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.