I was cycling along and whaddya know but ahead of me was a tractor. A tractor!  I hadn’t seen a tractor in months. Wow! A tractor!!! Kenya had all sorts of golden nuggets. Paved country roads (not just the highways, and yes, plural, as in multiple!), food that was more than simple starches and mangy meat, a decent level of English comprehension, even buildings that were ten, maybe fifteen stories high. Kenya has had a stable (if autocratic) market orientated government (kind-of) since independence. You see that.

Though, Kenya is not America. The roads are potholed, most buildings in a state of disrepair and unemployed youth abundant. Lake Victoria is the most tragic. There used to be fish. There used to be ferries that would go as far as Uganda and Tanzania. Today the lake is carcinogenic. That night I camped out in a dilapidated lakeside hotel. I was comfortable, with a cold brewski in a cushy chair. An Indian businessman told me, “All the fish are gone. It’s pathetic – these people don’t even care.” And there’s little else to do but sit back, enjoy the beer, observe, listen and await the next racist comment.

near Kitale, Kenya

could almost be Wisconsin

downtown Eldoret, Kenya's fifth largest city, home of its famously fast runners

just look at all that development! Eldoret, Kenya

a tea estate

Kapsabet, Kenya

downtown Kisumu, Kenya's third largest city

100 years development, nevermind that the sign is falling apart

abandonded dock on Lake Victoria, Kisumu, Kenya

Lake Victoria is now carcinogenic. The fish are mostly all dead.

after school transport

thoughout Africa, school childern are in uniform, prim and proper

southeastern Kenya

near Obama's village, Kogelo, Kenya

From South Sudan, we traveled east, into Kenya. The border town is Lokichogio, nicknamed Loki. When things were at their worst in Sudan, the United Nations and dozens of NGOs were headquartered there to disseminate food, shelter and medical aid. Loki’s airport was said to be busier than Nairobi’s. It’s an ironic sad story, to Loki, peace brought an economic catastrophe. Most of the NGOs have left. The airport takes in but a couple flights.

Traditionally, the people of northern Kenya were pastoralists. Many still are. They are called the Turkana. It was not uncommon to see a man with a bow and arrows tending to his flock of goats. The women are bare-breasted with giant colorful rings around their necks. We were on shinny bicycles with a lithium powered water filter and a computer navigation system listening to satellites thousands of miles away. It was a contrast that escaped no one. They would beg for food, water, anything.

Desertification, high birth rates and economic opportunity are transforming their way of life. From Loki south there is one road. It is dotted with towns overflowing with migrants attempting to escape a rough life dependent on the whims of nature.  NGOs are omnipresent. Most vehicles are Land Cruisers, stamped Norwegian Relief Council, Caritas International, World Vision, etc. It’s something you see all too often in Africa, the hopes of whole towns pinned to the West’s charity.

it was baren.

the Turkana people are pastoralists, traditional to the t

a camel!!

often times towns are not electrified. it's like a visit to Colonial Williamsburg, but real.

Kakuma Refugee Camp

Turkana man, Kukuma, Kenya

restuarant, Kakuma, Kenya

it's dry season; the rivers are empty. they do not build bridges. the road ends, then restarts.

host, Kakuma

is he going to bar or to the butcher?

host family, Lodwar (note the satelite dish!)

downtown center to the provinical capital, Lodwar

chicks are so cute. then they turn into chickens.

it was really hot and really really sunny.

deserts are pretty, just bring enough water.

Six days ago, I was in Kenya’s third largest city, Kisumu, on the shore of Lake Victoria, bicycling home to my dearest cozy sleeping bag on a dark scary road, the main southward arterial to Uganda. It was about seven. It was quite dark, but close enough to dusk that there were regular clouds of gnats. It was not pleasant.

At once: I am blinded by an oncoming semi-truck. My night vision is shot; there are no street lights. Ahead I barely make the outline of bicycle loaded with raw sugar cane six feet wide. I veer right onto the road proper where a minibus is overtaking the semi-truck. Oh crap. It honks; I veer left, into a pot hole. This hurts. Back right. Through a cloud of gnats, close the eyes. Open eyes. Three shadowy slowly moving bicycles, two seconds to impact. Hmm. Left again. Big unseen bump. Ow.

