The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
There is time to contemplate how far we’ve come, from Cape Town to Kenya, to the beaches of Mozambique. Jim asked me where I thought we’d be without the Garmin and Traks4Africa – I said “Back home and divorced by now.” We are happily long past the point when every other minute brought on another decision. Tension ran high; that’s what comes of the being way outside your comfort zone. What would we change, now that we have time to think about it? Nothing, really. We couldn’t have taken this overland trip any sooner in our lives and the best time to go is when you go. The route has been successful – we calculated we’ve been on beaches of some sort since November, can’t 
complain about that. Neither of us has been sick. We’ve been through four different coffee presses, five decks of cards and one iPhone as well as countless cans of Peaceful Sleep insect repellent. We will not miss 
the mosquitoes.
There are places to return to and some gaps to fill, next time. Driving Namibia for months gave us a full view of that endless country. Botswana needs another look, hopefully before this trip is over. We’ve already been to Zimbabwe twice and will go back again later this month, so much to see there. Zambia is a favorite, where I am positive we waved to every single person in that friendly country. Tanzania nearly broke the 
bank but with its iconic parks it could not be missed. Zanzibar showed us our first taste of the slavers coast plus powered-sugar white sand beaches. The side trip to Ethiopia, that exotic place, was perfect. Camel 
caravans hauling salt into the sunset – what a scene.
Rwanda – a sobering lesson in humanity. One day we came to a nondescript village and it was time to get out of the truck. A large Genocide Memorial stood out, as in every single town and village. Only this one wasn’t quite finished yet. The very young security guard called an older gentleman to show us around this newly built but empty building. And the blank walls spoke as loudly as any placards. The hollow hallways echoed the footsteps of everyone who would never walk t
here. Finally we found ourselves in a basement containing 38 coffins, displayed neatly as if in a show room. Some had framed photos propped upon them, others had snapshots scotched-taped to them. To our undying surprise, the guide opened a coffin and handed us a small human skull. All these coffins have skulls, he said. At this location a church was bulldozed with thousands of people in it. His children are here, in one of the coffins. He shared his photos of them with us. We thanked him, signed the guest book and drove away. Rwanda; a country where everything is new because there was nothing left.
The primates in Uganda revel in the simplicity of life. We camped, all alone, in the Kibale forest and had a troop of 50+ baboons invade the clearing; they played, groomed each other and goofed off all morning, just having a good time being together. On the eastern side of the country we came to one of our better decisions – we really wanted to drive a certain road to enter Kenya. On the map it looked totally doable. But it was raining. Hard. And pondering the options,
we bypassed that road only to later meet a couple who had taken it; a heart-stopping track, they said “like driving on butter.” We spent a few minutes patting ourselves on the back for not going there. Of course that was prior to being desperately stuck in the mud twice in one week.
Kenya, that most organized of countries, gave us so many new friends. Eldoret town, Lake Turkana, the National Museum, JJs in Nairobi, Samburu Park, the fabulous Twiga and Barefoot beaches, Malindi town – I would go back to Kenya tomorrow. It took days for me to get 
over leaving Twiga; I kept asking myself why we left. But leaving there led us to Malawi and to time spent with our friends Jen and Jared. And on we go; more of Mozambique to see, more Zimbabwe, South Africa and camping with Adrian and Rentia, Swaziland, Lethoso, Botswana . . . where will it end?
Here are more Starfish Garden photos – we could have stayed there all day gathering them up and playing with them. There was one that I only saw from the skiff, a bright green color; I may have to go back there and find it again as I did not get a photo. And neither of us need much of a reason to return to Twiga Beach. As the rains pour down and the mud deepens and the roads become harder to drive, we do wonder 
why we left.
Malawi is calling us. It is time to leave Tanzania with all its fabulous parks and terrible roads. We did find out the hard way that yes, some towns do have speed-trap cameras. No speed signs of course. You are suppose to know how slow to go, the policeman said. Hope they use our fine for some signage. At least we weren’t pressured for a bribe.
Thanks for all the comments, everyone. Keep them coming, we are here all day.
