To no-ones great regret, we leave Lake Turkana this morning with plans to skirt the Chalbi desert and reach the Kenyan town of Marsabit by nightfall. Even our departure is fraught with difficulty, however, as the owners of the El Molo campsite where we stayed attempt to extort more money from the Dragoman diver / guides. It’s an unpleasant end to our stay. The dramatic volcanic scenery around Lake Turkana is undeniably spectacular, but our attempts to interact with the locals repeatedly comes down to an argument over money. Before we leave, though, we are made aware of some startling news that changes my opinion at least of Lake Turkana and the Lower Omo Valley. Briefly, the lifestyle of the indigenous peoples around Lake Turkana and the Lower Omo Valley are under serious threat as the Ethiopian government plans to build a series of dam on the Omo river to generate hydroelectric power. Much of this power will be sold by Ethiopia to neighboring Kenya, but none of the 750,000 indigenous peoples of the Lake Turkana region and Lower Omo Valley were consulted about this assault on their traditional way of life. We leave Lake Turkana sobered and somber.
Our plan is to skirt the Chalbi desert, but as I mentioned previously neither of our Dragoman drivers have attempted this route before, so the prospect of getting lost in this arid wilderness is tangible. And frankly more disturbing than running to risk of being attacked by bandits. Well Christi and I did sign up for adventure, but it’s one thing to do so in the company of experienced guides who know the terrain, and just plain crazy to trust your lives to people who have never attempted this route before! But Christi and I are meek and we jump aboard the truck and like the rest of the passengers and crew we keep our eyes open to ensure we don’t get lost – although how we would know is not discussed. I’d hate to end up a desiccated and shriveled husk found 10 years from now in a rusted out Dragoman truck by Kenyan military on maneuvers (I suppose I might be exaggerating a little here).
We don’t have a thermometer handy to measure the temperature, but the truck is so hot that you can’t rest your arm on the window sill. When the windows are open a hot harmattan-like wind blows across the Chalbi desert, stinging and burning our faces. The only living things we see are stubby thorn bushes, the occasional flat-topped acacia tree, and the odd hut where somehow the people survive by grazing goats and camels.
Remarkably there are communities even here and the first we come across is North Horr. We stop for directions. There’s little to buy – certainly no ice-cold sodas or beers and we quickly leave again. We continue bumping and jerking along. Fortunately the Dragoman truck has a large tank of water that is purified with iodine tablets. We stop frequently to fill our water bottles, pee (and with no cover its men to the front of the truck and women to rear). At one point we find a large acacia tree and stop for lunch. It’s an incongruous sight cutting tomatoes, cucumber and lettuce to put in sandwiches, while the heat relentlessly beats down upon us.
Our Dragoman trip notes talk of salt pans which we find and desert camel safaris with the Gabra people at a community called Kalacha. Remarkably we find the community (how do you figure out directions in a flat and featureless desert with no road signs?), but the formerly nomadic Gabra people now live in dismal hovels on the outskirts of the village. It’s all quite sad, but who in their right mind wants to go on a desert safari when the temperatures are so vile. Well Christi and I feel sufficiently bad that we agree to a village tour aboard these mangy beasts. I’d happily photograph the Gabra people and pay for the privilege, but they are a very reserved people. On the plus side they do not pester us for money (unlike the difficult situation at Lake Turkana), which probably means there are no rich tourists flying in to Kalacha.
The Chalbi desert is becoming monotonous, the day drags interminably, and everyone hopes that we will reach Marsabit before dark. The approach to Marsabit is unmistakable. The road begins to incline upwards and suddenly we’re on a verdant plateau surrounded by desert. Where an hour before the sun was scorching and dull desert scenery dominated our views, Marsabit is cold and green – truly an oasis in the desert. The town, however, looks grubby and furtive and exudes that frisson of danger associated with any frontier town. Our intended campsite, the Jey Jey campsite looks anything but safe and our Dragoman drivers negotiate for us to camp at the Marsabit Lodge in Marsabit National Park. It’s a stunningly spectacular drive up into the mountains and we are surrounded by rainforest: tall trees dripping with spanish moss, thick undergrowth that hides a wealth of wildlife, and then a crater lake where baboons, Marabou storks, buffalos, and elephants are frolicking. Talk about sensory overload. While setting up our tents, an elephant walks within ten feet of us. We rent a couple of rooms at the lodge and we get our first hot showers in a week. We then tuck into a feast of soup, roast beef, potatoes, green beans, and fruit salad for dessert. What a remarkable transformation in our fortunes.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart, a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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