In Out of Africa, Baroness Blixen speaks of being able to fly over Africa as one of the benefits of being friends with Denys Finch-Hatton (she’s too discreet to mention some of the other perks). In West with the Night, Beryl Markham writes of taking off from the airport in Nairobi as an amazing experience. Having taken off from or landed at Jomo Kenyatta, the spraling, semi-modern airport most memorable for delays and the resulting Tuskers, I respectfully disagree. However, having now had the chance to depart from little Nairobi Wilson airport (at least the AirKenya “terminal” has a roof), I’m coming around to the memoirists’ way of thinking.
This weekend was the group’s trip up to Masai Mara, the biggest game reserve in Kenya and world famous for the wildebeest migration every summer. The plan was to travel up by safai on Friday and drive back on Sunday after 2 days of game drives. I had to make the last minute call to fly up Friday afternoon instead, which turned out to be a great, albeit pricey, decision
Warning: Mommy B, you may want to skip the next paragraph or two. Graphic descriptions of a small plane follows.
AirKenya flies 3 times a day to the various airstrips of the Mara (read: strips of dirt with a fence and a sign) in a little twin otter – 20 seats and no autopilot. After the obligatory mad dash to the airport – Friday traffic in Nairobi is quite unpredictable - I had time aplenty to watch them fuel up the plane from a hose and charge the plane’s battery. Really comforting. At least they gave us water and mints to make it feel somewhat like a real flight.
I was lucky to snag a window seat, which meant I got to spend the next hour staring out at the wide expanse of Kenya. At home, I fly twice a week, and have long since gotten over looking out the window – aisle seats let you get off the plane faster. At 12,000 feet, however, below the clouds, on a sunny July afternoon, it would be criminal not to take advantage of the view.
We took off over Nairobi, then passed over Karen and Langata. The suburbs from the plane seemed a checkerboard of palatial McMansions and country clubs and tin-roofed shanty towns. It was a stark airbourne reminder of the very big divides in this country. Then it was onto the dark red soil of the Rift Valley and the semi-regular pattern of small holder farmers in this lush region. Finally, it was over the savannah, with only the dirt roads breaking the pattern of the tall, dun-colored grass. The clouds cast fascinating shapes below the plane – Chinese dragons, sinous snakes, fluffy pompoms.
As we descended to the first of our four landing strips, trees started to dot the landscape, and underneath them you could see shimmery, shiny patches of light that, to my unbelieving eyes, turned out to be herds of antelope. Coming back out up from the first airstrip, I found myself gripping both sides of the window as we soared over herds of zebras and passed right over a group of elephants – my first animal spotting of the Safari!
After three more stops on my matatu of a plane, I finally landed at Keerokok to be met by two vans full of wonderful, patient people. Then it was off to the park for an evening game drive – elephants, lions, and all the herd beasts our hearts could desire. One pretty sunset over the valley later, it was rattling down the bad park roads and up the dirt trail to our tented camp, for warm food, hot showers and cozy Masai blankets to snuggle under until our 5 AM wake up the next day. The animals are most active at sunrise, which means the visitors must be too!
No comments:
Post a Comment