Bring On Nai–Robbery!

Long before we hit the outer city ring of Nairobi we were already crammed between hundreds of cars travelling at five kilometres per hour. This was going to be a killer for the bike. I could not only feel the temperature rising from under my motorcycle gear, I could feel the heat rising from beneath me. I wanted to look for a faster way through the traffic but I didn’t have the directions to the infamous Jungle Junction camp site plus I wasn’t on my own, I had to think about the two other motorcyclists.

Lane splitting and footpath riding works well when you’re on your own or only have one in tow. I remember back to when Frank (German overlander) and I drove into Indonesia. We also followed his GPS, but we worked as a team to inch forward in the tangled mess of the Jakarta traffic. I have a feeling this won’t work with these two guys. One might follow but the other would end up sitting back and waiting it out.  I couldn’t help but try a few simple traffic leaps.

Spotting a narrow dirt verge I took it to avoid sitting behind a bus bellowing charcoal coloured clouds heading straight for my helmet. Watching in my rear vision mirror, I see the other two following. This is good, despite their religious efforts to never ride on dirt again! Heaven ends and we are back in the queue of traffic, but this time behind a new 4x4. I needed another escape route.  I spotted one on the far side of all the traffic. The guys thought I was crazy, but I knew what the trick was.

Crossing the Equator just north of Nairobi! I was forced to fly over the equator the first time, so for me this is an achievement and also feeling like I'm back in my part of the world again! 

Standing on my foot pegs, I make eye contact with each driver, mouthing “Jumbo Brother, Can I go in front of you?”  A massive smile breaks across their faces when they realise I’m a woman and then they nod vigorously. A few minutes later a path has been opened up for us and we jump to take the chance to inch not only forward but across the traffic.  We repeat this action until we are sitting next to the foot path, where I had seen a bus lane under construction. We followed a stream of traffic that already had the same idea as me. But something was wrong, the troublesome bike was becoming more and more stroppy.

We had already stopped a few times earlier that day to clean the sparkplug, but now this wasn’t even working. His bike was just backfiring all the time and it couldn’t just sit and idle anymore. The accelerator had to be constantly fondled. This was becoming a joke, with my bike starting to overheat and not being able to trust his bike to leave the safety of the footpath, just in case it broke down.  We re-grouped and decided this was rediculous. We all needed to get out of the traffic.

We forged a plan that meant we had to cross the river of cars and trucks once again. Performing my Moses trick, I got us cross to the centre, so we could take the first right that appeared. That first right never appeared. We shouldn’t have left the safety of that footpath. The wheezing bike stalled and wouldn’t start again. The Moses trick had to be performed for a third time, this time one bike was pushed back, but we had lost our safety net and had to park our bikes right outside a bristling second hand market.

With the bikes lined up tire to tire, without a gap in between, two of us stood staunch at either end of the line of bikes, watching all three and the luggage with eyes like eagles.  Nairobi has a second name amongst the travellers, Nai-robbery. This was a name I wasn’t hoping to experience. One of the guys ran off into the middle of the crawling traffic and flagged down any pickup truck passing by try to arrange a ride for the last ten kilometres to Jungle Junction. 

I stood fascinated with the market proceeding around me. All the young local men trying to flatter me by attempting to sell me a pair of size 6 skinny jeans! You’re got to be crazy, I’ve never been that skinny! It wasn’t long before I was surrounded by the local women asking me questions about my travels, my country and of course my brother. When they found out he was in his early twenties, unmarried and had a job, they all asked me if they could marry him and move to New Zealand. I also had a few marriage proposals by  young cheeky guys, but  I sadly told them, they had better go and talk to both my husband’s over there, pointing to the two guys I was travelling with.  Two husbands! You could hear the murmur travel down the market street, over the roar of the traffic.

Thanks guys, for pretending I’m your wife! I know it’s unfair to lie to people, but you do get kind of tired of the same questions. After awhile, you start to change your story and make things up just for a giggle during helmet time. I don’t think I’ve ever lied as much in my entire life. I’ve even started to surprise myself with what I can pull from thin air when I’m under pressure. This wasn’t one of those times but I did want to be left alone, and I was getting tired of explaining that marriage doesn’t mean you can live in New Zealand. 

