Adventureland

         Waking up and finding yourself in the middle of a workweek at Mpala is somewhat akin to waking up and finding yourself in Groundhog Day. 

Groundhogs.

         Every morning begins with the exact same breakfast, and since we’re on the equator, every evening begins with sunset at the exact same time (6:35 PM), regardless of the season. Two weeks ago, my roommate woke up on Thursday utterly convinced that it was Tuesday. I think she just spent the time in between on autopilot.

           After that incident, I’m determined to have at least one different adventure every weekend, if for no other reason than to stop the weeks from blending into one another as much as the days (well, and also so that I have things to write about here). I was feeling good this weekend, though, so I pushed myself and had two.

            My first adventure of the weekend was one I had been trying to have ever since Mark and Jon, a pair of New Zealanders, arrived at Mpala a week and a half ago. Because of their accents, Mark and Jon would have been popular even if they were just normal researchers. But Mark and Jon were no mere researchers. They had been hired by one of the projects at Mpala to fly around in a helicopter capturing gazelles with a net gun so that the gazelles could be examined and tagged.

Hired guns. Jon on the left, Mark on the right.

            For the gazelles, this process must be like an alien abduction. Imagine. You’re standing peacefully in a field when suddenly a mysterious aircraft descends from the sky, hovers for a moment, shoots you, and winches you up into the air. The craft carries you along for a bit before dumping you among a bunch of unfamiliar beings, who subject you to the most thoroughly invasive examination conceivable. After taking samples of your blood, hair, and stool, measuring your antler and (if, unfortunately, you happen to be male) testicle size, injecting you with a syringeful of liquid (an anti-parasitic), and shoving an electronic tag through your ear, they return you, dazed and woozy, back home, where, I imagine, you spend the rest of your life trying to find someone who believes your story.

Collecting a stool sample. If you don't release voluntarily, then yes, they go in after it.

            For the humans, this process meant that Mark and Jon had a helicopter, and that if they liked you enough, you might be able to go up in it.

Mark and Jon therefore bypassed simple popularity and proceeded directly to near-celebrity status at Mpala. Nevertheless, by the evening before Mark and Jon’s Sunday departure, only the four researchers most closely involved with the gazelle project had managed to score a trip. Fortunately for me, my roommate persevered where most had given up. Three hours and several Tuskers into Mark and Jon’s goodbye party Saturday night, she got Jon to crack. 

Tuskers are truly elephantine, containing 50% more beer than most American bottles.  Jon really didn't stand a chance.

And so Sunday morning, I got to tag along for adventure #1.

          Adventure #2 happened a few hours later, when I went to go help someone with field research.

See the twelve-year-old boy in the baseball cap? That's me.

 Remember how a few posts ago I mentioned my promise to my mom not to drive in Kenya?

Sorry.

I couldn’t turn down the offer of a free driving lesson after we finished in the field. The car was one of the gems reserved for undergraduates: a thirty-year-old stick shift with a door that didn’t close, a trunk that didn’t open, a windshield that got grimier when you wiped it, and rust spots wearing through the floor to reveal the road beneath, and driving it across the highlands was absolutely terrific. 

Driving one of these things is like trying to play Mario Kart on a glary screen while sitting in a massage chair with all of the cushioning removed. You’re shaking too much to have a realistic chance of following the road and avoiding obstacles even if you could see clearly, so you just hang on, steer instinctively, and hope you don’t fall off the edge. It’s enormous, enormous fun!

Look on the bright side, Mom. At least I didn’t fly the helicopter.

Welcome to Kenya (Part Real-Life Kenya)

Sometimes, when you are in a foreign country, or even when you are at home, bad things happen. Once you have dealt with the consequences, it is important to stay strong and move one. Sometimes it helps to write a poem in rhyming couplets and post it on your blog when you finally get adequate computer access and also apologize to all your followers for leaving them in the lurch. So that is what I intend to do:

Evening was falling and no worries were found.
All through the Sanana Hotel, hakuna matata abound.
Just returning from aerobics for a well-deserved shower,
I pulled out my watch to glance at the hour.

Seven-thirty, I'd been gone a mere 45 minutes or so.
Now hot from the gym, I'd turn the AC temperature low.

I unlocked my door and went for a drink.
But something distracted me on the way to the sink.

My wallet, which I had filled with bill-paying cash
was empty and I looked around the room in a dash.

My  purse too was open and pens strewn around.
Then I realized my computer was not to be found.

Out into the hallway I went in a rush.
"Jane! Jane!" I called at my colleague's door; this was no time to be hushed.

