It was Sunday, holiday, and as we were approaching Ngurunit, groups of boys and girls joined our step. Soon came the first houses in the village, humble adobe houses with corrugated iron roofs. The people seemed, however, less miserable than the "manyattas" we had left behind and, unlike them, were few young men and women who dressed and adorned in the traditional Samburu. On the contrary, Most Muslim girls wore headscarves and "kangas", while almost all the kids love it and spent.
Many speak English. We were told that the cars had gone to the Anglican mission was in the center of town and run by a U.S. religious. So there we go.
We met with Lawrence Carls and in the great courtyard of the mission. They had managed to fix flat tires, but the problem of the suspension was more complicated. It was necessary to bring the car about three miles, where the mission was a sort of garage with four or five cars and a small workshop. But before that we had to get permission from the American missionary, would not return to Ngurunit until at least an hour later.
At Gabras do not like the pictures, He smiled wryly. You then sold the photos in Europe. It will not do business with me
Rest a while drinking tea in the shade of some trees, in the courtyard that opened next to a mean hut that was announced in a poster as "Hotel Baraka". Rooms at the lodge was built three huts chaparras mud and straw, similar to those we had seen in the "manyatta" the previous day.
As the missionary took, decided to give us a tour of the town. Was more extensive than it appeared and had more people than he could think for a place so remote. Patrick knew something the region and told us that, human settlements in that area of ??the Ndotos, various ethnic groups lived.
-Home to many Samburu, clear, Samburu land because these are. But there Rendille, Gabras and some Somali.
I stopped to chat with the owner of a small grocery store, a beautiful middle-aged woman, lighter-skinned than the Samburu and Arab features. He said he was called Fatuma and politely refused the photograph them.
-At Gabras do not like the pictures, He smiled wryly.
-Does a religious problem?.
-You then sold the photos in Europe. It will not do business with me.
-What is the name?.
-Fatuma.
-Muslim, ¿no?.
-All we are Gabras.
-I've heard that men can have multiple wives Gabras.
He was still smiling mockingly.
-What is power, may have up to four. But mine comes to mind sought a second, runs out of the first.
-What if you let the other?.
He shrugged, without leaving your smile.
-I do not think it suits you: the shop is mine, I left my father to die.
She was friendly and lively. And he liked to joke, certainly. So I followed the game.
-Her husband can find a rich woman.
-That's hard: is lazy and not do anything but sit and chat with friends.
-Why is with him?.
-Is tender, affectionate and does not drink beer, sighed with flirtatious- . And the father of my children, it would be wrong to let him.
-You can change by a rich man.
He pointed with his index finger in the eye, always smiling.
-Do not say those things. If he comes and hears, I nailed a knife.
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The missionary took, but his faithful attendants told us again and again that no doubt would soon. The targets we wanted to go, perhaps because of the endorphins secreted during the days of walking through the Milgis. So we agree with Carls adelantaríamos the track that went north, toward the main trail leading to Ilaut, South Horr y el lago Turkana.
When taking leave, Francis asked me again for a pen. And I gave, of course. Who could deny him a pen to a future president of Kenya?
We left at about Ngurunit 9:30 smoothed by a beautiful road surrounded by woods. In a large open area that was dry during a "Lugga", groups of women pumping water from two wells. Many cows lingered in the vicinity, waiting their turn to drink two large troughs. Gently, women let us fill our canteens.
Several children had joined our march. We asked for pens. To me there were only two parts and I refused to give them.
A little guy took my hand and walked stuck to my body. His name was Francis, was eleven years old and spoke very good English. I asked for a pen and refused again. He talked of his school, the village and his family. Was smart and had great charm.
-What do you think be more?, asked.
-I want to be a pilot and travel, particularly see America. And when they have traveled far, I will submit to Parliament member and then chairman of Kenya.
-That's not easy, have to study hard.
-If every time there is one who is the president, Why I can not be me?.
Francis took me about half a mile endlessly about their projects. When taking leave, I again requested a pen.
