Guest post by Doug Matson

Fear is good. Okay, not always – sometimes fear puts blinders on your mind and you can’t see the big picture. But all-in-all, Mother Nature knew what she was doing when she invented fear. Don’t sweat the little stuff when there is something big, bad, and out to get you. Something like Bill.

Bill is a solitary bull African (aka Cape) Buffalo. He’s old, grizzled, smart, and probably in a bad mood most of the time since he once was in charge but now the young males have chased him away from the breeding herd. Honestly, I’d be seriously cranky, too. African Buffalo are known to European visitors, or Mzungu, as “black death” due to their unpredictable nature and sinister coloration. They are included in the famous list of “big-five” most-dangerous animals for a game hunter (or photo tourist) to bag and are purported to trample and kill around 200 people in Africa yearly – making them equally as dangerous as hippos.

In Africa, you aren’t safe on land or in the water. A big male Cape Buffalo can charge at 35 mph, weigh between 1500 – 2000 pounds, have a shoulder height of 5 foot 7, and measure 11 feet long. The coolest feature of a Mbogo (or Nyati) is its horns. A full rack fuses at the center and is impenetrable by rifle fire. It extends from the center of their forehead, curls stylishly down below their eyes and then sweeps regally upward in twin scythes of death above their head. The wingspan for a “big” male is above 42-inches wide (with the record being 64-inches). Bill was big. I’m not going to ask him to let me measure his horn girth but from his photos we can estimate that given his ears are 3-foot wide (a typical proportion) then his horn span could be as much as 63-inches. This, of course, is irrelevant. He’s a VW minibus with attitude.

Bill is actually stunningly gorgeous: raw power incarnate and an embodiment of the majestic pastoral savannah. If that’s what over-the-hill looks like, let me join the club. But look into his eyes and all pretenses of vistas across endless equatorial plains vanish. What shines out is malice tainted with the assurance that all must recognize that HE is legislator, chief jurist, and executioner in this valley. This is Africa; eat or be eaten.

Buffalo Bill surveys his domain.

By Marion Usselman

One of the many things Anne is working on these days is trying to move her beading project to a state where it is a profitable business that can provide a stable source of income for traditional pastoralist Kenyan women. Last month 1,000 women made money through NRT Trading by creating beaded products. The most productive woman earned $33 in the month, which was the pay for making 14 pencil pots. That doesn’t seem like much, but it can pay the school expenses for one primary school child for a year.

Women at the Westgate bead market

By Phil Curtis

That children are children everywhere, and seem to share innate characteristics that bond them to each other and make them endearing to adults, is one of the more gratifying things to emerge from our 10 days visiting Lewa and some of its surrounding communities. This trip has been a transformative experience in many respects – from the wildlife which Anne and John have already documented so well (although it’s hard to comprehend how close the animals are until you actually experience it, and there’s always something new for you who haven’t yet visited: the five-cheetah charge on a gazelle was a first), to the days spent with Maasai and Samburu warriors, the open-air market in Meru and the always breathtaking Lewa scenery – but a major highlight was our visit to the MCK N’tumbri School about 7-8 km outside the Lewa gates.

The school has 320 students in grades 1-8, and most of those in grades four and above are boarding students. In many respects, the differences between MCK N’tumbri School and an American primary/middle school couldn’t be more stark: dirt everywhere that there isn’t a building, classrooms that lack electricity, no computers anywhere, outdoor latrines for everyone, huge (50-60 student) classes, no choice for lunch (you get one of the Kenyan staples with meat twice a week and are happy for it), and make-shift instructional materials like learning English from old magazines – and everyone has a different magazine. But underneath the appearance of deprivation is an infectious spirit, enthusiasm, friendliness and curiosity that is both heartwarming and reason for optimism.

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By Jed Downs

Lying in bed and pondering the effects of jet lag, I heard a snort. Celestia, John’s sister, clearing her nose or throat I thought. Nope, next morning on the way to breakfast there were glossy piles of what looked like fresh cow patties. Indoor plumbing had saved me from my first way to die in Lewa: a wee hour’s encounter with a bull Cape Buffalo.

A cape buffalo sizing me up

Robin, Anne and Celestia were on a game drive, safe in the protective bubble of a Toyota Land Cruiser. They learned two things: they could avoid dying from the bite of a puff adder if the puff adder is already half ensconced in the belly of a two-meter long black spitting cobra and that a spitting cobra can’t bite or spit venom if its mouth is already stuffed with puff adder

Two meter black spitting cobra and its prey, an even more poisonous buff adder

Close up lunch

Guest Post by Julie Curtis:

I sleep beneath a mosquito net, under a blanket that was originally intended to be a garment for a Masai warrior, in a house with no indoor shower, and electricity that cuts out at 10:30pm and then whirs noisily on again at 6am, filling the room with light if I left the switch in the on position when it quit, which I do, because I can’t remember which position is “off”. There are bush babies in the trees outside my window, enormous white cricket-like bugs plastered to the windows dreaming of getting in, and who knows what else roaming around at night. It seems unfair to expect the wi fi to work here. And yet, it kind of does. Enough to make me believe in the possibility of it. Enough to allow my clients in Japan to expect me to meet their quick-turn copywriting deadlines.

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Guest Post by Julie Curtis

The smell is a mix of something burning, exhaust, and food of some kind, maybe meat. The highway outside the sliding door honks and whines all night, past a cylindrical building with its roof angled like a lipstick and letters on top of that spelling out “INTEGRITY CENTRE.” Jet lag clutches the right side of my forehead like talons, and my feet, swollen from three consecutive long haul economy flights, beg to be elevated.

So I skip the complimentary breakfast they serve at the Sarova Panafric, which the bellman, Collins, highly recommends and hopes I will rate favorably on Trip Advisor. He spent more than a few minutes last night telling me which Kenyan foods to try at the buffet, adding that I really ought to wash it all down with beer.

My driver, Sammy, will be here early to take me to the little regional airport where I will board a 16-seat flight from Nairobi to Lewa Downs. I am too tired to shower, but I showered last night when I arrived, so I should be okay.

Kenya’s golden Integrity Center

Guest post by Lynn Pownell

I am now back in snowy freezing North Carolina and missing the warm sunshine of Kenya. Susie and I headed for home two days after new guests arrived. The overlap was fun, highlighted by an invitation to share in a sundowner dinner party. Rehema and Wamuyu cooked all afternoon, we packed the car, crowded into the back seat and, after a slight delay in route to wait for a group of elephants to finish their dinner with a typical teen not willing to give up the tender grasses in the middle of the road until he was good and ready, we arrived at a special place. As we made new acquaintances, sipped cocktails, and ate wonderful food, the sun slipped away from the expansive landscape and the brilliant moon took its place.

The sundowner on our last evening at Lewa.