The guidebook warned that Narok would basically be a tourist's hell onearth, full of people pushing you to buy trinkets and tours. The
guidebook also warned not to come without having arranged private
transportation. And me? I was all set for a 4-hour layover in between
matutu rides. This time, though, the guidebook lost. I walked into the
center of town and found Peter, who managed the Talek matatu. He put
my bag onboard and told me we'd leave at 1. Feeling a bit springy, I
climbed the metal ladder on the side of the mini-bus to get a better
view of town. Dusty dirt roads criss-crossed each other, corners and
curbs filled with small huts selling drinks, cell phone credit
(everyone pays by-the-minute here, and EVERYONE has a phone), or food.
Motorcycles mixed with matatus, food traffic, and cattle herds heading
opposite directions. And to the east, two little kids began waving and
yelling "mzungu,' swahili for "white person." I waved back and two
quickly became four, continuing to wave, yell, and now to sing "How
are youuuuuuuu!" This reaction made me clear to me how unusual it was
for tourists to take public transportation to Narok and then to Talek.
I climbed down and bought a Coke, and the kids came and sat across
from me on a small wooden table. There being no common language
between us, I resorted to an old favorite: childish behavior. They
enjoyed my mourning dove call and silly faces and offered a few of
their own. They kept touching my shoe and shouting something in
swahili. Turned out, they were saying "your shoe." Not just cute, but
smart! An older boy of 10 soon came by and joined us. Bernard was very
shy at first- whenever I looked at him, he would look away and smile.
He eventually began to speak english with me. (English is Kenya's
official language, though it is also a second language for many
citizens.) He answered my questions directly: I go to school. I like
soccer. My friends and I walk around for fun. I have 3 brothers and a
sister. When I asked him where I might get lunch, he lead me to a
kiosk near the center, where we had a dish made of rice, carrots,
peppers, peas, and goat meat (including heart or tripe? unsure.).
A bit suspicious, I asked if this was his mother's place. Of course,
like a good son he had lead me to his mother's kitchen. And the food
was delicious. He then led me to a toilet house accessible for a mere
10 Keyan shillings (about 14 cents). There I shared a bathroom with
the first Masai warrior I had seen, wearing typical clothes and
carrying his long knife