I had upper class women speaking perfect English, young girls studying,  one who worked in the market selling clothing and accessories and a couple of street cleaners with a bag of rubbish over their shoulders, all approach me. I was in my element, this is what I hope to achieve when travelling. Travelling was changing for me, it had been since Pakistan, but I hadn’t fully realised it until now. It’s nice to visit the world wonders like the Pyramids of Giza but it’s more magical and full filling meeting the people living their daily lives. I was so caught up in talking to the local women I hardly noticed that the wheezing bike was loaded onto a pickup truck and was ready to take us to Jungle Junction.

With the help of the guard from the apartments next door, we found a gate set back off the street with only a monkey spray painted on the metal gates. Tooting, we were greeted by the campsites' guard and welcomed in. After parking my bike, I looked around and was overwhelmed with the amount of trucks, 4x4’s and motorcycles parked there. One small group of overlanders were enjoying a beer outside their landrover. Approaching them, I asked if they could give us a hand to get the bike off the pickup.

Tired, worn out, but happy to have finally reached Jungle Junction in Nairobi! A slice of paradise, a place to get up-to-date information about the route south to Cape Town,  a place to fix your vehicles, a place to rest, a place to use the internet once again but more importantly a city to shop in. Nairobi is the first developed city I have been to since Turkey. I knew I was going to enjoy just going to a supermarket and choosing what kind of shampoo I want, instead of being forced to take anything available. 

Jungle Junctions Main Gates - Now you know why you can not find it too easily in the dark and you would have no hope without a GPS! 

Until You Hit The Asphalt

I froze as I climbed out of my tent in the morning. Staring at my bike I was completely shocked into silence. My bike looks like shit. What happened? Oh yeah I was forced to load it onto an overloaded truck last night, and endure a 6 hour ride crammed in like sardines on top of sacks of cumin ready for sale at the market. It seemed like a dream to me and I kind of wished it was! Leaving Moyale at 8 am and arriving at Marsabit at mid-night! It should have only taken nine hours to ride that distance.

When I left Australia 18 months ago, I had left with a beautiful bike. One that was clean, tidy and where white, was actually white! Now, my bike has undergone 18months of sun, sand, dirt and now a truck ride that has done more damage to my bike in six hours than I have ever done to all my bikes I’ve ever owned put together! Before I even think about it, before I start to freak out, I need to take a leak or I’ll have to do some extra washing I wasn’t predicting.

After my breakfast, after checking my emails, after a walk around the village I come back to my bike and take another look at it. Noting all the things that had changed or broken on my poor baby. Tail light was nearly snapped off and the wires going to the tail light had broken . Number plate numbers has nearly scraped off. Alternator cover has been scraped. One front indicator has been snapped off. One mirror lock nut has snapped. The other mirror top ball joint casing has a huge crack in it. One handle bar grip is nearly ripped off. Another thing I noticed was a few really deep gouges at the back of my engine, where the swing arm attaches onto. The only thing I could think of was a huge stone got in there somehow and then got stuck between the engine and swing arm while I was riding along yesterday.

Parachute houses, it seemed like all the houses were  built like this. I took a peek into this house and discovered it was just a empty kitchen with one gas cooker and nothing else. 

None of this was anything major, it was just annoying little things that makes my life a little harder. I started to straighten everything up. The two guys came along to help me repair my bike, as they felt like it was their fault our bikes were in such bad shape (Their bikes were in a really bad condition especially the last bike to be loaded). One guy took my indicator bracket off to be cut down to fit back on my bike but just a little shorter. The other guy pulled out a pipe clamp and fixed it onto my mirror to make it useable once again. I fiddled around and got my tail light straightened out but I’ll wait until Nairobi to fix the wiring. After a couple of hours, my bike was fixed up but looked still shabby and a bit Frankenstein-ish.

The Teacher on the broken limping bike. 

The Mechanic, the amazing rider who wanted to come with me on my whole trip.