Spoiled rotten to be exact. Camping at Twiga, parked in the sand, for 25 days spoiled us through and through. We’ll have to be careful not to compare every other beach camp to Twiga – we found it difficult to come up with a reason to move on but in the end there will be other beaches, ri
ght? Yes. And while Twiga was a perfect 9.99, the only reason it doesn’t get a 10 (from me, at least) is that the bird life was unvarying and spotty. No doubt that would change but in fact it was time to move on; at the next beach these Crab Plovers put on a show and apparently birders come from all over to see them. Beautiful birds.
The Starfish Garden was a special delight. Yes, I know they are called Sea Stars now, but Starfish Garden has such a nice ring. A sandbar out on the reef is host to hundreds of these alien creatures. We joined our neighbors and their children for a visit to the garden and it was a blast finding different kinds – the adults no less excited than the kids.
Sadly we s
aid our final goodbye to Reggie – he was our neighbor at JJ’s in Nairobi and we met up again at Twiga. Who knows, we may even meet again one day. That would be a very good day indeed.
Tides rule Twiga beach. At the moment high tide peaks at 3am or so and by 6am crystal clear blue water covers the reef. The water retreats rapidly and just after we’ve finished coffee the reef is exposed. For nearly a kilometer straight out and stretching south to Tanzania and north to Mombasa you can beach comb to infinity or until the tide comes in. There are countless sparkling tide pools. There are shells hidden in the rocks and any number of bizarre creatures to be 
examined. Seductive waves roll over the outer reef, looking fun and playful. Unable to resist, on our third day at the beach Jim and I went out to swim in those waves and how lucky we were to come back unscathed. The waves may look playful but they are breaking on to coral just a foot below the water and hanging on the coral are scores of sea urchins ready with their spines. There are no sharks but with carpets of urchins, sharks are the least of it. You might be thinking that a proliferation of urchins signals a poor reef 
environment. Yes, the reef has doubtlessly seen better days but on the surface (haha) it appears that the reef can cope, if given a chance. Let us hope so. Walking out on the reef, the air is cooler, the water refreshing, the finds endless – you just have to remember to come back and not walk all the way to Tanzania unless you happen to be carrying your passport.
Bird life consists of the usual shorebirds and herons plus a pair of 
woolley-necked storks that hang around at low tide. Vervet monkeys (with their turquoise-blue balls), Sykes monkeys and the fashionable black and white Colobus monkeys range through the trees, wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting. The camp dogs do a fair job of keeping the monkeys in check, not that the camp dogs are that much better than the monkeys. Covered with fleas and ticks and continually bloody sores, they are not best-in-show. They are, however, the friendliest little dogs ever. They will let every kid in camp manhandle them, chase them around, pull their ears and hug 
them. I cannot help but wonder if the parents have noticed how truly mangy the dogs are – but what the heck, we pet them. Gingerly. No hugs.
Our time in Kenya is winding to a close. We entered the country from rainy Uganda looking like drowned rats in a mud-covered truck. Now we are tanned and rested and instead of mud there is sand in everything. Kenya has endeared herself to us completely. The elections and all that hoopla were a bit off-putting at first with locals warning us of awful possibilities, 
none of which came to pass as yet. We have enjoyed every minute of this glorious country, from Eldoret to Turkana to Nairobi to Barefoot Beach and on down the stunning Swahili coast to Twiga. Kenyans have been overwhelming friendly and helpful and they do this in stride, being friendly and helpful comes easy for them. The many faces of Kenya, black, white, tribesman, Arab, Indian, muslim, hindu – so many people proudly call themselves Kenyan. Politics aside (if only that were 
possible) Kenya is the most organized and prosperous country we’ve seen in East Africa. Yes, there are difficulties. Spasms of ethnic violence have scarred towns and villages. The Land Rover Defender parked behind us has bullet holes in it, its driver killed in a bandit attack. Infiltrators and terrorists have demolished the tourist trade. Still, Kenya is lovely and hospitable and its people are poised to lead in Africa. Come here and see for yourselves. Tell everyone jambo for us.
Did you know it is a Kenyan tradition to go to the beach on January 1? Now that is a tradition worth keeping around – dress up and come to the beach for a day. Forget your troubles, walk the shore, swim. Have a picnic. Camp. Carloads of people came to Twiga from nearby Mombasa to do all that. And now one can take the Nairobi-to-Mombasa train, that’s a popular service, and drive the short distance to Diani or Tiwi beaches. At the end of the fir
st day of the new year, hundreds of Kenyans were walking up and down the shore dressed in fantastically colored robes and scarves and perfecting an already perfect scene.The color combinations were glorious – as bright and neon as the fish in the tide pools. It was a sight to behold. A full moon shone on us all on and now, today, nearly everyone is gone.
