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.
Travel guidebooks, websites and forums will give you advice on how much to tip whom in Africa and how much you might expect to pay for services. They all caution against over-tipping and in some cases that is true, such as when a huge tip might make for little incentive to continue working. But while Jim and I tip whatever we feel like (and after nine months we have a feel) there are situations that cannot be covered by a guidebook or a forum. When this happens you are on your own.
Traveling south after spending a very rainy night in Kitoro we pass over soggy gravel/dirt roads and cross rivers over makeshift bridges without any problem. Then ahead of us we see a long expanse of running water and a lot of men gathered around. Before we could make sense of this we are surrounded by tribesmen. Turkana, Samburu, Maasai, and others crowd three deep around the truck. “We will push you across” the English-speaking tribesman says. “First take the air filter out, then shut off the engine and we will push you through the water.” 
Do what? How deep is the water? They indicate it is up to their waist. We roll up our windows to confer privately and watch as more men walk across – obviously the current isn’t too strong. Yet, anyway. We decide to risk it – to go around is at least a couple days out of our route. Using the engine here would be a disaster, water would surely soak the electronics. Push it is.
As we move about the truck to prepare we are literally embraced by half-naked tribesmen who have no sense of personal space but it is not uncomfortable. This is Africa. There is a confidence coming from them, they have pushed rigs across before us. “How much will this cost?” 50,000 shillings for each of the two channel crossings. OK, now how do we know if that price is too high or low? Do we dicker? Guidebooks aren’t going to help with this. How much are we willing to pay? What if we make it 
across and the car dies anyway should the electronics get wet? We’d be royally screwed at that point. I tell Jim, I bet they get us half way across and then raise the price. Sure enough, the price went up to 75,000 shillings for a total of 150,000 as we reached the far bank. That is about $42USD and worth it, the Beagle is 2,200+ pounds and the far bank was all uphill. I couldn’t believe 15 guys could get a good enough grip to move the truck through the water much less uphill. And the engine starts right up. Success is had and the price paid. This is what money is for.
But another group of local travelers did not fare so well. The engine on their Toyota would not start and we towed them 40 kilometers on the dirt road to the next town. A good deed, with many god bless yous given for our time. Hope it turns out ok for 
them. On we go, this time on a paved road. Boy, are we in dire need a car wash and we will tip well for it. Why not? This too is what money is for.
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