No answer though I rattled the knob and banged on the door.
So I returned to my room and I'll admit it, I swore.

Back in my room, cameras and iPods were found missing too.
But, luckily, my passport remained, my way home, bound in blue.

Still worried and upset, I tried to call Jane again.
This time, I heard her respond, "I'm downstairs, come friend!"

I ran down the stairs and cried, "I've been robbed, Jane!"
"My computer's gone too," she said, "A thief came."

While front-desk Jane called the police, we recounted our day
to try to sort out how things had ended this way.

I had gone to pay my bill, 20,000 kenyan shillings.
Front-desk Jane said "Go swim while I sort our your billings."

So coworker Jane and I went for a swim in the pool
while a bearded man drinking a beer watched us from his bar stool.

After our swim, we went to change for the gym
for the aerobics class at the hotel we were both in.

At aerobics, we punched and kicked and jumped off the floor,
and once, instructor Alex answered a knock at the door.

That was all I knew, then I returned to my room.
But the others knew more, as I would find out soon.

Front-desk Jane said, "I think I know that bearded man.
He checked in today with some friends and I wasn't really a fan.

"They paid upfront all in cash and gave no ID.
They asked for a room upstairs and wanted to see.
The only one room apartment was the one between the other two.
I told him that as he tried to open the doors that belong to you."

And now I remembered, I'd heard some noise in room 113.
I had thought nothing of it, but they had staked me out it seems.

"He had seemed suspicious," front-desk Jane went on,
"And carried a black college bag up under his arm."

Alex chimed in, "I remember a strange man too.
He came to my class. He must have been checking on you."

Jane and I had been targeted and followed around
by the bearded men and his friends, I realized and frowned.

They had chosen us as prey but somethings were still unclear.
I had my key with me all day. I'm sure it always was near.

A master key, I was told, must have done the trick.
You can open any door and get in and out quick.

This case of check-in and rob happens in hotels a lot.
And it's very rare that anyone ever gets caught.

The Kenyan police had arrived by this time.
They told us to repeat our stories, line for line.

There was a head officer, who asked questions quite brusquely,
and a few women officers, who carried semi-automatics and batons quite casually.

In Kenya, they speak English, but Swahili's preferred.
So I had to speak very slowly and they still missed my words.
"They stole 20,000," I said, "in Kenyan cash notes"
"1000?" "No, 20,000." "1000," the policeman wrote.

We all told our stories to the officers in blue.
Then a green-clad detective arrived and wanted to hear them too.

The night became very long, but at least I wasn't alone.
My other colleagues came and my boss, and I borrowed his phone.

I had emailed my parents and cancelled my credit cards.
Now I called my mom and told her "Don't be too alarmed.
Seureca is taking care of me and I'm okay after all.
I'll stay here in Kenya. This is just a stumble, not a fall."

My co-worker William reminded me, "At least you weren't harmed.
After all, with that funny black bag, those men were probably armed."

Things could have been much worse if I had got in their way.
After all, a computer is replaceable but a life cut short can't be saved.

Everyone discussed in Swahili the crime that occurred
while I sat on the floor and didn't understand what I heard.

Finally, after many hours, I was sent off to sleep.
And by 8am on Saturday, I was back on my feet.

To Nyali Police Station I went and my story retold,
recorded my statement and left the robbery for the police to unfold.

That was some time ago, 12 days to be exact
and above you can find most of the facts.
Now I'm settling back down in Mombasa in a new hotel
and I'm sure that the rest of this summer will turn out well.

So I hope you've enjoyed my story. It's all quite true. And now I'm stuck rhyming in couplets. I don't know what to do.  It was an experience which helps to make me strong. And, don't worry, I'll add more blog posts, maybe the next in the form of a song.

Furaha Ya Kuzaliwa to Hannah! (I'm sure you can all Google Translate)

          One of my most vivid early-childhood memories is of my first years playing soccer at the YMCA, when I was about five years old. We were probably three-quarters of the way through the game, and I was positioned at my team’s end of the field, keeping one eye on the action going on at the opposing goal, and the other on the Capri Suns and Rice Krispie Treats. No YMCA youth athletic event is complete without Capri Suns and Rice Krispie Treats.

Foods of champions.

            Suddenly, possession shifted. A horde of T-shirted kindergarteners began propelling the miniature soccer ball my way with the frenzied determination of a very angry mob. It was up to me to stop them. This was my “Right Field” moment.

            The horde came closer. I stood my ground. The shot was delivered—and calmly, confidently, I stepped in front of it and scooped it up.