It is day twenty-two of our anchorage on this shoreline. We drove in and parked and haven’t moved camp since. Along with our neighbors, Gustav and Nancy, we are the only campers taking advantage of the unobstructed view camping on the sand affords. Gustav regularly camps at Twiga – he and Nancy have children. Imagine being a seven-year old boy and spending days on end at the beach. Yes. Some campers and picnickers we visited with 
have been coming to Twiga for years. One motorcycle group was ending a 37-year stint of basing at Twiga for the holidays; they drove away for the very last time a couple of days ago. Several big overland tours have come and gone. They park down the way from us, back in the trees and we wouldn’t even know they were there but for the visual. One of my favorite camp supporters is Abdul the fruit seller who comes by with his bicycle basket full of apple mangos, pineapple and whatnot. He has been doing this for 25+ years. Fish sellers 
offer the freshest catch and they will filet it for you right now. Coconuts carved into darling little monkeys are the curio rage – Gustav tells us the coconut animals change every year. If I could think of a place to hang it I would buy one. Or two. There are trees behind the beach that form a dark shady canopy for monkeys, birds and campers. There is a stupendous baobab tree smack in the middle of camp. Just down the shore is a little restaurant where if (when) you finally tire of lukewarm beer, you can get a cold one from the bar. The camp staff does a remarkable job keeping things clean considering there are people and monkeys to tidy up after.
Gustav and Nancy invited us to celebrate New Year’s Eve with 
them and their friends; Gustav procured a huge white snapper fish plus a local chef to prepare it. Those delectable apple mangos made a salad, Pauline made her famous calamari, cardamon sweet potatoes in coconut milk rounded out the menu and for dessert Jim and I baked a chocolate cake and a vanilla cake. There were no leftovers. Of anything. Happy New Year.
Wishing all family and friends the happiest of holidays wherever you are and whichever holiday you like to celebrate. The coming new year will new to us all. And tough to top 2017, by our standards – can’t wait to see what happens next.
Back in Nairobi we reunite with the Beagle at JJ’s (Jungle Junction). Nestled in the suburb of Karen/Hardy, JJ’s is both a very pleasant place to camp and a working auto garage for any kind of vehicle repair you might imagine. The four dogs are just a bonus. Overlanders tend to gather here – Mike and Sue from Canada, Eiji and Chizu from US/Japan, the Germans driving the monster unamog named Simba (we met them back in Tanzania) and an English woman riding her motorcycle alone across Africa. South African expat Reggie, a musician living on a beach south of Mombasa, had many suggestions for places to camp along the Kenyan/Tanzanian coast. JJ’s pr
oprietor Chris cooked a braii for everyone on a Friday night, we shared stories and email addresses and we hope to meet these friends again.
The plan is to hug the coastline of the Indian Ocean from mid-Dec to the middle of January. Gee, what a trial to be camping on a beach enjoying sun, warm water, and a sea breeze 
in December (apologies to our snow-bound friends back home). Camping on the sand means sand in pretty much everything and tiny ants in everything else, not to complain of course. At Barefoot Beach north of Malinda we are parked right in the sand, the water is warm and inviting and the sand itself an unusual combination of red with gold sparkles of pyrite. Fantastic. There is something to be said for the coarser-grained 
sand. It does not tend to blow all over like the powered-sugar sand of Zanzibar but how amazingly soft that sand felt on your feet. And really, either kind of sand works for us.
Vasco de Gama in Malindi
Nearly a year ago, along the western coast of South Africa we came 
upon a monument to Vasco de Gama, the sea-captain who led the first Portuguese fleet to India, sailing around the Cape of Good Hope in 1488 or so. Months later (on our trip, not de Gama’s, haha) we find ourselves in a small apartment in Malindi, Kenya, and steps down the beach is yet another Vasco de Gama monument. That guy did get around. Imagine his surprise when finally arriving on the eastern African coast of Indian Ocean and finding cities and large villages already established by the Arabs and natives. Part of de Gama’s mission was to pave the way for Christianity but the Muslims got ahead of him. Still he was 
an intrepid man, not a sea-captain at all when he started; his was on the job training of the monumental sort. Portugal went on to become one of the greatest Old World powers until the catastrophic 1755 earthquake, combined with a tsunami and firestorm, all but destroyed Lisbon. The country’s fortunes have never recovered. The Vasco de Gama museum is housed in this alley. Yes, an alley, it is an outdoor museum. Worth a visit, the interpretive panels are well-done.