I sat down with an expat girl who was trying to find a lift out to Lake Turkana with her friend.  We got chatting, and I ended up telling her all about what had happened yesterday at the Moyale border.  As I told the story, her and her friends eyebrows started to rise in surprise. ‘Do you know that in Northern Kenya, they are not bias to crowd prosecution?’ ‘No’ I replied completely taken back, now fully understanding the seriousness to the situation yesterday and how lucky we all were. Later that day, I quietly tell the others what I learnt. ‘I’m glad you told me, sometimes I can get out of hand!’ Don’t I already know that! I thought to myself

The guys were adamant to never set foot on another dirt road. I was adamant never to go on a back of a pickup truck unless I or my motorcycle was damaged. They had spent the day trying to organise a truck to the asphalt 100km south of Marsabit. They ended up finding two young guys to ride their bikes. One was a mechanic and the other was a teacher /guide, and also a friend of two Americans we met on the truck to Marsabit who use to live in a small village not far from where the asphalt starts.

The  Mechanic and I 

I was to ride with these guys, but I said to the owners of the bikes ‘I will ride with them, but by no means am I responsible for your bikes or your gear. If they decide to turn off the main road and drive down a dusty dirt road, I’m not following!’ They agreed I won’t be responsible for their bikes.

As it turned out, I did follow the guys down a small dusty road to a small village. But not because I thought they were about to steal the motorcycles, but because I was having so much fun with these two guys. They were not only a mechanic and a teacher but two amazing riders, with great sense of humour and huge hearts! I followed them down this dusty road, lined with rocks or you wouldn’t have known it was a road. We arrive at two buildings sitting in a large empty field. Children come running out to greet us, the teachers struggle to round them back up and shove them back through the doors into the classrooms. Two stayed behind. They were the teacher’s children and he hadn’t seen them in over a month.  A moment I had to capture.

One of the Drivers and his children out side the school.

The sick bike broke down several times, and the teacher who was riding it struggled to keep the revs up high enough to wobble through the deep sandy sections. I was extremely sick to death of this bike, but also extremely proud of the teacher to be able to get the heavy thing through the sand without falling off. We arrived at the meeting point, where the two others were waiting for us. They had passed us riding on the public bus while we were trying to fix yet another problem on one of the bikes.

The two Dutch guys jump on the two locals overwhelming them with questions all about the ride, the bike and if they had any problems. I interrupted and asked if they wanted a cold drink and something to eat. I was annoyed. The two Dutch guys were not showing any gratitude to the two locals. I silently wished I that I was continuing on with the two local guys. My attention got turned towards the two Americans I had met on the truck. They had just introduced me to an elder in the village and shown me a picture of him when he was in his 30’s. Wow, I felt so honoured at meeting such a distinguished man that obviously meant so much to the American couple. They were about to walk for two days up a dry river bed to a village where they had spent many years living just after university.

Me, and My bike! 

I just can not get over how beautiful Northern Kenya is like.

Driving off on the boring smooth asphalt, I realised I should have asked if I could have joined them. An opportunity to visit a rural village, staying in a local traditional hut, with men and women dressed in little cloth but weighed down in layers of beads around their necks, arms and ankles. I too wanted to dress up in the local clothing,  that is, until I passed a woman exposing her sagging breast! Oh well, it was a missed opportunity. I hope I will never repeat that again. 

Not Paying For Fuel = Bad Karma

For days now, I’d been wondering where the four Australian cyclists were, hoping I would get to pass them once again and have my dose of Australian humour. Just like last time, I met them on entering Moyle Township. Passing the two guys I’m travelling with I overtook the cyclists, laughing! A cheer erupts and we all pulled off the road to have a chat. I hadn't seen these guys since Sudan and was keen to find out if they had been keeping up the massive daily kilometres in this mountainous country. They were about to celebrate their third country of the trip with an honorary beer at the next bar. That sounded like a perfect idea, we decided to join them.

The three of us decided to go and find a place to stay and wait for the others to catch up. Following the GPS directions to the camp site, we navigated through the town, crossed a bridge, but suddenly everyone jumped up and started yelling at us from all sides! Then the traffic started to come directly at us. What was going on? Just as I was thinking this, I clicked. We had just crossed the border! We were now inside Kenya.  Quickly turning around we see the Australians entering customs, laughing at us.  

