GUEST BLOG IV "by Dave"

"I know not why any young man would come back from there," Henry James wrote about California, at the turn of the last century. This is now what we feel about Africa. In Kenya we met young women and men doing great, exciting things: working in malaria control; developing "green" charcoal; stitching the continent together with cells phones. It feels like a place where one can do something exciting and important. So go East, young man, and grow up with the continent.

Being around large animals is strangely comforting. We loved our safari, in Tsavo East National Park, a place still largely unspoiled and one full of game. But the birds! Who knew that we were secret binocular buffs? Over sixty species cited and still counting when we left. One favorite was the secretary bird, a huge thing with black leggings that made it look like something warming up for a Twyla Tharp audition.

All that was great, but the real revelation was the people. Patrick has managed to learn some Swahili and to penetrate the culture, and so we were treated to interactions with Kenyans far beyond the usual tourist "jambo." There was Captain Hassan, who so gallantly lifted all three wives off his Dhow before preparing the crab fest, and then cauterized Barney's driftwood-lacerated toe with boiling salt water. "All the sailors treat their wounds this way," he said. A true Renaissance man of Swahililand! Ali Hippie took us into his 14th century home and fed us shrimp and chicken, then played electronic keyboard while his family clapped and sang. Dagmar the German emigré, living with her Kenyan husband on the second floor of a B & B on the harbor at Lamu. At the Arubuko Sekoke Forest, Alex helped us spot two golden elephant shrews. Back in Kilifi, another Captain Hassan took us for a sail to the sacred ibis grounds and even let "Captain Dave" steer the boat. Rolando the Italian served us a five course meal at his beautiful roost over the Indian Ocean, complete with homemade cheeses and amarro. Joseph the cook gracefully backed off when we wanted to grill our 6 kilo red snapper. In Tsavo, driver and game spotter William refused to use dark glasses for fear of becoming dependant on them and then not being able to find a pair. "Giraffes are poor mothers," he told us. And in Nairobi, Raphael gamely drove us around the city- mischievously encouraging the Ann's long dormant shopping gene- and filled us in on Kikuyu politics.
We pine for Africa. It remains part of our current stateside dreams, even the ones induced by the malaria drugs. Oh, well, 'til the next trip, but I can't imagine a better adventure than The Coast of Kenya.