Kenya Take Two – Part 3 - The truck thief strikes again at Karen Camp. Chilling out at Wildebeest Camp (Karen, Nairobi) & the Northern Road to Ethiopia

Back at Karen Camp once again... 

We arrived late in the afternoon and settled in for the night for what we knew could be a stressful day the next day: we had to get our visas for Sudan and all reports we'd heard about this were that it wasn't easy to do...worse still, parts of the south of the country and the Darfur region were on a knife-edge pending a political referendum in January. The UN were rumoured to be everywhere.

To get the Sudanese visas we all had to go to our respective Embassies and get a 'letter of invitation' from them; essentially confirming our identity, guaranteeing proper conduct in their country and politely requesting safe transit. More or less what a passport (costing over 100GBP) should be able to do for you, right? That's what we thought too but apparently a passport isn't good enough. This was a bit of a ballbreaker as found out the next morning...

We all piled into various taxis and shuttle buses to take us to our Embassies. Jen, Jules (Kiwi turned Brit), Berbs, Laraldo and I got dropped off at the uber-secure British Embassy. After by-passing the bomb guys with their massive dental mirrors (for seeing under cars), leaving all accessories and bits and pieces with the security guard at reception, going through a metal detector and then being frisked, we finally strolled over to the passport enquiries office. After a short wait, the woman there broke the news to us that the letter we needed to get the Sudanese visa would cost us 65GBP (100USD). Yep, our own country charging us a fortune for a single piece of A4 paper (albeit embossed with the Embassy logo) even though we all had perfectly good passports. 'Thems the breaks', I guess. As we've heard many people say on this side of the continent when something doesn't go to plan: "T.I.A." or "This is Africa." What could we do but pay it? At least the woman behind the desk was kind enough to photocopy all of our documents for us...saving us at least a few pennies.

Should you wish to try and save some pennies by forging (not advised) the 'letter of invitation', this is what one from the British Embassy looked like. Good luck with the Embassy stamp and embossed paper!

After about an hour or two here we were done so we went to a nearby shopping mall for some grub and to check out the rumoured cinema and what was on. Inception? Aces. We'd heard a lot about this one so were keen to come back and watch it that evening. Back at Karen Camp, all the various groups of nationalities ambled back in dribs and drabs...some with stories like ours (the Kiwis had to pay about 40USD and didn't actually have an Embassy in Kenya so went to the office of some random guy who acted as Honorary consulate or something like that) but it seems like us Brits got screwed over the most. I think the Gab (Italian), Big Bad Ron (Dutch) and Pat (Aussie on a Swiss passport) got theirs for free...or as good as free. Can't remember for the Saffers and Aussies but if you need to know drop me a line and I'll ask them.

The evening came and went – as did Inception (best ending to a film, ever?) and the next morning we were off to the Sudanese Embassy. We'd all filled out two copies of the usual forms, had our yellow fever certificates photocopied (just in case), our original letters from our Embassies as well as photocopies (again, just in case), photocopies of bank statements and/or bank cards (not needed in the end), passport photocopies and passport-sized photos....phew!!!

We were all getting our relevant bits of paperwork out of our lockers when Mr Homeless discovered that he was 900USD short. F*CK!! If you've been reading the previous entries you'd know that we've been having issues with money "going missing" for the last month. First Laraldo in Zanzibar (200USD approx.), then Matt, Kerry and Sonya the day before Serengeti (combined total of about 6-700USD) then Big Bad Ron (400USD) when we broke down in Kenya just before visiting the Ugandan gorillas. This sucks. Somebody is still playing silly buggers.

A typical private investigator

Naturally, the mood in camp dropped through the floor. There were endless mutterings, accusations and bitchiness (from everybody – nobody was innocent) and any eye contact made with a co-passenger carried heavy and awkward undertones of suspicion. We all agreed that we had to do something this time around. There was talk of setting a trap (nobody agreed with my bear-trap idea) or doing some finger-printing but in the end Chris proposed we got in touch with an expat Private Investigator that he knew of rather than involve the Kenyan police directly (more on those cowboys later). We all agreed that this was a sound idea and Chris arranged to have the guy come and see us that evening.