And I gave, of course. Who could deny him a pen to a future president?
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After an hour's walk, we stopped to wait for the car in a shaded area, avoiding the sun's heat. But after another hour, and close at noon, hunger pressed and no one showed up in our search. Knowing Carls, Ngurunit decided to come back rather than move. Right decision: Carls was not, was gone to the garage with the Mitsubishi while Patrick, David and Lawrence waited in the forecourt of the hotel "Baraka".
We ate some. Carls did not appear.
-In me he wire, dije a Juanra.
-Neither do I. I think he's wasting time to avoid paying the cost tonight the "campsite" in the Turkana.
There was Carls, next to the shop and under a shade, talking and drinking beer with a couple of guys. The Mitsubishi took over an hour arranged
It was one o'clock when we decided to go after him, in Nissan, with Patrick. In effect, there was Carls, next to the shop and under a shade, talking and drinking beer with a couple of guys. The Mitsubishi took over an hour arranged, with the new spring.
We call all the great nerve and returned with two cars to pick up the other. At 2:45 get leave for the Turkana. With luck and good wheels, we estimate that we had seven or eight hours to reach Lake.
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I was traveling in the Mitsubishi with Patrick, And David Lawrence. At 4:20 reach the people of Ilaut, but not stopped. There were numerous wells in the large population size and some housing deal better than most the humble huts and huts of the villages above. Patrik me explicó:
-A Ilaut call the Monaco of the North. There are very rich here. As water is plentiful, livestock breeds well.
The car crossed with a Samburu girl showing her beautiful breasts exposed. Patrick returned to head to say something. Fortunately, swerved and avoided time off the track.
Fruit let out a laugh:
-A Patrick likes to see breasts. Arguably, almost died to see them.
-In Nairobi and many other sites in Kenya, said Patrick- women go with bra. You have to come north to see their tits.
-In Spain, Summer interjected-, Many women take off their bra on the beach. One is just used to seeing breasts. Almost bored.
-When you go to Spain, I'll be all day on the beach, said Patrick. How can a man get bored of seeing boobs!. Sometimes you do not understand the "mzungus", Mzi Martin.
We entered South Horr to 5:15, when the sun was beginning to lose strength.
It smelled of grass and spring. And the scent of flowers, near dusk, was so intense that it began to be sickly
It was a beautiful Pareje, surrounded by forested mountains, groves in the channels of the "Lugga", freshwater streams in the vicinity and juicy grass pastures for livestock. The village is grouped around the steep track. There were numerous water wells and many flowering trees: jacarandas, franguipanis, Indian almond, magnolia ... smelled grass and spring. And the scent of flowers, near dusk, was so intense that it began to be sickly.
The Mitsubishi we were in town to get some fruit while the other Carls and journey to the Turkana were aboard the Nissan van. He barely, got three dozen bitter oranges and papayas two.
Someone told us we could find more fruit in the Catholic mission, surrounded a building in the center of town. Several young women, some very beautiful, came to assist us caring. But they had nothing to sell. However, asked the priest, hoping it was a fellow Spanish and could help.
The grand old man handed me a soft hand without rising from her rocker. I'm sure, mentally, sent me to Hell. Y yo a él
The missionary, an Italian of seventy years of age, wearing a protruding belly and a thick shock of gray hair, I responded with polite coldness. We chatted for a while without being offered a tea, refreshments and even a glass of water. Milan was not ever intended to return to their country.
-Europe has nothing to say to those who have lived long in Africa, forty years in my case. Actually, Europe has nothing to tell anyone, is a spiritually dead continent.
I quickly realized that I was over at that site. It was his kingdom, his small African republic in which any white had no place.
I said goodbye. The grand old man handed me a soft hand without rising from her rocker. I'm sure, mentally, sent me to Hell.
Y yo a él.
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On leaving South Horr, the landscape changed from green to sullen gray spirited. And the road became a painful track. As late afternoon, ran on alluvial stones. On both sides of the road stretched out a dry savanna where sparse scrub grew grim leaves. Occasionally, pairs of tiny dik-dik sticking to our step and looked at us with wondering eyes before running off to get lost in the bushes. Later, to the left of the track, opened hollows filled with rubble and black rocks.
