Marafa to Magarini with Hell's Kitchen in Between

Having a dedicated and trusted driver is an asset in Malindi. I’ve seen a number of posts recommending it, although of course (bila shaka) it costs. As we found out when we asked ours to take us to Marafa from the PolePole Beach resort. Famous for the nearby ‘depression’ (does that sound appealing?) also known as Hell’s Kitchen there is a stream of tuk-tuks and cars making their way out most evenings to catch the sunset over the vast and startling landscape that has become an enigmatic attraction there. We, however, were spending some nights in a local guest house before heading to the Magarini farm and school site. Our driver brought us right to the door, literally, collecting his payment that must have made up for the extra driving he’d had to do previously. It all works out eventually.
Watching our daily entry and exit  from the guest house in Marafa, a family of brightly dressed children called out ‘Ciao!’ to which we replied ‘Jambo’.  Which brought forth a chorus of Jambos and laughter almost every-time. All attempts to speak Swahili were greeted with smiles of appreciation and often a welcoming Karibu.
Stepping out into the ‘street’ and I use that term loosely, we took a short walk down the main drag checking out the possibilities in Marafa. From one end to the other it  takes all of 5 minutes. Another 5 minutes out of the village to the bar at Hell’s Kitchen, where in spite of the large lettering declaring Italian cuisine, there is, unfortunately, none available. In fact getting a meal in Marafa is a bit of challenge. Generously our hosts invited us for dinner where, surrounded by her flock of ducks, Jescar and her daughters pulled together many evening meals by the light of solar lamps and the rising moon. We had breakfast daily at the New Shalom cafe (not yet on TripAdvisor) and afternoon beers at a couple of  fairly anonymous establishments.
After breakfast we climbed onto  pikipiki/bodaboda/ motorcycles and out to Magarini Childrens Centre. As I’m rather large I had one to myself while Elke rode with Emmanuel. In the first days we set up the Safari tent and met the onsite staff. When our volunteer AJ was scheduled to arrive we took the minibus/daladala back to Malindi, and purchased supplies: mattresses, cookware, gas bottle and stove. AJ attempted to arrange sim card for his phone (bring an unlocked phone!). Transort arranged and we were delivered with all our purchases directly to the school and then on to to Marafa for the night.
Once the second tent was set up the following day we celebrated by stopping at Hell’s Kitchen and doing the tour through the quite impressive terrain. Winding down the trail into this ‘depression”  some local children were doing flips and acrobatic moves on the sandy floor. Superlatives don’t begin to describe the place. Erosion at it’s most colourful, not a place to be in a downpour though! Climbing around outcrops, standing in mini canyons and under overhangs and mushroom shaped hoodoos,  twisting back and forth takes about an hour. Then a climb up and out and along the rim where the more inaccessible portion (with occasional visits from troops of baboons) is visible. Pictures barely touch the majesty of it, but here are a few.

December 25 2013

As  a traveler I am consistently challenged by my own limitations. Whether it be tolerances or accommodations my underlying internal structure has been determined  by the "slings and arrows" of my conditioning, misfortunate or otherwise. The stimulation of new and foreign, unfamiliar and extraordinary is certainly part of the draw. And yet, perhaps understandably, there is occasionally something missing. Especially on days like today.
Christmas has been a challenging one for years now. A number of conflicting contradictory messages have created confusion and occasional despair.
Beyond the local relevance of this "holiday" what I am missing most is friends, family, my tribe. Even nomads have consistent community. As I understand it, family or tribe is essential for the human social animal to thrive and succeed. Here, now, my community is ephemeral, if it exists at all.  I spend 9 months in this place or that place. I can find a few friends in most situations, we foster connection, but ultimately I am always just passing through.
  Thankfully the internet facilitates friendships and relationships no matter where we are (given access) but nothing beats face to face human contact. I am heartened by my personal correspondence and my affiliation to the ManKind Project (MKP) community.  I wouldn't be where I am now without the leadership, growth and maturity I gained there.
For this seasonal celebration, the gathering of friends and relatives trumps the gift giving (and receiving). The artificial trees, shiny decorations and annual church attendance have little meaning for me. I have yet to see any awareness or celebration of celestial events like the solstice. The daily passage of the sun is relatively consistent. The moon makes it's way from full to new,  the sun rising within a few degrees at the same time everyday. Those earth based, sky focused rituals or ceremonies have likely been stamped out or swallowed up by another set of parameters determining religious belief. The people here seem to have embraced the missionaries message. My beliefs are more aligned with the ancient indigenous than the introduced.
I have created this reality for myself, journeying beyond the frontiers of the familiar both physically and in spirit. The like minded, the sympathetic are with me in my heart. Although my tribe is on Vancouver Island, my family in Canada and, within MKP, a few honourary members throughout the planet,  I am grateful for all my connections, where ever I find community, as they are the very best gift one could receive. Ultimately all the belief systems, differences and arbitrary divisions are irrelevant. The message is, and always has been, about connecting at the heart level.