Discovering the “Real” Country

To date, we have been taken to hospitals, schools, parishes, villages, dams, families and other important locations to experience the Akamba culture and agricultural situation. We always wondered what it would be like to step out of the car or bus and walk around the African “bush.” We got that opportunity several days ago.

We should have recognized a bit of foreshadowing when, after eight hours of driving to a lodge in Amboseli National Park, the bus quit as we glided into the entrance. “Electrical issue” they said.

After an hour or so, it was fixed. We enjoyed a nice break from our mission trip in Kitui and the next day headed back for another 6-8 hours of travel. About 45 minutes into the return trip, in an area of sand, animals and Maasai herders, we hit an area of soft sand. Sand so fine and deep that the tires of the bus sank easily. The tires spun in the same fashion they do in a soft, snow bank in a Minnesota March. You readers know what I mean. We were not going anywhere. In addition, the electrical problem reappeared as the bus quit.

We jumped off the bus expecting hard ground, only to find we sank about four inches into a fine, red, powdery sand - like a cross between sand and flour. The sand penetrated our shoes and socks upon impact. The flour-like sand created a suction sensation as we walked.

We tried the old Minnesota techniques of shoveling out the sand from the front and rear of the spinning tires and placing sticks (from small, shriveled shrubs nearby) and rocks (wherever we could find them) behind the wheels for traction. The electrical problem had been fixed. The entire group would push the bus as the driver made a go of it. Not only did it not work, but the pushers were quickly enveloped within a dense cloud of fine sand. It was in our clothes, hair, ears, nostrils and lungs. Lots of spitting, coughing and gagging. By the way, did I mention that it was in the heat of desert-like conditions? Felt like it was over 95 degress.

Soon a young Maasai teenager, dressed in the traditional red cloth wrapped around his body, arrived. He calmly and matter-of-factly joined us. The teen crossed his legs and leaned against his staff for balance and watched. I could imagine he was thinking, “Can’t wait to tell my family about this one!” To our surprise, he jumped in to help push the bus with us.

After several tries to free the bus, and some mounting concern, a large truck ambled by and agreed to help. The bus driver tried several methods of securing the bus to the truck to pull us from the sand. A rope and steel cable both snapped. After six attempts and 1.5 hours of inhaling sand, It was the combination of the two that finally pulled us to solid ground.

We jumped on the bus amid shouts of joy and certainty that we were on our way. But wait, what was wrong with the rear left tire? 100 yards down the road, the bus driver stopped, checked the rear and announced that one of the springs had snapped and we needed to stop at the next village to have it welded back in place.

The next village was Emali, and we were delayed for another 1.5 hours. There was one interesting shop in town and a location for soda, so we were able fill up the time waiting for the bus repair. The 6-8 hour trip become 12 hours.

We had our adventure in the African “bush” and made a Maasai friend as well. The question is, will the red, fine sand ever come out of our clothes? Not yet.