            And then was told to put it down. “Next time, Hannah,” I was told gently, “remember that you have to be playing goalie to use your hands.”

            Partly to avoid similar incidents in the future, I made sure to play goalie as much as possible over the rest of my Y soccer career, and because I was a fearless child, was actually pretty good at it. I don’t believe I ever caught the ball as cleanly with my hands as I did that day at age five, but for a few years, I would happily throw myself in front of any ball to physically block it with my body. For the season or two I had braces, I even played with a giant blue plastic mouthguard to prevent my lips from getting all cut up when I stopped the ball with my face.

Then I got older. And smarter. And wimpier. And quit soccer.

So on Sunday afternoon, rather than join in the MRC-wide soccer game, I chose to play with the kids (mostly belonging to research center staff) from the Mpala village next to the soccer field that came out to watch, which I think was more exercise, anyway.

Mohammed. The cutest of the Mpala kids--a significant title, given the competition.

            I’ve never been as unconditionally liked as I was by these kids. In the United States, you have to bribe a toddler to like you with toys or a snack; in Kenya, all it takes is one piggyback ride and they’re yours. Of course, once you give a piggyback ride to one kid, you have to give one to twenty more.

I am strong enough to walk around with a Kenyan kid on my back...

But I aspire to be like fellow Princetonian Bianca Reo, who is strong enough to do pull-ups with a Kenyan kid on her back.

I wore out after a half hour and had to switch to Duck, Duck, Goose. Because Kenyan kids are really fast and disproportionately apt to name American students geese, I still only lasted half an hour before I had to take a break.

In which I am, yet again, the goose.

The kids were almost as delighted with this development, though, because it gave them an opportunity to drink all of the water from my water bottle, climb on my lap, play with my hair, and inspect all of my accessories. One chubby three-year-old was particularly taken with my necklace. He spent several minutes quietly singing a Swahili song while turning the chain around and around my neck, which was adorable. Then I stood up and he slapped me on the butt, which was also adorable…I think.

The little Kenyan kids made my afternoon awesome, but I have to give kudos to the Mpala staff and my fellow Princetonians for making the evening even better by throwing me a surprise party for my twentieth birthday, complete with streamers, a crown, a bestreamered room, Kenyan soda, “Happy Birthday” on the harmonica, and an extremely giant birthday cake. It was, as fellow Princetonian Alex Kasdin commented, “a cake experience.”

The arrow points to the "Hannah."

The kitchen staff usually bakes a cake to celebrate birthdays, but no one I talked to, including people who have been at Mpala for months already, could recall the last time a birthday was celebrated with double layers.

Me and Eunice, the baker and architect of the cake experience.

Getting There Is Way More Than Half The Fun

            Walk into Mpala’s dining pavilion at 7:00 AM, and you’ll see a group of people wearing cargo pants and T-shirts brewing mugs of instant coffee, putting things into backpacks, and conversing purposefully with colleagues over notebooks and maps. These are the people who will be spending the day in the field.

The goal.

            Walk into Mpala’s dining pavilion at 10:00 AM, and you’ll see a smaller group of people wearing cargo pants and T-shirts fiddling with empty mugs, leaning against backpacks, and complaining about muddy roads, unreliable thesis advisors, and dead car batteries. These are the people who were supposed to be spending the day in the field.

            Considering that Mpala is located in the middle of a nature preserve in Kenya, it is remarkably difficult to get out into the field, especially after it rains. Though some of Mpala’s main roads are maintained by the British army (unlike national parks in the United States, the land in Kenyan national parks, while protected, is still open to limited human activity and development. People live, graze livestock, and even go to school on parts of Mpala. The British army pays Mpala to hold training camps on the reserve several times a year), most of them are full of potholes, ditches, and rocks, and can get quite treacherous when wet. Rain is especially bad for roads at higher elevations, which tend to be covered by a different type of soil known as “black cotton” soil—“black” for the color, “cotton” for its tendency to stick to your shoes, pants, and car when wet.

This is not a usable road.

            The great thing about it being such a hassle to leave the Mpala complex for the field, though, is that remarkably little can make you turn around once you’ve finally left, especially if you’re being driven by one of the Kenyan research assistants. I am fully confident that all of the Kenyan research assistants at Mpala have successfully completed an official, accredited Kenyan driver’s education course. I am equally confident that the only thing they teach students at an official, accredited Kenyan driver’s education course is that you can beat anything with a stick shift.

Ekomwa, research assistant for the Caylor lab.