In the words of Freddie Mercury, "The show must go on." Despite the big pile of B.S. that had been dropped on us that morning, we still had to sort out the visas. A handful of us took off to the Sudanese Embassy and dropped everything off before wondering about 800 metres down the road to check out 'Wildebeest Camp.' We were all happy enough with the facilities at Karen Camp but were forking out between 150 – 300 Kenyan Shillings per person every time we wanted to go anywhere (i.e. to the Embassies or town centre). Wildebeest was much closer into town (a mere 5 minute walk from the aforementioned shopping mall) and we'd read nothing but good reviews about the place on TripAdvisor.

So we scoped the place out; the rooms were clean and tidy, the en-suite lodge-style tents were immaculate, the garden and lawn were well-kept and the atmosphere was relaxed and homely. After positive feedback from some current residents our decision was made. Lara, Son, Ish, Big Ron and I were all going to spend just one more night at Karen Camp and the rest of the week at Wildebeest. 

The lodge-style safari tents at Wildebeest.

Inside the tents were immaculate (until we moved in of course).

That's right - an en suite tent.

The spacious lawn (usually green but had just been 'treated' with compost). Perfect for frisbee.

By the end of the afternoon, we'd jumped in a 'matati' (very cheap local mini-bus that works on a very loose timetable) and soon found ourselves chilling outside the bar back at Karen Camp where the rest of the tribe had also congregated. We were even joined by two new passengers – Hendrik and Robert aka The Saffer Bros – who we'd already got to know back at Lake Bunyonyi in Uganda. The boys were putting together a braii South African style but we couldn't get too excited about it as we had more important business to sort out: the thief and the P.I.

It was early evening when a grey-haired, slightly portly character strolled into the patio area with his gumshoe suit barely concealing the gun nestled in his holster. He looked like he should have his own crime show from the late 80's (that eventually gets shown two decades later on British mid-week afternoon tv). Seriously, the guy was like Jessica Fletcher, Petrocelli, Quincy M.E., Dr Mark Sloan (Dyke Van Dick's character in Diagnosis: Murder...that's right, I said Dyke Van Dick) and Ironside all rolled into one ('cept the Ironside wheelchair of course). Chris gave us the introduction. It went something like:

"Guys, I'd like you to meet my security contact I've told you about. He's studied criminology and forensic psychology, has worked with Special Forces in Iraq and/or Afghanistan, works with Interpol and does Private Investigating for thrills. His name..." (You'll love this.)

"...is..."

"...Gregory Love"

Amazing. He must already have one of those shows with a name like that, right??? His business card confirmed both his name and his credentials (think I still have it somewhere) and soon he was interviewing all of us one-by-one. The 'interview/interrogation' was nothing too sinister - in fact, like a lot of things in my life, it was over within a couple of minutes – but you got the sense that this guy really knew what he was doing. At the end of the night, he gave Chris his thoughts and Chris rounded us all up for a bollocking/warning. They had an idea who it was, but couldn't prove anything and thus, couldn't tell us. An open invitation was given for the thief to "fack awf" (in Aussie speak) and the lock on the truck was changed so that nobody could do a runner over night. We all went to bed in a sombre mood and woke up the next day half-expecting our gang to be minus one...but no. The thief remained in our midst anonymously...and to this day, still does.

For those that are keeping record, the rundown of mishaps and adventures on this trip goes something like this:

1. Tent-slashing thieves in Morocco (whilst we were still asleep inside them).
   
2. Police detention in Mauritania (to "save us from the Al Qaeda")
   
3. 66% of passengers getting malaria in Ghana/Nigeria.
   
