September 13: Well who are these furry little fellas? Oh, just some protected species I ran across on my African Wildlife safari this past weekend. (I learned safari means “trip” in Swahili, by the way.) Please note that these beasts were absurdly close to our vehicle. It was cloudy that day, and apparently the best conditions for seeing lots of animals. We saw around 21 different species. I kept a list, of course.

If and when I ever made it to eastern Africa, I had never really intended to go on a safari. I suppose animals never quite secured their permanent spot on my Top 50 List of Life’s Passions. But then the opportunity came along and it was a very good deal, and I thought to myself, I should go on this safari because Marco would love it. I figured once you’re married, all your experiences are shared, even the ones you aren’t there for. Even so, I think after he sees some of my other pictures, we’ll have to come back, because I don’t think the safari by proxy method is going to satisfy him. It was really pretty amazing.

Also amazing is the unexplained and spontaneous decision by the Kenyan government to pull 80% of all matatus off the roads, arresting drivers and slashing the tires of any matatu that doesn’t meet some imprecise standard of safety. I mean, the ones remaining aren’t exactly on the up and up. I am only mentioning this because the last week of my stay in Kenya has been frustrated by this curious affair and its aftermath. You would not believe what happens to local economies when their main form of public transit is disabled.

You see, the only way I can get to a phone, internet, wheat bread, or coffee (of the non-instant variety) is to take a matatu to Kilifi. So twice a week, I depart Takaungu around 7:30am on a 50 cent northbound matatu to email, post my blog, have a cappuccino and do whatever business I have that can’t be done with a bucket and some rope – tools of the trade in Takaungu. About three hours later, I board another matatu and head back home. Under normal circumstances, this entire process takes no more thought than putting on my shoes. But post-government crackdown, things have gotten rather complicated. In fact, I have experienced brief episodes of rage at the impracticality of the whole thing. The remaining 20% of matatus now refuse to carry anyone anywhere except to the furthest away locales (which generally means Mombasa), because that’s how they can exact the highest fares. What they fail to notice is that the vast majority of buyers of their service do not want to go to Mombasa, but rather one of the literally infinite stops (they’ll stop anywhere) in between. So they forego fares from all such shortimers, preferring instead to carry a virtually empty matatu to Mombasa. Mathematically, this doesn’t make sense, although in the past week I've heard the fare to Mombasa has almost quadrupled. So maybe it's all balancing out. Regardless, the real losers are the consumers. The matatu drivers (what's left of them) will get their money.

So my last two weeks in Kenya, I spent a total of almost 7 hours waiting for a matatu in the sun, carrying various and sundry bags, mortars and pestles, coconuts. The strange, though predictable response, was that people would really start getting ferocious throughout this process. When a matatu would drive up, everyone would storm the side of the van while it was still moving and start beating on the doors trying to get in. Women with babies on their backs did this maneuver. The more clever drivers would sometimes pretend to move in towards the curb, as if stopping to pick up passengers, only to swerve back out into the street and carry on. This infuriates people, to the effect that there are arguments, people dangling from the sides of fast moving matatus, and once I even saw a man hurled from the open door of one!

The reality is, there is another non-matatu return route to Takaungu, but it involves a three-wheeled covered motorcycle called a tuk tuk, and it costs about 10 times what a matatu costs, so you have to find two other people to go with you, or it just isn’t practical. It takes you down the interminable bump called “plantation road” (a huge sisal plantation along the main road), where it ends in a steep slippery rocky cliff type formation that you hike carefully down until you dead end into the Indian Ocean. Then you wade out knee deep into the water, get on a tiny wooden canoe, generally filled with several bicycles and 12 or 15 more people than it can reasonably carry, and a man (paid by the government, which won’t foot the cost of a bridge instead) pushes you across with a stick. The boat has a hole in it. You alight on the other side, climb back up a similar rocky formation and find yourself on the back side of Takaungu.

So this was my experience a few days ago when matatu misery unleashed its wrath upon me. I had already waited two hours and it was getting late. (We're strictly forbidden from returning to Takaungu after dark, and since there's nowhere to go and no way to call anyone, you have no choice but to get back before dark.) After about 30 minutes of waiting and getting angry, I ran into an acquaintance - a very wonderful and lighthearted Takaungu woman, named Madame Margaret, and her husband. After more waiting and negotiating and getting angry, we decided we had no choice but to take the tuk tuk the back way. Now unfortunately, Madame Margaret has only one leg. Please reread the description of the tuk tuk transit route and imagine it being carried out by a woman who has only one leg.

Anyway, the original intent of this story was to lead in to a discussion (albeit one-sided) about government controls and the free market system. But that opportunity has long since passed. Let me just tell you that people in Takaungu are really suffering from this matatu debacle, and it should give policy makers pause. Supply and demand reigns even in rural Kenya, so with such a supply shortage, the market has responded by price hikes that put traveling anywhere for any reason out of reach for most people. Consequently, shopkeepers can't stock their shelves, people have trouble getting to work, and heaven help you should you need to go to the hospital. Everything is affected. As it is, I was unable to get to Kilifi to post my blog last week, so in effect, the government matatu crackdown has forced me to have to lie about the date on this blog. It's actually Sept 15th, but I couldn't post this blog when I wrote it, and I don't want to just trash it, so this is what it comes down to. They've made a liar out of me!

So tomorrow will be my last post. Any requests? I suppose I should tell you how my project ended. But you'll have to wait until tomorrow. I know you're so excited you won't be able to sleep.