            Pothole in the road? Muddy patch? Small river blocking your way? No problem. Just go into first and forge on ahead. Zebra a little too far off the road for you to get a good picture? Switch gears and drive on up to it. Acacia tree in the way of your off-roading? Nonsense. Yank on the stick hard enough and you can steamroller right over it without a second thought. This tendency to go through, not around, obstacles may explain why African nations have the world’s highest road traffic injury mortality rates.

But this is a usable road.

In fact, I think that Kenyans actually believe that stick shifts make your car ride safer. With a stick shift, there is no need for seatbelts—ever! If your cell phone rings, don’t be afraid to answer it, even though you might have to take your hand off the wheel to work the stick while you’re holding the phone. The presence of the stick will somehow keep you on track. With a stick shift in your Land Rover, it’s even safe to ride on the roof. You’ll be fine. You’ve got a stick shift!

Mom, you told me I wasn't supposed to drive in Kenya. I'm assuming that meant that all other car activities are fair game.

 The only things that give Kenyans cause for alarm while driving are elephants. 

Like these guys.

When elephants are close to the road (which, both wonderfully and inconveniently, happens relatively often), you sit in the car, watch and wait until they leave, and try very hard not to remember this scene.

A final note: once you actually make it to the field, it is a good idea to remember to put on sunscreen.

Tumbili Wengi

If blue-bottomed monkeys are what make a place freaking awesome, then I must say that Mombasa is freaking awesome as well.

Meet Dedan, a Tumbili (in Swahili), or vervet monkey (Cercopithecus aethiops), who lives outside Makwetu, the apartment complex in Mombasa where a group of my colleagues live. I probably won't name all of the monkey because there are many, tumbili wengi, but I will definitely post more pictures. Especially of the adorable baby monkeys, like the one I saw today. He fell off the wall surrounding the apartments and jumped up and down crying until his momma came down and scooped him up.

Tumbili, just one of the Swahili words I have learned. More to come!

Understandably, my first thought upon encountering the monkeys was "Aww!" followed quickly by some idea like "Maybe I can come and spend time with the monkeys and then I can have a cute monkey friend, like Abu in Aladdin." After all, Arabia is only just across the Indian Ocean.

Abu is so cute. I want a monkey friend with a fez.

However, these monkeys aren't all fuzzy balls of cuteness. Danstone, Peter and William, some of the guys I work with, all laughed at my reaction to the monkeys and the way I took pictures and exclaimed over how adorable they are. Kind of the same way I react to people taking pictures of squirrels at Princeton.

And the vervet monkeys are sort of like Mombasa's equivalent to squirrels at Princeton. Remember that squirrel which woke you up way too early in the morning by chewing through the screen in your window? Or how about that time you came into your room and found a squirrel eating all of your tortillas? Apparently, these monkeys are the same. If you leave your window open, they will climb in and, in perfect monkey style, eat all of your bananas.

Monkey slinking off, probably just after stealing a banana. Or a cell phone.

Cute, you say, monkeys eating bananas. Elizabeth, you are now reprimanding me, how could you compare monkeys being so stereotypically and amusingly monkeys to the crazy, fat and slightly scary squirrels at Princeton? Well, let me tell you, these monkeys are quite a bit smarter than squirrels, even Princeton squirrels, which seem, incidentally, quite stupid. And they are bigger. And meaner.

Danstone told me today that if you start feeding the monkeys (and come on, we all know if you saw a monkey on your porch, you would throw it a banana), the monkeys (and their friends) will come back the next day AT THE EXACT SAME TIME. They are extremely punctual; you could set your watch to them. And monkeys don't like it when their expectations aren't met. Keep the monkeys waiting and you will face the consequences. If you usually feed them at 7am and by 7:15am, they are not fed, the monkeys will take action. They might steal your cell phone or camera (though they probably would do that unprovoked). If they really get knocked off schedule, the monkeys will become violent and ATTACK YOUR CHILDREN. That's right, don't feed the monkeys and they will eat your child instead. Like an evil monkey mob. So really, they are more like those flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz who give children nightmares than adorable Abu from Aladdin stealing a melon.

These flying monkeys definitely gave me nightmares.

With that happy note, I am off to bed. Welcome to Mombasa everyone. I hope you enjoy my stay.

Editor's Note: Sorry for not posting so much! I've just worked out the internet situation today and promise to post more about Mombasa than just the monkeys. Also, I have a correction to my previous post about Nairobi. I was staying in the West Lands and working in the Park Lands. So that is pretty much all of Nairobi which I experienced. Apparently, there is a lot more to Nairobi than I saw. And it can get rough. So really, all of Nairobi isn't actually the dirt road, walk around freely with no worries type of place. But some parts of it are. Sweet.

