t do anything stupid’, ‘don’t take unnecessary risks’, etc..- ringing in my ears, I felt that the relative safety of the covered conveyance was preferable to a helmetless pillion-ride.

I also shopped for supper. The Watamu supermarket is not badly stocked and the vegetables and fruit are superb. There are some brand names I thought had long since disappeared. Blue Band spread, VIM bathroom cleaner, Tizer, Consulate cigarettes and Mazzola cooking oil. In the process it occurred to me that by degrees I am adopting a vegetarian diet. I did counterbalance that positive health move by buying a small jar of Nescafe, having not had a coffee for 3-4 days.

All in all I was beginning to see how all the ex-pats manage so well. Wonderful climate, lots of in-house service, items in the shops, albeit all at a price and for the wealthy only. Then at 9.00 the lights went out. Which meant the kettle wouldn’t boil for clean water, which means gungy teeth. Yes, a generator will cover this but what a pain. That and corruption and things taking for ever. I guess the grass is always a bit greener.