A short Holiday Story for 2015

Once upon a time, when our children were small and our budget even smaller, I was one of Santa’s elves. Around December 1st every year our bedroom door closed, the sewing machine came out and the kids were excluded from entry. “Santa needs help making all of those presents,” we told Marion and Richard. “He’s outsourced a lot of production to mommies and daddies around the world. You can’t go into our bedroom because Mommy is one of Santa’s elves.” The explanation seemed to satisfy the kids and they complied with the “do not enter” policy. Perhaps they thought that peeking would spoil their chances for a good Christmas haul.

The items created in my workshop relied heavily on cheap material and notions sourced from the S. R. Harris Fabric Warehouse where everything was always half price and if you had a special coupon they’d take an additional 20% off your purchase. Stuffed animals, dolls, doll clothes, pajamas, super hero costumes, Cabbage-Patch Kids, sleep-over sleeping bags and new winter coats rolled off my production line. I worked hard and tried to make things look “store-bought.” I was generally pretty pleased with the results and the Christmas tree was never empty.

In all those years I never really wondered what my poor but industrious elf counterparts were creating in other parts of the world. What types of toys did Santa order for the children in the jungles of Central America or Africa’s arid plains? What materials did the parent-elves there use to whip up their Christmas surprises? After 14 months living in northern Kenya, I have a pretty good idea. Santa recycles. African elves don’t have S. R. Harris. They have used plastic bottles, bottle caps, old tires, nails, strings, sticks and stones. They make some pretty cool stuff.

A stick, two large, bright orange bottle caps and two nails make a great push toy not unlike the ubiquitous corn-popper push toy that drives every American parent crazy. An old bicycle tire and a stick will keep a rambunctious boy occupied for hours and two sets of each will create a day of competition. Old rope is plentiful as are expanses of flat dirt, so jump-roping thrives. Kenyan school girls dream of following in the footsteps of the jumpers from Nairobi’s Kibera slums who speed stepped, Double Dutched, freestyled and jump-danced their way to the world jump-roping championships in Orlando.

Jump ropers at the Serinya School

Jump ropers at the Serinya School


And then there are the vehicles. Santa’s African elves can do a lot with an empty cooking oil bottle or a pint of whisky whose contents are gone, perhaps consumed in good cheer by the elf himself. A bottle, four bottle caps and four fasteners of any kind, combined together, make a car, a truck, a cart or a bus.

Cooking oil and whisky bottle cars.

Cooking oil and whisky bottle cars.

Merry Christmas
Anne and John Knapp

Five New Birds Posted

We don’t carry the camera as much and new bird species that stay still long enough to take their picture are getting harder to find but we still are here and looking around. There are five new bird specie pictures on the Bird Gallery page. New types of Hornbill, Dove, Barbet and Chat graced our deck since I started putting out bird millet (Is that cheating?) as well as a new type of Plover we spied near the road.

A Tale of Two Abattoirs

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way” Charles Dickens, A tale of two cities

In my case, I was going to the Farmers Choice Abattoir and then to the Keekonyokie Abattoir. (Nothing implied here about which is heaven or hell or best or worst.) Both have the same functionality: Cattle arrive at one end and beef exits the other. The basic processes are the same utilizing knives, saws, washtubs, hooks and hoses. However, there are many differences. Farmers Choice is more automated. It has much higher levels of sanitation and it serves a more upscale market. But what was most interesting to me was the different organizational structures.

To maximize utility and minimize the cost of beef to the consumer, an abattoir must operate at capacity, work efficiently and every part of the animal must be used. Farmers Choice and Keekonyokie attain these goals in vastly different ways.

Farmers Choice abattoir

Farmers Choice abattoir

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Don Giovanni and Other Kenyan Firsts (after 14 months)

Off to the opera

Off to the opera


First #1:

“Do you want to go to the opera?” Jo O’Brian, our boss Mike Harrison’s wife, asked. “It’s Don Giovanni. I’m not sure if it will be live or a movie. It’s up in Nanyuki and Maggie and Al are putting together a picnic. It should be fun.” I immediately said “sure.” Formal entertainment around here is so rare that I’d attend just about anything; certainly Mozart and maybe even Wagner. John and Mike pursed their lips, looked skeptical then hesitantly agreed. They would go for the food. I could tell John was already planning to endure the experience by loading up on “savory bits” and wine and then sleeping it off during the show.

Don Giovanni in the bush, with an official play-bill and everything.

Don Giovanni in the bush, with an official play-bill and everything.


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Something’s different

October 21, my seven-week vacation in the USA was over. I climbed aboard Delta flight 258 at 2:30 pm. After enduring seven and a half hours in the air, five hours sitting in Schiphol airport, eight more hours traversing Europe, the Mediterranean and northern Africa, waiting through customs and immigration where they took my temperature to make sure I wasn’t importing Ebola, I was back in Kenya. The trip was one I have done many times and is quite routine by now, but something felt different. This sense of routine gone awry continued.

I met Sammy, my usual driver. He drove me to the Pan Afric hotel where I was greeted warmly, had a chicken sandwich and beer for dinner, woke the next morning to the Pan Afric breakfast buffet, showed my hotel receipt to the security guard so he would let me out of the hotel and once again met Sammy for the trip to Lewa.

Lewa waiting for the rains.

Lewa waiting for the rains.


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Poverty

I’ve learned a new term; “people at the bottom of the pyramid.” Among poverty researchers and developmental economists it means the poorest of the poor, people who exist on less than $1 per day. It even has an acronym; PBP. This is the target population for hundreds of charities. PBP are the individuals and households that foundations and grant makers want most to uplift with the programs they fund. Last week I submitted two grant applications to the African Enterprise Challenge Fund. The projects forecast income benefits to over 100,000 PBP. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they will be favorably reviewed.

At the bottom of the pyramid? Husband and wives.

At the bottom of the pyramid? Husband and wives.


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Beef

After two months of silence, TenCenturies is back on line. Our hiatus coincided with a six-week return to the United States to visit family, start construction on our new house and re-acquaint ourselves with the biking routes in Maine and Minneapolis. This trip home was originally meant to mark the end of our African adventure; the return flight on a one-year round-trip ticket. Life rarely unfolds as you expect. Back in April, when my main mission was raising money to scale up NRT’s livestock trading business, we agreed to extend our commitment for an additional nine months. Investors tend to be more willing to commit funds when they’re confident in management and know who’s running the show. Saying I would be at NRT for another four months (May-August) but after that who knew wasn’t particularly reassuring. The new schedule gives us time to find a successor and make a smooth transition to new leadership.

In case anyone is interested, I’ll be posting that job opportunity soon. If you know anyone who might want to spend a year or two as CEO of NRT Trading, share this blog post. It’s a great job, the living conditions are amazing and the experience is life changing. NRT Trading has received sufficient investment to keep life exciting for years to come. And, there is no malaria and no Ebola here.

100 miles in one day is a lot more fun with friends.  Century #9.

100 miles in one day is a lot more fun with friends. Century #9.


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… And dance by the light of the moon.

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.

Buffalo Bill surveys his domain.


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Pastoralist Women and the Bead Market

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

Women at the Westgate bead market


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Bird Gallery Updated

For all you bird lovers out there, we added about 25 new birds. We also corrected some spelling and numbering errors.

Thanks to Doug and Chris Matson for some of the new pictures and their expertise in identifying them.