"Steep rocky cliffs alternating with ravines full of remains of petrified lava slag-Höhlner recounted in the chronicle of Teleki's expedition to describe the local landscape and the lake-. I was under the impression that they were still hot, just thrown there from a giant forge ".
Each kilometer touring, the track became more and more hellish, strewn with volcanic stones as big as melons
Night fell. In heaven, it drew a small slice of moon. Our headlights frightened owls track, owls and long-eared white rabbits, large as hares. On one occasion, twenty camels were scared as we passed and fled their pastors before us, following the same beaten track by the light of our headlamps, perhaps for six or seven miles. Sorry the work was to cost them their poor owners gather again.
It was already dark when we found the other car with the rest of the companions. Had punctured three times and they had no spare wheel and. Fortunately, we were still a. The change and pray that there was a new stick in the remainder of the way to the lake.
Each kilometer touring, the track became more and more hellish, strewn with volcanic stones as big as melons that bounced off the underside of cars with a hysterical cry of metals. The lunita awoke to the left of watery light flashes on the black surface of the lake.
At 10,35 we entered Loiyangahani, the village which extends in the southeast bank of Turkana. In the Palm Shade Campsite had not a single tourist, scared because of the "troubles" of the West. But plenty of cold beer. And showers.
We ate salad, pasta and what was left of Spanish sausage. The air was heavy and very hot blade was beating as the plumes of the palms.
They say the mad air and, if the statement is true, one of the best places in the world is going crazy, certainly, of Lake Turkana
We slept in a primitive conical huts, thatched, circular wall of cement, windows with mesh and mosquito nets on the beds. The floor was dirt. But, after the sufferings of the evil day, those shelters antojaron us as welcoming as the hotel rooms of several stars.
The night was very hot, the stifling heat caught in the arms of brave wind. They say the mad air and, if the statement is true, one of the best places in the world is going crazy, certainly, of Lake Turkana. When I got up the next morning, kept the feeling that a heavy sponge, wet and hot was installed inside my brain.
Shortly after sunrise, seen from a hill and out of the camp-site enclosure, the landscape seemed to belong to the Earth, but another remote planet colonized suddenly by a mob of humans fleeing from a disaster, perhaps a new Big Bang. The floor was black, the distant hills rose dark ashy, as emerging from the darkness, looking to be the remains of a dreadful fire. And groups of huts squat, close to the ground as if they were afraid of the wind, lay on the plain covered with stones burned by the fire of a violent volcano. The few trees were skeletons of animals that death had caught up. The sullen green of the Turkana, mottled with small white foamy waves, boiling in the distance, under great gray mountains free life. Behind me, warm air rising groans of wounded palms.
The few trees were skeletons of animals that death had caught up. The sullen green of the Turkana, mottled with small white foamy waves, boiling in the distance
Höhnel made this description, in his chronicle the journey of Teleki, by notes 5 March 1888: "Suddenly, as we climbed a gentle slope of the ground, the scene that opened before us, in the distance, was so great and beautiful that we thought it was a mere phantasmagoria. We hasten to rush to the top of the hill and the stage was bigger as we went, as a new world spread out before our astonished eyes (…). At that moment, faced all dangers and all our toils were forgotten with the joy of knowing that our expedition had been crowned with success (…). Full of enthusiasm, remembering with gratitude the interest shown by our plans for His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince of Austria's crown, Teleki named the great sheet of water, shining like a pearl in the wonderful scenery, as Lake Rudolf ".
Here is the story of how a young romantic, Prince suicide the damp and cold forests Mayerling, came to perpetuate his name in an African lake that lies stretched out on one of the driest and hottest places on Earth.
Francis took me about half a mile endlessly about their projects. When taking leave, I again requested a pen.
And I gave, of course. Who could deny him a pen to a future president?
