Shortly after John's death, I emailed Kuki of his passing. Her offer still held - come back to Kenya to heal, to Ol ari Nyiro. When I was able, I planned a month long solo trip back to Africa. I booked my flight from Boston via London and onto Nairobi. I planned on staying the majority of my time at Kuki's science and research camp, a few days following at her beautiful private tented camp, Makena's Hills, then onto Olerai House on the fertile banks of Lake Naivasha.
All was going according to plan. The catch was the United States was now at war with Iraq and with terrorism phobia running rampant, the U.S. State Department issued a warning of imminent danger in Kenya, a probable terrorist bombing attack in Nairobi.
For the first time, British Airways suspended all flights into Nairobi. My flight. Once again, my life was on hold. All along, I was determined to get there. The plan became to fly from London to Entebbe, Uganda on British Airways then take a charter flight to Nairobi. I was willing to go this extended route, ignore the State Department's inflated warnings, and get to Kenya on what would be just over one year following John's death.
For weeks, I did not know for sure how my plans would unfold as British Airways continued to change or modify flight plans. Just as I contemplated canceling the trip, on the morning of June 27, 2003, one year to the day of John's passing, British Airways lifted its months' old ban on flying into Nairobi. That was the only signal I needed that I was to make this solo journey.
"Get back to Africa. Be happy again."
I was on my way. Everything went without a hitch. It was both liberating and empowering to make such a trip on my own, to give myself the greatest gift I could have imagined, the gift of Africa.
While I had hoped to meet interesting people from around the world both at the science/research center at Kuki's reserve as well as at Olerai House on beautiful Lake Naivasha, due to the perceived terrorist threats and supposed imminent danger, those who had scheduled time for research at the reserve and Lake Naivasha, had cancelled.
In more ways than I could have imagined, being the only guest wherever I went afforded me the greatest opportunities and newfound friendships possible. I met, got to know, and spent quality time with the employees - wonderful Kenyans who offered me so much. My lessons learned were invaluable, the friendships made, real and lasting. I am a better person for their friendship. I will forever be grateful.
I met with Kuki on several occasions and our talks were honest and healing in myriad ways. Those who worked on the reserve, and in many capacities, were giving and helpful to a fault. The connections I made there, specifically with those at the science and research camp, were some of the deepest and most introspective of my life.
Jeffrey Muchugi, my main guide while at the camp, a brilliant mind and human being who taught me so much about the wild, flora and fauna. We spent hours talking, trekking, discussing politics, family, friends, world issues, the environment, books, and life. We joked, easily. Douglas Nagi, the top guide at Kuki's, the "walking encyclopedia" as they called him; a thoughtful, intelligent, straightforward man whose candid conversation and love for the wild brought a richness to my days. Philip Ochieng, the resident entomologist, who always had a smile on his face and got giddy at the sight of or talking about lovely things with wings - butterflies, lacewings, insects and moths. It was Philip, who on my birthday asked if I would make him a small cake for afternoon tea. I had baked a cake for the staff the day before and Philip had liked it so much it didn't matter what day it was - he just laughed and asked if I didn't mind - I didn't. And Jones, the multi-task man for Kuki who I spent much timing talking with at Makena's Hills. A shy, dear, soft-spoken man who made me feel as though I were home. One afternoon while I was out walking, Jones, in all seriousness, came up to me and in a quiet, fatherly voice said, "you need to eat something, you look thin." And Mzee Epateti, the tracker/askari (guide) and retired Kenyan Wildlife Service ranger who led my foot safaris and kept me safe. He loved the bush, as do I, and he taught me much. The bush was part of him. He was the bush.
So many more as well, from the fabulous cook, Mzee Christopher, who generously allowed me to rummage through his kitchen sanctuary to bake cakes (far inferior to his own), to Elizabeth and Ali. These remarkable individuals brought joy into my life once again. They took great care of me at a time when I could not have appreciated more the chance and opportunity to be cared for. For the first time in many, many months, I did not feel so alone.
Asante sana.
Excerpt from the memoir, In the Heart of the Lily, copyright 2007, Jan Baumgartner
Content cannot be reprinted without the express permission from the author.
A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer dividing her time between surviving in Maine and living in Mexico. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications including the NYT, Bangor Daily News, SCOOP New Zealand, Wolf Moon Journal, Media for Freedom Nepal, and Banderas News in Mexico. She's finishing a memoir about her husband's death from ALS and how travels in Africa became one of her greatest sources of inspiration. She is a Managing Editor for OpEdNews.
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