Posts tagged east africa
Seeing the Serengeti from a Hot Air Balloon
There are two things to keep in mind before you choose to go hot air ballooning over the Serengeti at sunrise.
- It is a total splurge, like you may have to live without your nightlife for a while type of splurge. Simply put, it costs about $500.
- Experiences like seeing the Endless Plain at sunrise are once in a lifetime and the more you travel the more chances you will have to do the things you have only seen in movies.
My day started at 4:30 a.m., an ungodly hour to be sure, but well worth the sacrifice. We spent a few minutes at the launch site sipping on coffee before the balloon was full enough for liftoff. We were then told to sit with our backs towards the ground in the basket, like a space shuttle launch, while the last few bursts of flames were sent into the massive balloon.
The balloon lifted off the ground just in time to see the sun coming up in the distance. It was beautiful.
The Serengeti stretches infinitely off in every direction and it was slowly lit up by the golden glow of the sun. Groups of hippos waddled towards a swamp as they got ready to spend the entire day soaking in mud to stay cool and the herds of zebras and gazelle looked like a scene straight out of the Lion King when they all begin to run in one direction after hearing the fiery bursts of the burners.
When we weren’t snapping photos, a German who was with his two sons was giving me advice on women. According to this gentleman, I should be looking for a girl who is like beer – cheap and easy. His sons, who were no doubt wondering about their dear mother, were as perplexed as I was.
There are views that no words can do justice to, just as there are pieces of advice that don’t seem to have an appropriate response. But I can tell you that spending your morning floating over the Serengeti makes you feel as if the beauty of the world was created for the sole purpose of being seen by its inhabitants. And being greeted by bottles of champagne when you land makes you feel like a king.
The world is too big to see everything, but it is a shame if you don’t get to see some of it. It doesn’t matter how advanced high definition technology gets, the experience of witnessing the diversity and beauty of this planet with your own eyes will always outweigh sitting in front of the TV- even if you have the most comfortable lay-z-boy.
Traveling gives you the opportunity to live out some of your wildest dreams. And I promise that when you look back at it all, you won’t remember the 4 a.m. wake-ups or the bumpy roads, you’ll just smile with the knowledge that you spent your time well and if you had the chance to do it all again the only thing you’d do differently was do it all a second time around.
Another Shot at Dancing in Nairobi
I tried one more time. Nairobi at night. This time with the help of two GAP guides, one being my future leader across Tanzania and the game reserves. They escorted me back to Ranalo Foods to educate this rusty mind on eating with your hands in East Africa.
Grabbing ugali (corn flour and water boiled down to a squishy solid) by the fingertips, they molded a wad to fit the width of their hands, ending in a spoon-like shape near the thumb. Then, they went for the meat or greens, pinching the food together to the ugali and taking it all in with a large, meaty bite. It took me a few attempts to look as thought I eat like this all the time. Of course, I still got some stares and was probably looking quite silly, but having those guys accompany me gave me the confidence I, for some reason, lacked the night before.
And then we went out for drinks. People were pumped to get on the dance floor, but most of the time, it was a floor full of gyrating men. The guys explained most men are pretty afraid of girls because the majority of the women surrounding us were quite obviously “ladies of the night.” They danced with an eye behind them, seeing who was watching and hoping to entice someone.
The bathroom was for refueling, to smoke and primp among the puddles. Standing in my simple, modest attire, the ladies and I had a moment of pausing to observe the other. All faucets were covered with bags, so a massive tank of water took up the majority of the open space and a small bucket bobbled in hopes someone would want to be clean. A woman in front of me couldn’t stop moving to the music outside and gyrated by the toilet stalls. I loved it. I wanted to join her. The other woman next to me, one of the few ladies that wasn’t working that night, handed me some toilet paper. I was much obliged.
The curtains by the dance floor parted on a band led by a great Congolese singer and immediately the place exploded with energy. The music pulsed to a heartbeat or a quick breath, to the natural bounce of the joints, all about the hips, shoulders, and head, which usually looked down to see how the rest of the bod’ was doing.
At one point, a man collapsed “dead” on floor in a game to get money. He rose after the efforts of a few very dedicated and drunken men (giving money and pleading to the gods) and came alive…alive enough to strip down to basically a full spandex onesie and about twelve pairs of colorful or slinky underwear. Once he got down to nothing but a G-string over his black shiny get-up, he proceeded to do a headstand fit with impressive hip gyrations. A couple audience members were quite enthusiastic to have me contribute to his medical school fees or whatever he was dancing for, but my boys had my back and gave me a backbone in the vulnerable situation.
The dancing king of the night told me to get up and dance. I mimicked the popular moves and fit in nicely. Then he asked me to be at home (that’s nice) and feel free (oh ok…) to make another Obama if I felt like it (since I’m an American woman…in Kenya…wait, WHAT?). It was the second time someone said this to me in two days. At first it struck me as hilarious. Then I realized with the inauguration of our new president, the entire country of Kenya had a fresh new joke for the tourists that they all found as comical as they did the first time.
Bottom line: Get a local perspective on Nairobi nightlife, and you’ll walk away pleased…and possibly swervin’.
Dancing in Nairobi
I hit up a local joint in Nairobi on my first night: Ranalo Foods. The night involved my failed attempts at eating without utensils and a staring problem aimed at all of the moving bodies on the dance floor. This is what I observed.
“The body is constantly swerving into different ‘S’ curve forms, snaking and rolling and making dance a public display of their private spirits. Moving like they’re underwater, yet unable to abandon the rhythm. The smaller the moves, the better; slow, deliberate gyrations all with the smooth coat of style. It’s ‘own world dancing’…no one is subconscious. And it’s all in the joints with hips gliding, shoulders throbbing, and all eyes looking down to the work being done by themselves and the handsome one nearby.”
I rarely am intimidated by the dance floor, and even if I’m in a new country, I usually take the stance that if I make a fool of myself, I’ll see none of these people again in the future. But, I didn’t dance this time. I wanted to so badly, to test my skills at mimicking this underwater, snaking, gyrating dance of East Africa. I thought I could break the barrier between myself and the rest of the crowd on that Saturday night. Oh, but I was alone and I didn’t want to be a spectacle.
I added this first night at Ranalo Foods to the list of moments I regret. I could have given a nearby soul my camera to record whatever failed or successful attempts I made to assimilate into the dance culture. I could have smiled and gotten so far, making new friends who would dictate the way I should move.
And why am I writing about that one time when I didn’t dance at a restaurant in Kenya? Because it could have enriched my Nairobi experience to unknown heights and I’d rather you not make the mistakes in your journeys that lead you thinking later…”That would have been really cool if I had been ballsy enough to do that.” I didn’t show those boys in the bar in Cambodia the Soulja Boy dance and I didn’t swerve to the music of East Africa. I still remember the things I missed. They’re small, but they could make all the difference.