The apartment we stayed in is owned by Raj, a businessman we met in Eldoret. He said go ahead, make yourselves at home – how very African. In our wildest dreams we thought there might be hot water for a shower – it never hurts to dream, right? Well, there was water, a trickle, for the first three days, none of it hot. All of Malinda was without water. There were empty jugs around to fill when water did appear so it was comfortable enough. The beach was at our doorstep but too rough and brown to swim in – rivers were washing in silt from rains north of us. Malinda natives speak Italian, 
children call out a refreshing Ciao. Because of the many Italian expats living here there is delicious pizza in town as well as fresh seafood and an seemingly endless supply of a round type of mango, an “apple” mango, selling for a quarter apiece. Huge mango trees are dripping with fruit – we didn’t put even a small dent in the supply despite eating four or five per day. There’s plenty left if anyone is headed to Malindi.
South of Mombasa
Leaving Malindi heading south we tried hard to avoid downtown Mombasa, Kenya’s second largest city. A bypass route that looked good on Garmin turned out to be one of Garmin’s little jokes – instead of a short city bypass, it routed us three hours back to a small village and then another two hours back to the far side of the Mombasa. Fortunately we caught on to the trickery before going too far and with the best of u-turns we made it to our destination, the ferry across the Kilindini Harbor. Mid-day, hot, muggy, we sit with
the windows down and the engine off waiting our turn to board the ferry. Cold-drink sellers, as well as the far-from-fortunate, approach all the vehicles, not just us. Coins goes to the surprisingly many blind people. As with so many countries (including the US) there are disenfranchised adults just trying to get by everywhere we go. I cannot help but feel sorrowful for them; as adults they are aware of how difficult life is and will likely continue to be. Children have a bit of an advantage – family, orphanages, churches tend to them, at least until they are emancipated. Adults have few
options and that is a shame no matter what country is responsible.
Nairobi National Museum underwent a long renovation recently, reopening in 2008 after three years. A more modern facade greets visitors and this dinosaur guards the 
entrance. The dinosaur resembles a T-rex but beyond that it is difficult to discern which dinosaur it is as there is no interpretive sign. Plus it looks like a cartoon character. What does that bode for the inside of the museum?
In the foyer themed halls radiate out. To our left is the East African Birds Hall and we start there. Displays cases fill the room and they are full of stuffed birds. Hundreds and hundreds of stuffed birds, from white pelicans to the tiny tit. Signage is minimal – an inch square piece of aging paper with a typewriter-written name and sometimes a short description – and even a few of those are hidden behind a bird or two. Sometimes the descriptive paper is there but without the bird. However what does come through loud and clear, no 
interpretation needed, is the sheer overwhelming number of birds that live in or visit East Africa. Hail this bird paradise. The piddly few I have seen and recorded are nearly embarrassing to contemplate. I feel like I’ve been birding this whole time with blinders on, missing far more than I see. The Bird Hall is both inspiring and humbling – and I hope it is next on the renovation list. There is so much more to birds than their names and a stuffed specimen.
The mammal hall is slightly less intimidating. The dioramas and displays feature both creatures we have seen and many we have not. The specimens appear to be the same ones as were used prio
r to the renovation, done in a 50’s style taxidermy. But I suppose that is better than going out and shooting new specimens, right? This most impressive elephant is a main display and was far too big for a good photo. Ahmed, as he was called, acquired national protection from the government when local people were afraid he’d be poached for his incredible tusks. These aren’t the biggest or heaviest tusks but they are nearly perfectly symmetrical. Ahmed died of natural causes and now is immortalized in the museum. A lucky pachyderm indeed.