 The border crossing was by far the easiest I’ve come across in months! Passport stamped in seconds, customs only took a couple of minutes because I stole a chair and placed a sticker alongside all the other overlanders mark – kind of like a dog marking its territory.  The Kenyan side was just as good we were done in minutes. No bribe, no taxes and no hassles just good old smiles and a whole lot of jokes!

We found the nicest hotel in the city. I spent more money than I was hoping but I did want a nice shower and a comfortable bed. The other option was staying for free at the police station where they only supplied a long drop toilet. It was sure nice to be in some sort of comfort for one night even though I couldn’t get the hot water to work.

We discovered that all the cars and trucks leave as early as possible in the morning to make it to the next big town during day light hours. We would follow suit and travel in the daily convoy with everyone else. I don’t like to leave people behind when you make a plan, but I felt as if the Germans hadn’t made an attempt to catch up with us. Even after receiving a message they would be there in two days, I still felt guilty when we decided to leave them behind.

In the past few countries I’ve tried very hard to make sure I fill up with petrol before leaving a country and exchanging any left over money. I did manage to exchange money despite the one of the guys telling the exchange guys to go away and leave us alone. I cherrily asked ‘hey brother, before you go, what’s your exchange rate?’ I agreed to the rate and changed all my Ethiopia money except a few small notes and coins I wanted to keep for memories. One of the guys followed suit! I couldn’t believe it, after he told the guy to sod off he’s now interested in exchanging money!

In the excitement of meeting the Australians and getting confused with the border, we didn’t fill up with petrol before we crossed over. In the morning, we discovered that was a bad move. The locals were trying to charge us three times the price of petrol in any other city. Angry, we discuss with the police what the price should be. We returned with better knowledge and bargaining power. We screwed the price down to 180 Kenya shillings (KSH) ($1.80??? USD) from 300 ksh.

We rode over to the corrugated shed that also sold bananas, and all began to fill up. I finished first, only requiring 10 litres. I paid the money at the agreed price and waited for the others to finish.  One guy finished behind me but the guy filling his bike decided he wanted to change the price back. I did a quick calculation, the money he gave him was slightly too much so I stood on my pegs, standing taller than the crowd surrounding us and yelled at my team member to just forget the change, just drive away.

The guy in front of me was the last to finish. I waited patiently for him to finish so I could also drive away from the crowd of people. We move away from everyone, but for some reason the crowd was angry and were following us. I parked my bike outside the surging angry group of locals forming around the last guy to fill up. I ask the other guy (who has a helmet intercom with the other guy) ‘what happened?’

‘He was angry at them for ripping us off and decided he shouldn’t have to pay, you and I paid enough for everyone.’

‘What?’ I asked again – I couldn’t believe my ears ‘We agreed to the price, we should pay the price.’

Lucky for him the army stepped in and helped to mediate the situation. I sat on my bike, engine running. Did he forget we are in a dangerous area? I was fuming, why was he not only putting himself in danger, but all of us and especially because I had decided to join the group for safety - not to get into more trouble! 

The guy paid the money, but the other guy in the group was quick to realise he paid way too much and followed the petrol guy back to his shop and demanded the money back. Again the army followed, he had his money returned to him. Now, they were both angry at the guy for being dishonest. This was becoming a bit of a joke, I thought to myself sitting on my bike off to one side. He pays the guy once again, and the army told us to just go, get the hell out of here. I bet they were wondering what the hell they had stepped into too.

We drove off, over some beautiful dirt road, lined with low line scrubby bush. Excited by the scenery I danced closely behind the leader. Slow down Danielle, what happens if he comes off and I am forced to drive over the top of him! Slowing down, I struggle to keep to that low 40km an hour pace. We enter into a village, one that lacked people. Everyone had gone during the rebel uproar. Some houses were boarded up, some the wind  blew the curtains out through the empty window frames.

Just as we were about to leave the eerie place we were stopped at a police check point. I looked around me and couldn’t help feeling a shiver run up my spine. No one but the police, a handful of locals and us in this village, anything could happen. I stop just a motorcycle length back from the guys, just enough to hear what was happening but enough to say I’m not with them. I cannot believe it, this isn’t who I am. I swore to myself I will never leave people if we agree to travel together.  Now, after the petrol incident, I’m thinking of breaking my own rule and ditching these guys on my first chance.