4. Being caught in the middle of riots in northern Nigeria.
   
5. The truck getting stuck in a subterranean river in Cameroon.
   
6. Jigger fleas popping out of our toes in Angola and Namibia.
   
7. Elephants raiding our camp in Zambia...
8. ...and now we can add "interrogated by Interpol in Kenya" to that résumé.
   

The rest of our stay in Nairobi was pretty uneventful for me...we moved our stuff to Wildebeest Camp - a very good move. The place was great; Ronald got a bed in a dorm and Ish, Son, Lara and I shared a massive en-suite tent (20USD per person per night) that got cleaned everyday; the food there was, no word of a lie, the best we'd had on our ENTIRE trip that far. We made friends with a lone gunner named Kirsten (Aussie) who fitted right in and joined us on a few boozy sessions and nights out.

The stunning main building at Wildebeest - where the amazing chefs worked their magic.

One night we all arranged to meet Jen & Jules (who had also opted to leave Karen Camp and were staying at another hotel/hostel in town) at  "Habesha" – a traditional Ethiopian restaurant. There were seven of us at Wildebeest (Kirsten, Ish, Lara, Son, Ronald, another traveller whose name I've forgotten, maybe Miriam? and I) and as we couldn't get two taxis, one guy promised to drop half of us off and return for the others. Lara, Kirsten, Ish and I were on the first run and we hadn't got two minutes out of Wildebeest camp when we met a police checkpoint on a main road. Plenty of other cars were being stopped so it all looked pretty routine. The cop spoke to our driver, checked his papers than nonchalantly asked for our passports (in a few of the African countries we'd been through you need to have your passport or some form of ID on you at all times)...

...on this occasion, we didn't have ours.

Crap.

After explaining this to the cop he simply said "well you have to come to prison with me". The response from us was nervous laughter and disbelief. We then told the guy the usual "don't be ridiculous", "we're only about 800 yards from where we're staying" , "we don't even need our passports"...but he was arrogantly steadfast.


"C'mon officer, you're not being fair! We just want to meet our friends at a restaurant."


"The only restaurant you'll be going to is the one at the prison."


F.F.S!!! As tempers began to flare and voices got louder I hushed everybody and asked calmly and politely if I could get out and speak to the officer. I can't tolerate moaning, raising voices and gesticulating at times like this. It only helps to make matters worse. Besides, T.I.A. and who knew what could have happened. 


I stepped out and walked to the back of the car where the cop already had a big smile and a gleam in his eye. As I approached he said something along the lines of "this is what I like to see, a man who can talk business". We both knew what this meant. I asked him what he wanted and, after sending the taxi driver back into the car (up until now he had been stood with the cop) he said "maybe you give me something...some kind of present so I can eat." 


Maybe I should have got his name and details and called his bluff and actually gone to the station or prison. Maybe I should have sworn at him and lost my temper...but we just wanted to meet our friends for some food - I couldn't be arsed with fighting the usual African corruption at the expense of a good evening. Besides, 5USD was enough to get him off our backs and send us on our way. A small price to pay. As the crook diminished in size in the rearview mirror, my inner-DJ was sifting through the archives thinking about an appropriate song to play if I had the means. Let's just say it was by the controversial gangster rap group, N.W.A.


To be safe, we went back to Wildebeest, told the others about our plight and all got our passport photocopies. When we finally made it to Habesha it didn't take long for everybody to forget about the bad start to the night: The food there was excellent, as was the new experience of eating 'injera' – we initially thought that the strange rolled up stuff that they presented us with was actually a plate full of warm towels like the ones you got on aeroplane journeys. (As you'll find out from our upcoming Ethiopia entry, our love of injera soon faded.)

The days were filled with card games, reading, sunning and shooting the breeze with whoever was around. Lara and Ish found time to go and watch "Eat, Pray, Love" (Julia Roberts rom-com vom) at the cinema and Son and Kirsten went to do some kissing and necking (see Son's blog entry here) at the Giraffe Centre. Sometimes Alan (co-owner) would go into the garden late-afternoon with a big of scrap meat and just throw the pieces in the air for about 15 mins...the nearby black kites appreciated this and swooped down into the grounds in droves trying to get fed. Really cool to watch.