Repeat times twenty minutes. People point at me, shout. Mzungu! Mzungu! White person! White person!  In the dark I really don’t welcome it. Why are you so interested in me? It’s intense but also banal. Being on the bicycle, as so, that is my day to day. Cycle, cycle, awkward encounter, cycle, eat, sleep, repeat.

read more…

South Sudan. It was real. It’s hard to say that little, harder to attempt an honest telling of our journey.

That week was epic. Excitement was in the air – literally flags fluttered from atop trees, mountains, pickups and people, there was celebratory honking, singing, fireworks and gunfire. It was a beautiful experience to behold.

And then you were forced to reckon with what South Sudan is, barely a nation. Less than 5% graduate from primary school. Tribalism rules; the government is weak. There is little to unite the people, many do not speak a common language.

A few people seemed violent. It’s hard to explain. You just got that sense. You would look at them and they would look back at you stone cold without expression or acknowledgment. It was like a poker face but probably more aptly described as a 50 year civil war face.

In South Sudan, you see how far we’ve come. You see what it means to be a nation. And how very important that struggle is, to do the necessary maintenance, that we remain one people, indivisible.

few roads in South Sudan are paved

it's a landscape of desert and verdant flood plains

UN helicopters ply the skies

there was sometimes a roughness in their character, a palpable violent edge

but others were extremely friendly

everywhere flags

more flags on cars per capita than anywhere else on earth

landmines! how exciting!

rolling into Juba - a paved road! rejoice!

independence was an occasion - excitement radiated

at South Sudan's first soccer game

South Sudan lost to Kenya's Tuskers, but it was a good showing

roadside stop. unlike most African shops, this one sold Pepsi!

everyone has to get their cell phone on

the dirt tracks were a joy to ride one

joyful youth; there is hope

- There were bandits.
- Spencer saw his first squirrel since Zimbabwe.
- Ben fell down a 20ft hole. (He’s okay.)

Today was 130k on rough rolling pot holed dirt road. Now we’re safely in Kenya. It’s nice.

The alarm is set for 5am. Ahead is the most challenging road of our journey. We leave Juba, tracking east into Kenya. The road will be rough and hot. Water will be scarce. It may rain turning road to river. Eastern South Sudan and northern Kenya are no man’s lands where the nation state is more an idea than something put into practice. Cattle raiding is common. Primary education isn’t.

The pavement resumes in Lodwar, capital of Kenya’s Rift Valley province, about 370 miles from Juba. We hope to be there in six days, but the desert sun and terrible road conditions may force us to shorten days. We may have to bush camp. We will be forced to be self sufficient. Everyday we will start with 20 liters, about 50 pounds, of water and enough food for two days. It’s going to be a challenge.

Luckily, the past couple days have been energizing. We came into Juba encrusted in sweat and starving. We found fellowship with Ryan and Kristen who work in South Sudan with Mission Aviation Fellowship, who help people by flying over the rotted roads. (Much more sensible than bicycling…) Though they have a ten month old son, Caleb, and we were disheveled dirty strangers, they took us in and gave us food and internet and showers. Much can be said how South Sudan lacks comfort and security and yet here in Juba there is a family that can only be described as loving.

We have been surprised how similar so much of Africa seems. A photo of a roadside store in Zimbabwe would be indistinguishable from one of South Sudan. Ahead of us lie the peoples of Lake Turkana. We’re excited to see how the tribal societies compare. We’re also intimidated by reports from last month warning of banditry. I’m curious to see how well I can maintain my health in such adverse conditions. My feet and knee are covered in umpteen dozen red spots. (Bug bites???) By the time we’re back on a road proper, we’ll find ourselves in the Great Rift Valley, the birthplace of mankind.

For more photos of our travels through South Sudan, check out our Google+ Album.
(Though we may be in one of the world’s  least developed lands, we do embrace the most developed photo viewing techniques.)