Continuing Downstream

July 19: Our days are beginning to take on a recognizable rhythm. Get up, organize gear, eat breakfast with the student group and staff here, and then load the land rover for the day's work. Today Moses, Sipaya, Jim and myself headed out to some of the mid-river stations we had plotted out. Sipaya assured me that these roads would be better than the two days past, but again several of them were pretty much glorified goat trails and we have to spend time cutting and filling around basketball-sized boulders and deep flood-cut ruts.

 Our first station was at a bridge near several bomas. In less than fifteen minutes, I'm standing in the ankle-deep waters of the river. Back home we would call it a stream (or a "crick" where I grew up). When I looked up from measurement I was making, there were twenty or twenty-five Maasai men standing around Jim watching him write data onto the clipboard. They seemed fascinated with what we were doing and Sipaya (who is himself Maasai) spent some time explaining what we were doing. Over the past decades a lot of water has been taken from the local people, piped to the ever-thirsty city of Nairobi. They are suspicious of anyone messing with their river, especially I suspect a couple of Muzungus. They seemed satisfied with Sapeyea's explanations. I can't imagine trying to do the work we are doing without our two locals. Sipaya especially is our passport to interacting with the local Maasai.

 The last station of the morning reinforced in my mind some of challenges faced here. Right on the bank of the river, with a little gasoline-powered water pump supplying water to the adjacent field, were a small group of empty pesticide bottles. The farmers mix their chemicals right down on the river where they also draw their drinking water.

On the way home, Sipaya learned that I was unmarried. He solemnly informed me that he could easily find me a good woman. He was quite serious and I fully believe that if I can find the price of a good cow or two I could have a bride. Just how bad do you want me to get married Mom?

 After diner we had our first chance to catch some night life. A group of us (without students!) drove into Kimana to visit a local bar - one of two I understand. The place was incredibly familiar reminding me of every bar I've ever been in the Caribbean. Two lopsided tables covered with an umbrella of palm dried palm fronds. Loud, distorted music blared out of a speaker that looks like the one I had in my room in eighth grade. If the poster on the wall had been for Guinness Stout instead of Tusker, I never could have told the difference.