For those that didn't know, the Nairobi suburb of Karen is named after 'Karen Blixen' (of "Out of Africa" fame, the book that inspired the Academy-Award winning film with Robert Redford and Meryl Streep in) and there was a Karen Blixen Coffee House and Museum near her former home. I'm was a bit disappointed to not getting around to see it but (and I hate to say it) I spent a lot of time (too much, maybe) bringing the blog up-to-speed. On numerous occasions, I have regretted the fact that we're doing this blog...a few people on the truck (plus others we've met along the way) have likened it to being at school and bringing your homework on holiday with you over the summer holidays. The speed, reliability and availability of internet connections on this continent can be very trying on your patience. If you're thinking about doing a trip like this and are keen to do a blog, you should keep this in mind. But it's more of an observation than a complaint...I've babbled on in previous entries about how technology has slowly and inadvertently taken away the romantic aspect of African travel. 

Our days at Wildebeest were filled with card games, reading, sunning and shooting the breeze with whoever was around.

This shy little fella was a permanent resident at Wildebeest and could often be seen wondering the grounds.

During the week, I did pop into the Sudan Embassy to pick up the group's passports which, hopefully, would have all got the Sudan Visa stamped in them. Names were spelt wrong and back-to-front and dates were all over the place (Gab's visa was valid for 0 months until I pointed it out and had it changed!) but we had the visas nonetheless!! Nobody had been denied. The next morning we stopped by Karen Camp to return all the other passengers' passports and it was there that we met Allison and Spencer Harvey (both teachers from Darwin, Australia) and Rob Dark – an Aussie pathologist making a living taking the piss out of the British in England. These three, plus Saffer Brothers Episodes 1 and 2, completed the quintet of new passengers we were picking up in Nairobi.

By the time we were ready for the road again, Marjane had returned from his one month respite in Australia and we had all moved our stuff into Roxy – the new Ruby! She was a whole lotta woman; bigger than her older sister and looking fully-equipped to look after our troop of misfits. It was Monday 18^th October and before we took off northwards for Ethiopia, we all gathered around Ruby for a goodbye photo.

We get our first preview of Roxy (cream) as she sits next to Ruby (white).

The gang's all here to say goodbye to Ruby.

The road to the Ethiopian border was one of the worst we'd encountered: bumpy, dirty and with hardly a soul around - everybody was hiding from the heat which must have been in the late 30's (Centigrade/Celsius that is). There were some cool moments along the way though: Choosing every toilet stop to play keepy-up with a football (soccer ball) in the middle of the deserted road; stopping off at a crater and then there was the bush-camp where Gabs joined Berbs and me on one of our missions into the undergrowth in the night only to come out running scared from what we thought was a leopard in a tree ("The eyes were huge! It had to be something big! It was up in the tree so must have been a leopard"). Five minutes later, we returned with reinforcements: the sticks, machetes and extra men we'd brought back (Berbs, Kyle, Pat, Saffers 1 & 2) gave us enough courage to get closer to the where the beast lay...it was eerily still when we saw the giant red eyes again. "Flash the torch!" somebody whispered. So we did so and discovered...to our horror...that we'd run scared from a bush-baby. 

We ran scared from this bush-baby all the way to the Ethiopian border. We're so Maasai warrior it hurts.

On the road again - through northern Kenya and on to Ethiopia.

Desolate.

Laraldo with the crater behind her.

Said crater.

A game of keepy-ups in the middle of the spookily quiet road.