Finally, the holy grail of the museum – The Hall of Human Origins. Kenya is home to arguably the most, and the most important, paleo-anthropological finds in history. The Nairobi museum has done a spectacular job of displaying and interpreting these finds. In order of evolutionary 
appearance we read of Aegyptopithecus, Proconsul and Kenyapithecus and their progeny which became the primates. Moving along (very slowly) there are then the missing years, millions of them. We know almost nothing about an eleven-million year time span between primates and hominid formation. The museum makes no apologies for what it does not know. Nor does it question evolution or ask you to consider creationism. Time and chance are the creators here.
That the fossils were discovered at all boggles the mind and panels explain what was found where by whom. Here are photos taken of the discovery of Turkana Boy, a nearly complete skeleton of Homo erectus, one of the most fantastic finds ever. The ground he was found in looks like most of the land 
around Turkana – what was it that drew the fossil hunter to that very spot? I imagine he must have lost his mind when he realized what he was looking at. Only the brow crown was visible in the rock matrix. Beneath the rocks and scattered about were fossilized bones of such importance you might conclude they were laid there on purpose to be found by us, millions of years later. What a rush.
At the end of the Origins Hall is a discrete sign saying Skull Room. It is a small room. Arranged around the walls are jewel-like display cases with carefully staged lighting. Long tapestry panels that describe each glass case. A narrow coffin-size display lays at the center. The atmosphere is hushed. For here, face to face, are the actual fossils of the ancestors of human beings. The real thing. From the rocky desert ground, painstakingly reassembled, are the skulls of Erectus, Rudolphenisis, Habilis, Robutus, and the others. It is breathtaking. I am moved to tears – I cannot believe it. Of course these skulls have been a part of science since their discovery but until now they have not been so beautifully and publicly displayed. Here is Proconsul, where it is thought the primate family tree began. Here is Paranthropus aethiopicus or Black Skull, so-called for the patina it acquired while it laid around waiting to be found. In the center display case is the wonder of Kenya, the amazingly complete Turkana Boy. Turkana Boy was likely between 12 and 18 when he died 1.5 million years ago. How could such delicate bones survive for that impossible amount of time? How did the whole of his lineage survive? Yet here we are, looking at him. We are his cousins, the survivors.
There are no postcards of the Skull Room for sale at the museum; too bad, I’d have bought them all. The Hall of Human Origins is worth a second trip, perhaps after we visit the most famous Ethiopian fossil, Lucy. It is a wonderful world we live in, and have lived in for so long. Hope we can keep it together for a few more million years.
On the road to Turkana (and the road wasn’t as bad as Isanga 
Bay, by the way) we crossed paths with a local woman and chatted for a bit. Laura operates the Salada Womens Camp outside of the town of Ngurunit; she said we’d like it for the beautiful scenery. We hadn’t a plan to go that way but why not? It is the beauty of not having a plan. Despite a mighty rain storm that washed out both the road to the camp and the piped water the camp is still open and we find it shady and comfortable after wild camping at Turkana. We are the only campers. And our luck in Kenya is still holding; we were lucky to meet Laura on the road because on the way to her camp, we witnessed an extraordinary sight, something we couldn’t have imagined.
Rounding a corner on the rocky road, we spot several vultures 
flying low to the ground. More are coming down and we coast up to the source of their interest, a camel carcass already blanketed with huge birds. The birds, Ruppell’s vultures, extend their naked necks and create an unholy racket fighting over the freshly dead beast. Loud growls, screeches, snapping beaks and vicious wing flaps drive away the smaller birds; the noise makes me think of a 19-century insane asylum. The biggest vultures come up from feeding with their necks red from blood and then they fight their way back into the center. Look at the cover photo of the vulture attacking the bird underneath it, grabbing neck skin with that brutal beak. Ouch!
It is a scene from an older time. We watch for an hour. A village dog comes racing in out of nowhere to scatter the birds and take off with a piece of meat. The birds quickly return to feed and fight. Various birds of prey arrive to get a taste. The small Hooded vulture hangs at the perimeter, picking up the scraps thrown out by the infighting. Finally we drive away and when we go by again three days later there is not a sign of the camel nor the birds. It’s like it never happened. Nature ca
n be tidy like that.
In comparison, the elegant Vulturine Guineafowl sports a bare neck like a vulture but with stunning cobalt blue feathers front and back, lilac edging on the wing feathers and long trailing white neck feathers. It makes a racket but in a funny way, not the caveman’s nightmare of the Ruppell’s vultures. I’ve yet to find a blue feather from this lovely bird but I won’t stop trying.
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