Acacia Were Wondering (What Mpala Looks Like)

Well, for one thing, there are fewer acacia trees on the actual complex than out in the field. Though that doesn't stop me from routinely walking into the ones that are here.

Mpala Research Center is a pretty cool place, though--powered by solar energy, built using a lot of local materials, and aesthetically inspired by the surrounding landscape. In fact, it's almost as cool as me and Elizabeth, and since we have our own page, I thought Mpala deserved one too. Check it out!

Fact: if a monkey hangs out at your research center, then your research center is cool. If said monkey is eating a banana and has a blue butt, then your research center is freaking awesome. My research center is freaking awesome.

The Concrete Jungle (What Africa Looks Like)

I have a feeling that Hannah and I will have very different versions of Africa to share. For one thing, the most "wild" wildlife I've seen is the bird which lives in the tree outside my office window and repeatedly flies into to window throughout the day. And I have yet to see an Acacia tree. I did, however, watch the Lion King last night, so I feel like I'm getting in on the whole Africa savannah thing.

For those of you who don't know, I am currently in Nairobi, the capital of Kenya. For the capital city with a population of over 3 million people, I expected a city, tall buildings and all that. Or, at the least paved roads. Not quite what I got.

A road in Nairobi. I'm told it floods when it rains.

There are some tall buildings, like my hotel, and some of the roads are paved. However, all the roads have potholes and a lot of them are not paved. Like this one. And driving is crazy. On my taxi ride from the airport to my hotel, I noticed that my driver was driving more to avoid potholes than to stay in any sort of lane. I thought Oh, it's late, no one is on the road, that's why. Nope. Traffic laws don't really apply here, at any time. The rule is the biggest, or most aggressive, wins. And you deal with the roads anyway you can.

Yesterday, on the way back from lunch, further down on the road pictured above, I passed a car stuck in a hole. Not just a pothole, but an actual 1-ft diameter super deep can't see the bottom hole, just the perfect size for a tire to fall into. This, I was informed, is a regular occurrence. Furthermore, this is all an improvement. Obonyo, my desk neighbor, told me that just from driving home from work every day, he would have to take his car to the mechanic at least once a week because the roads were so bad. Now, he says, it is better.

You can also imagine what all this dirt does to the cleanliness of your car. Which is why they make getting your car washed really convenient. For example, you can eat lunch while your car is washed.

The Garage, our daily lunch spot

At the Garage, where I went to lunch each day with people from the office, you eat really tradition Kenyan food, like ugali, mukimo and pan-fried tilapia caught in Lake Victoria, for really cheap, from 80 to 200 Kenyan shillings (Ksh), which is about $1-$2.

Meanwhile, you can watch people's cars being washed and services. Do you see those signs on the wall? They aren't menus. They are servicing tips for your car. And they don't just wash the outside of the car. They also wash inside the hood and then pull the car up on a platform-like-thing and was under the car.

So now you are thinking: "Going out to lunch? Walking around on dirt roads laughing at people stuck in potholes? Sounds like all play and no work to me. Don't you have an internship in Kenya?"

My Office Building

Yes, yes I do. And I have the office and business casual wardrobe to prove it.  This is my office building. The Seureca East Africa Ltd. office is pretty much the whole third floor. And we have a really cute acronym. SEAL. It makes me think of things like this:

Cute Baby Seal
(not actually something I will see in Africa)

In the office, I do all sorts of cool things. Check out the picture below. Note the SEAL logo up on the wall (unfortunately not a picture of a baby seal), my Seureca Mug (full of Kenyan black tea) and the HUGE PILE OF REPORTS. That is approximately a gagillion pages of reports on the project in Mombasa which I will be working on. It's just like the acacia trees for Hannah, except everywhere I look, there is another report for me to read.

Look at me at my desk, hard at work!

These reports cover everything from the efficiency of employees to different leak detection methods (acoustic techniques are traditional and cheap, but can only be used in quieter areas and aren't that accurate, tracer gas is awesome but expensive, thermal techniques are pretty awesome too).  My favorite report was the one on the condition of the offices provided, which included the following comments: "the chairs are in deplorable conditions," "the office is dilapidated. it is shaky," "lack furniture,"  "one Tuk Tuk is also requested" "office: pathetic state especially the carpet," and the slightly worrying "urgently need gas masks." This report was filed in February, so perhaps conditions have improved.