  

Kenya Take Two – Part 2 – Kembu Camp, Fisherman’s Camp (Lake Naivasha) & Karen Camp (Karen, Nairobi)

So I woke up at Naiberi Camp on the morning of 8^th October feeling a little bit older and not one little bit wiser. As I brushed my teeth in the mirror, I swear I saw a new wrinkle pop its way into existence on my forehead. A few more white hairs were noticeable in my otherwise ginger beard and my hairline on my forehead had made good overnight progress in its race to get to the back of my head. The good news was, I woke up after my 30^th birthday without a hangover...the same couldn't be said for Chris and Homeless...who stayed up at the bar being entertained by Raj until about 4am...we weren't due to move on until early afternoon anyway, so the fellas had time to recover.


There was very little cleaning up for us to do after The AK Party as Gab had got up early and done everything so the gang spent the morning exploring the grounds or chilling by the pool. I found a chameleon on the path down to the pool and freaked out the superstitious local bar staff by wearing him on my shoulder. They told me he was poisonous but I was pretty sure I was safe.


Finally on the road again, we drove to a place called "Kembu Camp" - a campsite on a working farm overlooking the Great Rift Valley. (If you look on their website, it says: "Altitude 7250 feet i.e. no Malaria." In other words, it was a cool place both metaphorically and literally.) Kenj and I (cook group that night) flipped some awesome burgers for everybody (tuna steaks for the faux veggies) which were scoffed down as Chris told us about a possible excursion the next day – a game drive in Lake Nakuru National Park. About half opted to go for this, whilst the other half (including Lara and I) chose to stay with the truck and head straight to Fisherman's Camp on the shores of Lake Naivasha (where the others would eventually catch up with us again after their safari).


The guys who were going to the Lake had an early start in a minibus but none of us heard them leaving. However...there was some kind of international kids cross-country meet going on and it seemed like most of the schools were also staying at Kembu Camp. When they got up, any chance for a rare lie-in went out of the window as hoards of kids on the cusp of puberty ran around the place in excitement at all of the farm animals. I couldn't decide what was worse: the cow that was mooing incessantly overnight as it had its leg caught in some rope, or the over-enthusiastic young lad running around, seemingly leading the charge with the other kids but in desperate need of some ball droppage. The morning wasn't all bad though: Chris had arranged for some fresh milk to be brought to us...straight from the cow's udders! You don't know how good this was in our tea after months of the powdered stuff.


Onwards we went to Fisherman's Camp where we spent the day chilling under the tarp on Ruby's side (it thundered all afternoon and it threatened to rain but the clouds never delivered) and taking in the surroundings (the food here was really good by the way – the fishburger is highly recommended).The rest of the passengers arrived late in the afternoon and joined us in the bar to watch a bit of sport (it usually ends up being rugby given the Antipodeans have the majority vote on the truck).


Laraldo and I were just chilling when Kay beckoned us over to where she was sitting at the bar...long story short: she got talking to the girl next to her who happened to be from Guernsey and happened to be the younger sister of a girl Lara and I know very well! They say it's a small world and this sort of thing has happened a few times to us now (at The Sleeping Camel in Mali we met a guy who used to work with my old man in Guern and we met a Jersey guy on another Af Trails truck in Zambia) but Guernsey is a very, VERY small place for 70,000 people to live. If you're a Guernseyman and happen to bump into somebody from Guernsey on your travels, chances are that if you're not related to them ("ma mother's ma sister" - said in a hick accent) you'll know them or know of them. Before long we were eating dinner – an absolute feast cooked up by Pat and Kimbo.


After dinner, Berbs, Kenj and I went back to the bar via the camp perimeter at the lake shore. Kenji's LED Mag-lite helped us see an adolescent hippo just chilling within metres of the fence. He didn't like having the torch shone on him so we didn't hang around (our regular driver, Marjane has an horrific story about hippos from this campsite).


