When in Alexandria, the Daily Rod stays at the Hotel Metropole.

mooooo...dinner...

Slaughtering chickens is a dangerous business, and sometimes you just need a hardhat.

Pompey's Pillar, a sphinx, Gavin and Me.

underneath the pillar, held up by this very powerful nail

Alexandria Library

Alexandria Library to the Mediterranean

kenya, part two

My last day in Kenya proved the most interesting. Before my visit, Marianne befriended a pair of Kenyan brothers, received no less than a dozen marriage proposals from their closest kin, and arranged for us to dine with them at Carnivore, a famous game eatery in Nairobi that boasts the only legal lion meat in the city. We met John David (one brother) at the old Stanley Hotel in downtown Nairobi, where Sylvester served imported beer and carefully measured one ounce glasses of scotch. Peter Hanningtone (second brother) and his wife picked us up and we headed to Carnivore. At dinner we feasted on ostrich, camel, lamb, beef, and crocodile (no lion that evening). Peter explained how a Kenyan man's great responsibility is to satisfy his wife morning, noon, and night, lest she shack up with the next door neighbor. His his wife asked me if I believed in god and told me that I looked like Jesus (I guess she doesn’t see too many white guys with goatees around Nairobi. In Cairo I fit in until I speak, but not in Kenya).

Peter works at a bank and is middle class Kenyan. He owns a car and lives in a gated community a short ways from downtown Nairobi. (But he has a frustrating commute nonetheless. He travels 20 minutes from his house on a potholed, gravel road, and then 3 times the distance to his office in only 15 minutes. The Kenyan Army, which runs an installation off that road, maintains that for security reasons the road must stay uneven. Peter has organized his community, however, and the best lawyer in Kenya fights this claim in court.) Peter lives next to the airport and housed us the night before I flew out. On the car ride home he told us about life in Kenya.

70% of Kenyans live in villages. The villages are isolated, rural, and villagers rely on farming for livelihood. Two streams run near his family's village, one for bathing, one for drinking. Peter’s village lies 5-10 kilometers away from the nearest general store, and about a 12 hour car ride from his permanent home in Nairobi. Peter drives his family to the village four times a year in their car, but most villagers take buses to Nairobi, as very few own automobiles. Peter stays for two weeks at a time with his wife and daughter. Now married, he’s built a 3 room house for himself (two bedrooms, one sitting room), and uses a kitchen located nearby. Peter and his brother grew up with their father in Nairobi while their mother stayed in the village, tending to the crops. Now that his eldest children have grown and house their younger brothers and sisters (there are about 7), Peter’s father has returned home.

The village may be far from town, but Peter explained that the villagers keep up on world events. They listen regularly to BBC and Voice of America on shortwave radio. When Peter returns for his quarterly visits, everyone asks about "the fighter" (literally the boxer) George W. Bush. Rather than asking about Bush the American President, they ask how the fighter who challenges Saddam Hussein is faring. They probably know that Bush is President of the United States, but they know him better for his struggle against Saddam. The presidency, and the United States, are mentioned rarely, if mentioned at all.

I can not imagine returning for two weeks to a village lacking running water or electricity. After all, Peter lives in a lovely, modern house that would fit effortlessly in any American town. But he assures me that the village is quiet and relaxing, and he’s always sorry to head back to Nairobi.

Peter and his family approach religion with an all-encompassing framework. He and his wife are Christian, but their housekeeper is Muslim, and they alternate their prayers. When we returned home for dinner we said a prayer before sleeping (to Christ), and again when we awoke in the morning (to Allah).

As Peter drove us to the aiport in the morning, a boy in his late teens approached the car with a stack of newspapers and handed Peter two issues. Rather than pay him cash, Peter handed him a bank receipt, and informed him that yesterday he deposited a weekly sum into his bank account. As we drove away, Peter explained that he set up the bank account to instill in the young man fiscal responsibility and knowledge.

Peter at right, and John above him, with some brothers and sisters.

After a short hiatus, the daily rod is back with a report. Since last posting I've swung through Kenya, dashed about Rome, floated up the Nile, and trained it to Alexandria. Hosni Mubarak granted a bouquet of democracy to the people of Egypt, Syria may pull out of Lebanon, Iraq is a flowering democracy, and I'm celebrating by accepting a job in our department of war.

In January I traveled and in February I entertained. I stopped first in Nairobi, Kenya, where I breathed clean air for the first time since Eastern Europe. But this air was real clean - Africa clean - if that exists (it should). My friend Marianne picked me up at the airport, and that week we visited the Masai Mara Natural Reserve, spotting 4 of the Big 5 (Lions, Leopard, Buffalo, Elephants), missing out on the Rhinos. But the Kenyan great plains compensated us with beautiful scenery and cheetah sightings galore. During the high season one sees millions of animals while they migrate across the continent, but one sees hundreds of vans stuck in a line, and from what I hear, it feels like you see more people than animals. We went during the low season, and at times, had the place all to ourselves. From the northern planes we flew south to Mombasa and took a two hour bus ride to the small resort town of Watamu. After 2 nights of a tent and no shower, the hotel looked very nice. We laid out on the white beaches where Hemingway went deep sea fishing, and tried our tongues at Italian (well, I can't speak a word, but Marianne proved proficient). The highlight was my dad's birthday gift - nothing less than a 5 foot wooden giraffe, crafted by a 4 and a half foot tall Watamu native, who must have used a step-stool to finish the piece, whittled from a solid log of wood. The craftsman assured us that he'd wrap it up nicely for us (it had to get back to New York, I explained), which meant newspaper and paper bags. The two-hour bus ride into Watamu changed into a two-hour shared van ride which looked just like the pictures you may have seen - a 14 person van filled with 25 sweaty Kenyans and two sweaty, tired, nervous Americans (my Short Hills nose proved fragile, I can assure you). Nervous because our flight left in three hours and we had zero time to get there. But we arrived and a taxi sped us to the airport, where we actually had time for a beer and a proper wrapping of the wooden giraffe (apparently that's what they do best at the Mombasa airport).

More later, enjoy the pictures.

at Sotheby's.

abandon faith all who enter Masai Mara National Reserve

our guide at the hippo pool (he's on the right). he carries an M-16 to ward off the hungry crocodiles, who unfortunately snag Kenyans once in a while

elephant

stopped for lunch, marianne and the guide.

ooh, should have checked the gas gauge. wait, the gas gauge says full, ahh, i see, it's broken. the roads in kenya are bumpy, and while riding the back bench of our toyota i thought of all the hummers crusing down the mean streets of short hills. sigh.

we followed the landcruiser to town and became instant celebrities. note a small baldheaded admirer bottom right.

can you capture it?