Tuk Tuk

And what I have gathered from thousands of pages (okay maybe hundreds) is that Seureca in Mombasa is working as a consulting company for Mombasa Water and Sewerage Company (MOWASCO) (who provided the "pathetic" offices) and Coast Water Services Board (CWSB) as Technical Support (TS) to help the client to create an Improvement Action Plan (IAP) which will help the Water Supply and Sanitation (WSS) sector reduce unaccounted for water (UfW) as well as non-revenue water (NRW) to help the Ministry of Water and Irrigation (MoWI), which launched a National Water Services Strategy (NWSS) to reach the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs).

I have also gathered that anything which can have an acronym will. Which means there are tons of acronyms for me to learn. Fun times indeed.

More importantly, I have gained an appreciation for the importance of SEAL's work. Water supply and sanitation in Kenya is really poor. Only 57% of households use water from safe sources and 60% of Kenyan water production is unaccounted for water, which means that it is produced but never metered at the consumer's tap. Basically, it is lost water. Which is bad for an area with scarce water resources. A lot of this is lost to leaks in the system, as well as to illegal connections.

This was a super long post, partly because I have a lot to say and also because I am now headed off to Mombasa, where may not have the luxury of free unlimited internet which I have here. Also because I am still in the office, but have finally finished reading all my reports.

In other exciting news, I got a new phone. Her name is Elsie.

Acacia Were Wondering (What Africa Looks Like)

Remember how I said Africa looks a lot like Africa? Well, here's a major reason why:

ACACIA TREES

(well, and also elephants. This picture is partially here to prove my integrity to my mother, who didn't believe me when I told her about the elephants. See, Mom? It's right there in the middle.)

See those trees behind Simba and Nala? Those are acacia trees. See those trees behind Timon? Those are acacia trees. See all of that green stuff behind all the animals gathering at Pride Rock? Trust me, those are acacia trees. (Oh, come on. You know every mental picture that you had of Africa came from Lion King).

Well, it turns out that acacia trees are actually really interesting, and that many of the researchers at Mpala (pretty much anyone not studying ecohydrology or African animals) are here to study acacia trees in some way, shape, or form.

One group is trying to figure out why acacia trees look the way they do; i.e., why acacia trees only spread out branches and leaves at their tops, and why acacia trees don't tend to grow taller than a certain height even if conditions are favorable. It's possible that this distinctive growth pattern is somehow related to giraffes, which count acacia as one of their primary food sources. It's a good thing they like it, because they've evolved to be built for it. Those long necks? Perfect for reaching the tender new growth at the very top of the acacia. Those tongues? Perfect for winding around acacia thorns to get to the leaves. (Giraffe tongues are about a foot and a half long, rough as sandpaper, and, incidentally, black). Those giraffe knees, that don't have kneecaps and can bend in either direction? Well, they don't have to do with acacia, but they're still cool.

Another group is trying to understand the symbiotic relationship between ants and acacia. Though they all look pretty similar, there are several different species of acacia, and each species hosts a different type of ant (researchers are still trying to figure out what makes any single ant species a good fit for any single acacia). The thorny pods on the acacia give the ants shelter, and the ants are thought to defend the acacia against other pests. It is great fun to bother ants by repeatedly twanging a branch of their acacia tree to make them think there's an intruder and that they have to come pouring out of their pods with their butts in the air, ready to defend.

Foolish ants

Acacia is also used to make a food additive called acacia gum. According to Wikipedia, it is found in everything from Fresca to Strawberry-Lemonade Powerade to Altoids to Pretzel M&Ms.

In the short time that I've been at Mpala, I too have made some discoveries about acacia. Firstly, acacia thorns provide an excellent and effective defense mechanism for the trees against Hannah. Though individual trees may be damaged when Hannah runs into them (yes, literally. If you haven't had the singularly amusing experience of being my running partner, let me tell you that if I avoid a head-on collision with an obstacle, it's only because I've fallen beneath it while tripping), the species as a whole benefits in the long run as Hannah takes increasingly circuitous detours to ensure she gives all other acacias a wide berth. Especially the ones that look like this:

You think those brambles were bad, Simba? What if the hyenas had chased you into an acacia grove?

Secondly, the acacia savannah of the Kenyan highlands is one of the few natural monocultures in the world (scientists are still trying to determine why acacia so thoroughly outcompetes other tree species). That's not the discovery. The discovery is that, after six hours of field data collection, natural monocultures are really boring.

Here's how my fellow intern Alice Suh described the African landscape after her first day in the field:

"You look in one direction and there's a thousand acacia trees. So you turn around and look in the other direction.