The following day, a few of the bozos went off on some of the various excursions that were available from the campsite (e.g. cycling around Crater Lake or doing a 'game walk' with an opportunity to see fish eagles being fed – the photographers on our truck salivated at this latter prospect). Again, having had our fill of wildlife and game parks in recent weeks, Laraldo and I didn't feel the need to fork out for these so again chose to stay at camp. I'm not entirely sure whether I regret turning down activities like this – you may think we're mad if you're reading this from back home, but the east coast leg of the trip has been so eventful and excursion-heavy that you sometimes need a break...or at least your wallet does. The reviews the other passengers gave us for these trips were very mixed, but we got the impression that we didn't miss out on anything too spectacular.


Once everybody was back at camp, we shot off back towards Karen (where we'd stayed for one night before going into Uganda) via an awesome viewpoint (called "Escarpment Viewpoint") over the Great Rift Valley (where a few of us bought some wooly hats from the local shepherds) for our week long stay-over in this Nairobi (-an?) suburb. This was a momentous occasion – it was our last journey in "Ruby".

Son gets the iPod ready.

The whole trip we'd known that Ruby was the last of a dying breed. The Af Trails fleet had been slowly renewed over the space of a year or so and Ruby was the only veteran left (the nature of the Ultimate Trans trip is that she's on the road too long to make it easy to 'retire' her). As we neared Karen Camp – Son hunted down 'Ruby" by The Kaiser Chiefs (our anthem) on her iPod and we literally blasted the thing out of the truck stereo. All 17 or 18 of us (I've lost count of how many of us there are) sang the chorus at the top of our lungs, stomping our feet and punching the roof in time with the beat; head torches were worn and put on flash and red mode to add to the ambience. I think we played it about three or four times in a row; the other guests at Karen Camp surely muttered "There goes the neighbourhood" as we pulled in. The hairs on the back of my neck were genuinely standing on end – I (and in fact, all of us) have personified Ruby throughout the whole trip and this fitting send-off marked the end of an era.

 

RUBY! RUBY! RUBY! RUBY!

Kay in mid-chorus!

Kimbo and the boys (Gab, Berbs & Pat) banging the roof to the beat in the back and the girls singing in the foreground.

Kenya Take 1 - Nairobi, Karen, Karen Camp and onwards to Uganda.

Crossing into Kenya (didn’t The Mock Turtles sing a song about this place? “Kenya Dig it?” or something like that?) we were already against it: On our first day back into Dar-Es-Salaam from Zanzibar, Chris let us know that he’d booked our upcoming gorilla treks (in Uganda) for the 28th September and the 29th September. As it was now Friday 24th Sept the idea was to bomb it through Kenya as quickly as possible to make sure nothing stopped us seeing the gorillas. Our only intended stop-off was in “Karen” (a suburb of Nairobi) where there was a decent-sized “Nakumatt” (Kenya’s answer to Morocco’s Marjane or South Africa’s Shoprite) for us to stock-up on snacks, food for lunch and a few cook group supplies. There were aslo a few ATM’s on the complex grounds and a Western Union right behind too – so we all took the opportunity to get some dough, however...

The Gods were working against us getting to the gorillas on time. Yoichi’s card got swallowed up by one of the ATMs – and this was right at the very end of the afternoon (as the banks were closing) so there was no hope of getting it back that day. Luckily, Karen happened to be the place where we were due our one week layover and Chris (and overlanders in general, it seems) was very familiar with the place and took us to ‘Karen Camp’ which is in fact the place we were due to be staying at (and picking up new passengers from) in a few weeks anyway.

Karen Camp was not too far from the Nakumatt, so we got there within minutes and it was actually quite good to be able to pitch our tents and still have an hour or so of proper sunshine to spare. The campsite was a big spacious one with an ample grassy area complete with trees that weeped sap constantly as noisy crows and playful vervet monkeys watched on. The entire yard doubled up as a truck workyard (there must have been at least five of six different trucks from various overland companies all waiting to be used or in a state of disrepair) and there was a well-stocked bar with plenty of places to chill out in the main building. There was even a proper pool table which Laraldo and I made the most of (I know what you’re thinking, but not in that way).

