Karibu Kenya #3: Crocodile hunting, “hot” showers and maziwa

                 The morning started with more stories from grandpa. It’s becoming somewhat of a ritual when we cross paths at the crack of dawn. Once he puts on his hearing aids and the coffee is made, my questioning begins. Today’s topic: What about that time you killed a crocodile?
 

                 Grandpa and grandma were living in Bomili, Congo which, at the time, was being run by the Belgians. It was a village community where everyone knew the person in the mud hut next to them. For some time there had been problems with man-eating crocodiles living in the frequently trafficked areas near the Ituri River. With possession of one of the only firearms in the area, grandpa was asked to take his 375 Magnum rifle and kill one of these crocodiles. There had already been a previous situation further up the river where villagers trapped and cut open up another crocodile, finding indigestible mementos of the many people it had devoured. Aware of the gravity of the situation, grandpa decided he would somehow bate the crocodile and then strap himself high up in a tree near the riverbank with his loaded rifle.  I asked “Why would you strap yourself to a tree?” Apparently, it was because his rifle had a rubber recoil with such a powerful backfire that it left you looking up from the ground. So with thorough anticipation he was avoiding the even more dangerous situation if met face to face with this man eating monster- smart move gramps! If you are a dog lover, I am sorry to say that it was the only animal available for bate. He tied the dog on a leash close to the bank and waited two hours hoping to get a glimpse of his target. He spotted the croc quietly inching his way through the water toward the whimpering dog. Wasting no time, he took his shot, hitting the crocodiles between the eyes. At this point in the story, I was sitting on the edge of the armchair assuming the next line would consist of him jumping out of the tree and beheading the animal. That’s not exactly what happened though. The wounded crocodile, writhing in pain, actually staggered back into the river. Fortunately, grandpa found it washed up on another bank after being carried away by the current.-confirmation that it was finally dead. Also, you’ll be glad to hear that the dog made it out unscathed but possibly emotionally traumatized. No need to alert PETA.

 

                Things toned down by mid morning as I got ready for the rest of the day. The shower in my grandparent’s house is a bit of a gamble. There is an electric water contraption attached to the shower head. You have to turn on a switch for it to start working.  Grandma gave me a detailed explanation of how to fully maximize my shower experience saying “the less water you run the hotter it is”. So, with that being said, today’s “hot” shower had the water pressure of a coffee pot. Talk about comical third world problems. It gets better; try getting dressed with two lizards watching you from the curtain-harmless creatures but extremely noisy.

 

                Following lunch, I decided to look over the curriculum for the Spanish class I will be tutoring starting around 10am tomorrow. My Aunt Aimée and family friend Mim run the Ahadi Boys Home from my grandparent’s house. These 14 boys, who range in age from 5-18, live on the compound having been rescued from life on the streets. I will be helping two of the high school boys, Timothy and Dennis, who are taking this independent study class through the University of Nebraska High School. I am pretty excited to be teaching, which is surprising, seeing how relieved I was to start my summer vacation back in the states.
 

                Jetlag required yet another 30 minute coma-nap, giving me the energy I needed the rest of the afternoon to hang out with some of the younger boys: Kariuki, Clapaton and Robert. We started making birthday cards for my aunt Aimée and then before I knew it they were requesting that I cut out paper squirrels to color. Interesting request, but one I quite enjoyed. We continued crafting and talking in Swahi-nglish when Dan, one of the 8^th grade boys of Ahadi, came skating up on only one roller blade. He quickly joined the conversation trying to help me recall words in Swahili. We then moved on to using British and Indian accents which resulted in lots of laughter. Before the sun started to set, Dan suggested we walk up the road and get the maziwa (milk). This may be a foreign concept for some of you so I will explain. Not that you couldn’t buy milk from the grocery store, but why would you when there is a lady who has a milk cow down the road? My grandparents save their empty Sprite bottles and send the boys to have the bottles refilled as needed. Kariuki, Robert, Clapaton and I decided to take the less than one mile walk with Dan uni-skating alongside us. We made it to the milk house where I met Jemima and Elisabeth who were preparing collard greens.  They greeted us warmly before we exchanged a few shillings for an ice cold liter of milk from their freezer. Robert the 5 year old toted the milk all the way back to the house while Clapaton and Kariuki munched on little guavas they found on the side of the road. Dan diligently continued to tutor me in my Swahili. On a side note, the milk will have to be boiled and strained to kill the bacteria before drinking. You may still find surprise floaties after this process, so it’s always a good idea to strain one more time before using it in your coffee.
 

                The boys helped me move my suitcases up to my aunt’s small apartment that is also located on the compound once we got back from our milk run. I am upgrading from my grandparent’s couch to an actual bed now that Aimee is back from her wedding visit in the UK. While wheeling the suitcases along the sidewalk, I noticed several large holes in the dirt along the way. After asking if they were cobra holes, the boys cheekily smiled and informed me not to worry since they had killed 80% of them. As we unlocked the apartment, they could see my uneasiness. Trying to reassure me they said, “Don’t worry, there are no snakes in the apartment, just large rats and geckos”. 

 



                I didn’t know my day would get more exciting as we continued to talk on the porch after putting away my suitcases. As I sat on the ledge, I began to feel something crawl onto the back of my pants. I noticed a couple of ants and quickly stood up. Low and behold, I was sitting on an entire ant colony who were no longer on the outside of my jeans but rather on the inside, if you get my gist. I ran into the bathroom and stripped. Fortunately, they were not of the fire ant breed- something I had already experienced during childhood. I managed to pick them all off but still found a couple in my hair before dinner.

 

                Speaking of dinner, Dinah made us Nduma which is boiled arrow root from the elephant ear plant. I hadn’t had it in years. You’ll have check out the pictures below to see its state from raw to cooked. It almost tastes like a potato.
 

                Aimee just got in from the airport so I will be signing off to listen to her recent travel adventures.

 

Cheers for now! 

                                                                                                    

The boys and I running to get milk.

 

Nduma root.