And there's a thousand acacia trees."

Obama Country

It seems the everyone I meet, once they find out I am American, mentions Obama. Unlike Starbucks coffee guy, no one ever guesses that I am American, even though I thought my accent would once more give me away. However, once I mention that I am from New York, I get a variety of responses, often excitement and always Obama.

Here is just a sampling of the responses I've gotten from my colleagues in the Nairobi office: 

"Oh, you are from the US! From New York! Not from Texas? *walks around cowboy style, pulling imaginary guns from holster* "Not from Dallas? New York is good. And Obama."

"Oh, the US! Obama is from here, did you know?  My brother knows someone related to him."

Obama and Family
 (perhaps including that friend of my coworker's brother)

Or my favorite:

"You are in the land of Obama's father! So it is like you are home here."

The sentiment of welcome, that Kenya is my new home, is ubiquitous. Everyone I meet welcomes me to Kenya and ensures me that I will like it here. But don't worry everyone, I'm sure I will make it back to the US eventually.

You Should Be in Kenya Now...

My journey to Kenya was rather less eventful than Hannah's. I watched a few inflight movies on my flight from the US on American Airlines.  My 10 pound note, which I was so happy to find when I was packing, was rejected at my layover in Hethrow for being too old (who knew the British didn't like old money? What about the monarchy?)

British Money: Old, new, it all looks the same to me

During my four hour layover, I ordered an iced coffee, which I hoped would help me avoid jetlag and the starbucks guy  pointed out that I was American (I wonder what gave me away) and said that I should stop off in Ethiopia on my way to Kenya, since that is where he is from. I helpfully added that I knew where Ethiopia is (thank you Sporcle). I hopped onto my next flight on British Airways and left behind anywhere familiar.

I finally arrived in Kenya at 9pm local time (which is 1pm EST in the US) and went through customs with ease. If you ever come to Kenya, and hopefully after reading this blog and learning all about our amazing summers, you will want to come to Kenya, here is a tip: get your visa early! There were such long lines for people buying visas at the gate, but I zipped right through with my passport and visa in hand.

And as the immigration officer stamped my passport, he welcomed me to Kenya:

"You were in the US. You should be in Kenya now."

and waved me into his country.

So I suppose I did make the right choice in coming to Kenya. Afterall, it is where I should be.

Can Ya Get To Kenya? Part 2: Flying

Does anyone else find it ridiculous when the pilot asks you to “enjoy your flight?” As far as I know, the commercial airline industry has seen exactly one instance of people boarding a plane for personal enjoyment. Here it is.

I think a more appropriate entreaty would be to “endure your flight,” especially on those stupid flights that have now replaced in-flight movies with Direct TV. “Hundreds of live channels!” they say. “You have to pay for them!” they don’t.

Because I refuse to pay for Direct TV on principle and I don’t sleep well on planes, this leads me to seek out alternative forms of amusement. On the first leg of my journey, suitable diversion was kindly provided by the large, fifty-ish woman sitting to my left, who spent the entire flight memorizing sections of the handbook of the Order of the Eastern Star, which, I gathered after a few pages of reading over her shoulder, is a sort of co-ed Masonic organization. Happily, the woman was on the “Initiation Rites and Rituals” chapter, and so I spent the trip from San Francisco to Newark quietly and contentedly inducting myself into the Order.

The flights from Newark to London and London to Nairobi, on the other hand, lacked both good movies and fraternal reading material, but were salvaged by the fact that the entire flight crew was British, and so it was possible to entertain myself simply by waiting in line for the toilet at the back of the plane and eavesdropping on the British conversations of the flight attendants.

After many, many hours, I, the five other Princeton undergrads who were traveling with me to Mpala (and who shall, in due course, be introduced here), and our graduate student chaperone finally arrived in Nairobi!

All that remained was a four-hour van ride from Nairobi to the research center, along which I was enchanted to discover that Africa looks remarkably like Africa. The savannah is not just a figment of Lion King animators, and I will be posting more photos soon to prove it. On the way up to Mpala, I was astonished and delighted to see giraffes, zebras, and elephants, but my favorite was still this little guy:

Can Ya Get To Kenya? Part 1: Virgins

My journey to Kenya began, as so many do, with a panic attack.

Let us backtrack a few days to late Friday afternoon, when, having overcome a severe case of Packing Attention Deficit Disorder and essentially prepared myself to leave San Francisco the next day, I called Virgin America to see if I could add the flight miles to my frequent flyer account.

This would be impossible, the agent informed me, as I lacked not only a Virgin America frequent flyer account, but any sort of Virgin America plane ticket as well.