We all spent the night enjoying a bottle or two of Tusker as we caught up on emails (you could rent a dongle/modem thing from reception and top-up with data packages as necessary) and the next morning Yoichi got up early and took a taxi into town to try and sort out his bank card. Most of the rest of us jumped into the resident mini-bus which took us to the Nakumatt again for about 150 Kenyan Shillings per person. After a short shopping spree (Laraldo and I both needed new earphones) we were back at Karen Camp waiting for the Yoichmeister. Eventually he returned but without a bank card – he was told it would take a couple of weeks! (So we could have carried on to the Ugandan border after all and worried about the card upon our return to Nairobi.)

We all hopped on Ruby again and got out asses in gear so we could make a dash to get as close as we possibly could to the Ugandan border. It was a long drive day, complete with freak rain and hail storms that came out of nowhere, pissed it down and then went away again as rapidly as they came. Chris finally decided to call it a day at about 9/10pm and found us a marshy-looking area (admittedly looking all the more damp thanks to the aforemntioned rains) slightly off the side of the road where we could bush-camp. Lara and Jules put together a quick dinner which we chowed down quickly before hitting the hay (literally in our case – the mossy undergrowth was so thick and spongey where our tent was that our groundsheet became one giant grassy mattress. Pretty comfortable!).

Given that we were still well and truly running out of time to catch up with those Ugandan silverbacks, an early morning start was a must. I think it was about 5.30am or so when we all piled into the back of the truck and got ready for take-off. As Chris reversed Ruby back along the muddy track to the road, the wheels began to spin.

Oh sh1t...here we go.

Off we jumped and out came the mudmats and shovels. Cue the digging, deliberating, pushing and generally everybody pretending they knew what they were doing. Twenty minutes later and with everybody a little bit muddier, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to show...as were the first rays of hope for moving on.

Chris gave Ruby a decent rev and at first we thought it was sure to get her out of the fix she was in, but then, the plot thickened. The driveshaft broke. I have know idea what one of these is either, but it was big, heavy, apparently important and gave off a decent display of sparks as it broke. Balls! (On that note, what do you call a dog with metal balls and no back legs? Sparky.)

Didn’t I tell you the Gods were against us? First Yoichi’s bank card, then this!

Yep - that's a broken driveshaft on the floor. (Homeless's leg on the left bares testament to why you shouldn't itch mozzy bites.)

Chris (foreground) & Matt getting right in there underneath Ruby's belly.

There wasn’t really much we could do about this because, as luck would have it, Norm had taken off most spares off Ruby before he left for his one month holiday at home in Oz. We accepted defeat and got the kettle on, the stools out and made ourselves at home under a little thatched roof that the local farmers use when it rains. After a bit of unsuccessful tinkering and a few of us gathering up some gravel (from the road) to put under the tyres (for traction when it eventually came time to try and leave again) Chris resolved to call the workshop and get one of his colleagues to bring a spare driveshaft up from the Af Trails workshop in Arusha (Tanzania) and help fix the problem.


We made ourselves at home under a thatched roof the locals used.

We accpeted defeat and put the kettle on.

As everybody settled into their brew, I saw fit to play Stealer’s Wheel’s “Stuck in the middle with you” (the song made famous by that brutal scene with the tortured cop in Reservoir Dogs). The song is now a highlight on my iPod’s infamous “Stuck” playlist (alongside “All i need is a miracle” by Mike & The Mechanics, “Don’t worry, be happy” by Bobby McFerrin and The Beatles’ “Help!”).

Whilst this put a smile on most people’s faces, Ronaldo was not too happy: he’d just become the 5th victim of the now notorious but still at large, truck thief. He’d had $400 dollars taken from a zip-loc sandwich bag in one of the pockets of his day-pack. I’m sure you’ve already read about Lara’s money going missing in Zanzibar, then Matt, Kerry and Sonya’s at Snake Park, just before the Serengeti. Now this. A running total of over $1,000 had so far gone missing. Needless to say, everybody was shocked, angry and somewhat disappointed – we’re all travellers on a budget. We all worked our asses off to get the money up to pay for this trip. Now somebody has the nerve to do this?