‘Go back to Moyale’ the army officer bellowed at one of the guys
‘Why?’ He relied
‘You haven’t paid for the petrol’
What? I thought. ‘I thought he had paid for the petrol?’ looking at his brother

‘He didn’t pay the whole amount after the guy ran off with more money then he should have’.

You have to be kidding, that was his fault – I really wanted to say this out loud but I bit my tongue and kept it to myself, lets watch and see how this pan’s out but meanwhile it just got worse.

‘What are you looking at?’ called one of the locals
‘What fucker?’ called back my first team member
‘Did you just call me fucker? You’re the only fucker around here!’
‘Ok, that’s enough!’ said the army officer
‘He’s the fucker around here, didn’t even pay for his petrol’
Please drop this. I thought to myself, these two get really angry really quickly.

‘You must return to Moyale to pay for the fuel’ the officer said, trying to get into control of the situation.

‘Look, I’ll give you the 400 KSh to give to the guy, would that be ok?’

Radioing back to Moyale, he conferred with his superior, who told him it would be fine. He paid the money and we could carry on.

This actually reminds me of Mongolia! Heart pounding, I can feel excitement tingle through my body

We continued along the dirt road, stopping occasionally to take a short break or fix something on one of the big bikes. Then finally we reached the half way point! We took a longer break and two of us ate some local food. I frowned at the one who didn’t eat anything. ‘You should eat something, a banana, biscuits – just something to keep your energy up’

‘I’ll be ok, I’m feeling fine’. I shake my head, remembering when I use to think like that back on my first trip and getting absolutely exhausted, finding myself getting lost in the Cambodian jungle and falling off at a drop of a hat. This is going to be a fun afternoon!

Sitting on the leaders tail isnt going to make him go faster. I stopped to take this picture to hopefully gain some distance between us - it turned out that I made up the distance quite quickly and was once again on his tail. 

We left the village with 90kms to Marsibit, a good size village with a few guesthouses. The large overloaded trucks were still passing us. I couldn't seem to push the group to move a bit faster and in the afternoon heat, I could feel my bike starting to cook. Now, we had to stop every hour to let my bike cool down. I just wish we could travel just a bit faster and we shouldn’t have to do this. Then something happened, it was like a switch that someone turned on...

I had the front guy falling off his bike in front of me, I looked in the rear mirror to make sure I wasn’t about  to be crashed into if I stopped, to find the guy behind me is falling off. With the guys swearing about the shitty road, we lift the bikes back upright and carry on. But a few meters on another one hits the ground and then again! This was becoming ridiculous! Then they gave up. Sitting in the dirt, under our bikes for some sort of shade, they refused to move an inch more.

Looking up the road I could see a flat area off to one side of the road with a couple of guys working in the fields with a truck. I suggested we drive 5kms down there and ask if they can take the bikes to Marsibit. They refused. No, we will stay until a truck passes. Taking a walk around I couldn’t find even a slightly cleared spot to set up the tents if we ended up camping the night. One guy suggested we could light a fire to keep the hyenas away – I shake my head again and said we will have a serious situation then, the whole desert would be on fire with this super dry grass and this strong wind.

And this is where it all ended, here on the side of the road. I'm completely gutted I couldn't ride the rest of the way. 

After two hours of sitting and waiting, a truck finally arrives. I sat back and let the guy negotiate the price for the bikes to be loaded on. I refused to go on the back of a truck but they refused to let me travel on my own. With my arm twisted, I got my bike loaded onto the truck first, it was a good thing I did because, when the second bike went on, I could hear things breaking. When the third bike got loaded, everyone could hear metal breaking along with the plastic windscreen. I winced, wondering how my bike is going to hold up to this over the next 60kms.

We arrived into Marsibit at midnight. The bikes got unloaded, I didn’t even bother to look at the damage in the dark, I pitched my tent and let the guys (for once) arrange food and some beer before hitting the sack. Tomorrow, I said to the guys, I’m taking a day off. I need to sort out my bike and just relax a bit. They agreed we all needed a day off and a good sleep in.