"Excuse me?"

"Ma'am, I don't see a Hannah Safford in our computer."

"Are you sure? Could you check again?"

"Oh wait, I'm sorry. You flew to Dallas in January!" the agent announced helpfully. "Have a wonderful evening!"

And so my mother and I immediately proceeded to frantically call and email every person we could think of who was somehow affiliated with the Princeton Environmental Institute. It being 8 PM on Friday on the East Coast, no one responded.

So, of course, we called and emailed them all a second time.

We were just about to go back for thirds when I got the bright idea to bother Public Safety at Princeton until they called the PEI intern coordinator at her home number on my behalf. 

As it turned out, I was booked on Virgin Atlantic, not Virgin America. This begs two questions:

1) Why on earth is the airline industry allowed to have two separate companies named after virgins, especially if one of them has a mascot that looks like this?

2) How much gleeful joy do Virgin America and Virgin Atlantic phone help operators get out of deliberately refusing to mention the existence of the other Virgin to their customers?

If You Give A Hannah A Packing List

Laura Numeroff's "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" is one of the most excellent children's books out there. "If You Give A Moose A Muffin" and "If You Give A Pig A Pancake" are also good--not quite mouse/cookie caliber, but still solid.

...it will be a happy mouse

Unfortunately, as I discovered this morning, Laura got a little carried away by her success. The quality of the "If You Give A..." oeuvre is now sadly tainted by the underwhelming  "If You Give A Cat A Cupcake," "If You Give A Pig A Party," "If You Take A Mouse To School," and "If You Take A Mouse To The Movies." The last two are particularly disappointing. Really, Laura? Not even a stab at alliteration? And why would you consider taking a mouse to school anyways? Mice like cookies. Not school.

...it will wish it had a cookie

At this point, there's obviously nothing to be lost by throwing another sequel into the mix. We could call it "If You Give A Hannah A Packing List (for Kenya)":

If you give a Hannah a packing list for Kenya, she's going to want her turquoise rolling duffle bag to go with it. When you give her the duffle bag, she's going to discover that it's filled with old Halloween and Purim costumes. This will remind her that she still needs to finish organizing a bunch of old photos on the family computer. So she'll leave the suitcase half-empty and go and work on the photo project. She'll find her high school graduation slideshow and watch it. And watch it again. 

She'll decide that everyone needs to see how cute she was when she was little, so she'll try to post the pictures to Facebook. But the Internet won't work. She'll probably go upstairs to complain to her dad. When she gets upstairs, she'll find her sister and her mom watching "The Voice" and folding laundry. She might join them. After "The Voice" is over, she'll bring her laundry back into her room and start to put it away. 

As she puts stuff in her closet, she'll find her old pair of glasses. So she'll have to try them on. She'll probably go into the bathroom to see how they look. They won't look very good, so she'll quickly put them on the bathroom counter, where she'll see all of the pills required to travel to Africa. She'll start putting them in a bag. As she's considering whether she needs to bring Benadryl in addition to Malarone, Loperamide, Cipro, Ambien, Ibuprofen, Claritin, and leftover Vicodin from an old operation (just in case), she'll think about opening a pharmacy in Africa. She may find her mom to run this idea by her. Her mom will probably take advantage of this opportunity to make Hannah try on some pants she bought at Old Navy. 

Hannah will try to escape. It won't work. Her mom will ask her if she's going to pack the pants, since they "look very Kenya." Hannah won't really know. Her mom will ask her how many pairs of pants she's planning on packing. Hannah won't really know.

So...she'll go back downstairs and print out another copy of her packing list.


Hopefully I'll be packed by the time I'm scheduled to leave San Francisco tomorrow. Maybe it would help if I had a cookie.

Welcome Friends, Family, and Blog-Enthusiasts Galore!

Hey Everyone!

Welcome to our blog. This is where Hannah and I will post our trials and tribulations, successes and defeats (hopefully scant in number), stories of new tastes and new sights and various other interesting tidbits from our journeys in Kenya this summer.

We attend university together and were drawn into friendship initially by a common love of bees, honey, and bee puns (check out the Bee Team page!). When we discovered we would both be in Kenya this summer, pursuing engineering and our love of exploration in different ways, and in far-away parts of Kenya, we decided to create a joint-blog. This would both keep the fans at home entertained and allow us to share our African experiences with each other. So you can look forward to a summer filled with all sorts of new adventures, portrayed here for your viewing pleasure through blog posts and pictures throughout the summer months.

Happy Summer!

-E