It was the last straw for all of us – something had to be done so we encouraged Chris to do an entire truck search of everybody’s individual lockers and backpacks. Chris wanted to do a cavity search but we said this wasn’t needed (joke). So as the African sun – now high overhead – beat down on us, we waited patiently but with suspicious glances being fired off left, right and centre (nobody was immune from suspicion, yet nobody was yet guilty as there was still no evidence). One-by-one we were called to enter the truck and take Chris (who by the way, had got up that day with a bad cold) through our belongings in our locker. The process was painstaking but necessary and although none of us held out much hope for finding the money, we did think it would be enough put the frighteners up whoever the thief was (if this didn’t help, we all openly gave our opinions of what life would be like inside a Kenyan prison, focussing mainly on shower routines). Needless to say, the whole time we moped about outside the truck, locals gathered around begging for food and handouts, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to our plight. Berbs and I passed the time practising some slingshot action on a milk carton with a few local old boys who were amused by the whole thing.




The local kids liked having their photo taken. Kimbo didn't.

Locals gathered around begging, seemingly indifferent to our plight.



The kids were so happy when I gave them a pack of biscuits to share. I gave them to the smallest, quietest kid but within seconds the big guys had crowded around to ensure the spoils were divided equally.



This lad was more interested in Kimbo than the biscuits. "Me, I don't want food. I want white husband (sic)." (I think he meant 'wife'.)

As expected, nothing showed up in the inspection and as the last person finished taking Chris through their stuff, the heaven’s opened again and we all piled into the back once more. Realising that the spare driveshaft may still take some time to reach us, Chris came up with the contingency plan of getting us to “Adrift” ( a campsite in Jinja, Uganda) by mini-bus and he’d catch us up with Ruby when she was eventually fixed.

Hiding from the rain. CW from L: Berbs, Gab, Yoichi, Pat, Homeless, Kimbo, Kezza & Matt

These two wee scrotes joined us getting shelter from the rain in the back of Ruby.

We were in the back of Ruby for about an hour before our transport arrived and we all braved the downpour and traded the back of Ruby for the back of a mini-bus (Homeless, the ever-faithful truck’s apprentice, stayed behind to help and keep Chris company). The rain continued for the entire journey to the Ugandan border and to add to the spectacle, we were treated to an impressive African electrical storm. As the thunder rolled on and the lightning flashes made cobwebs across the sky over the hills in the distance, we all had time to think about the last few days...

It had been a baptism of fire for Chris – he’d taken us on as substitute driver for a month whilst Mark was away. From the moment he picked us up in Dar-Es-Salaam (after Zanzibar) he was treated to the news of the theft of a couple of hundred dollars from Lara’s bag. Then Gab came down with malaria. Then at Snake Park (just prior to the Serengeti) there were more thefts: Sonya had 100 Euros taken from her bag and Matt and Kerry had about $400 taken from the their money stash which had been locked up in ‘the security’ of the onboard safes. Now Ronald had $400 disappear, Ruby’s driveshaft was broken, Chris had a cold...and to make matters worse, it was pissing it down.

"There's just...one more...thing..."

Going into Uganda, there was a feeling of discomfort and unease amongst us. We were supposed to be excited about the gorillas and our two week sojourn in Uganda, but none of us could relax knowing that a criminal still lurked amongst us taking advantage of the trust shared amongst such a tight-knit family of backpackers. In a sick way, it added another element of excitement to the trip. As scenarios from Cluedo and scenes from Gosford Park sprung to mind, I have no doubt that everybody started to secretly crave a mac like Peter Falk’s “Columbo".

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the last we heard from the thief...but you’ll find out more about that later...