Before Kipp was Hip

This handsome young gentleman is my friend Kipp, who accompanied me on my trip to East Africa in 1989. Kipp was also teaching English in Yemen, in a little village in south central Yemen, Oozla. Kipp had several Lonely Planet books,and he did most of the research for the trip. I was along for the ride, grateful for the company. What I did not know at the time was that Kipp would do his level best not to survive the trip. He did, but I don't know how!
The beginning of our trip gave no indications of the travails to come. Things went smoothly as we proceeded from Sanaa to Aden to Addis Abba to Nairobi. We made it into town to our hotel with little fuss. We looked around, found something to eat, and enjoyed the summer weather at altitude. While walking downtown late on that Sunday evening, Kipp had his first mishap. Poetically, it was the most minor of several to come. We were looking at various shops and I spotted one that had some very beautiful art pieces in the window. I called Kipp over. The window was recessed with a thick glass pane. Inside the pane were several pieces of art on the window ledge. Behind them was an iron grate. Somehow, Kipp thought the artwork was on the outside ledge of the window, he didn't see or conceptualize the glass pane. He excitedly leaned forward to touch something, banged his head on the glass, and fell backwards onto the sidewalk. He survived Nairobi without further incident. After a few days in town, we went on safari (see the previous post). When we returned to Nairobi, we prepared for the major portion of the trip where we would travel inland through five countries in a few weeks.
Our first stop was in Naivaisha, my only stipulation. The local lake had largemouth bass in it, and I wanted to be able to say I caught a bass in Africa. It was a beautiful spot and we rented a small banda for a few days. While there, we came across several European women backpacking through Kenya. Kipp was very enamored with one of them, so we spent an evening as a group. I went out on the lake and caught a good stringer of fish, and we had them for dinner. Evidently, the women were impressed with this fact, and Kipp took notice. I thought no more of it, and we soon resumed our travels. I had no idea Kipp was planning to meet up with the women again in Uganda, or that he was working on a scheme to provide an even more manly, rustic meal for them. I would soon figure it out though.
As I have mentioned, Kipp planned a good deal of the trip, and I followed along occasionally asserting a desire to take a small side trip. Kipp was in complete charge in Uganda, and we moved from site to site with relative ease. He eventually told me that we were going to stop in St. Elizabeth National Park for a day to view wildlife. I did not know that he had arranged a rendezvous with the Europeans there. We stopped at the last little town before the park for provisions. I didn't pay attention to what Kipp was gathering, I was just trying to find water and a Snickers candy bar. When we got back in the cab, I noticed Kipp's bag was moving. He looked at me and just smiled. When we got to the gates of the park, he announced that we had a several mile hike to the main lodge. We took our supplies out of the cab and began to arrange them so that we could tote them for several hours. Kipp reached into a bag and pulled out a live chicken, boldly declaring that he was going to butcher it and we would have it for dinner. I just sort of stared at him. A day before, we had linked up with an American from Washington DC who was a decent travelling companion. He was relatively quiet, and fairly culturally sensitive. The three of us walked through gate and eagerly began our long hike to the lodge. About a mile into the journey, I began to notice lots of animal tracks and signs on and around the road. I looked up and Kipp and our new friend were chatting pleasantly, seemingly unaware of the flapping chicken strapped to the back of Kipp's backpack. I slowed down, suddenly becoming aware of just where we were. We were traipsing through a game park with bait strapped to one of our backs. I called ahead to the two of them. I told them I was a bit tired, and that they should go on ahead and I would catch up. I let them get about a mile ahead before I began walking again. Kipp and his chicken made it safely to the lodge, and he did kill it and we did eat it. Sadly though, the women never showed up.
A few days later, we reached the border of Uganda and Rwanda. When we first entered Uganda, we did some finagling with our finances. At that time the government required that each tourist cash $200 and exchange it for Ugandan shillings. The black market was rampant, and the shilling was almost worthless. We crossed on a Sunday when the banks were closed. We then went to the Sheraton and cashed $20 each. The obliging desk clerk left a space between the last zero and decimal, and when he turned his back, we picked up the pen and added a zero. We had learned about this in our Lonely Planet guide. The only trick was to make sure your money balanced when you left the country, as the exit officials would check. When we walked through the border crossing, I went in first. I had hidden money in my brush, and it appeared that I had the right amount of cash. Kipp then followed me in. He had ignored my admonitions about balancing his cash, and when I opened the door to walk out into Rwanda, I heard him call out my name. He shouted "Hey Mike, did I give you some American cash to hold for me?" I was in the clear, and had no desire to return to Uganda to explain myself. One of the Ugandan border officials looked at me quizzically. I looked back and said "I don't know that man." I walked out into the beautiful Rwandan sunshine and Kipp spent a few hours and $50 explaining himself to the Ugandans.
We stopped in Rwanda with the express purpose of visiting the mountain gorillas in Ruhengari. I hadn't yet seen the movie Gorillas in the Mist, but I was aware of it. We spent an evening in the capital, Kigali, before making our way north to the mountains. As we were walking in town looking for the national park offices, we got lost. I was walking beside Kipp reading a map, trying to orient myself. Kipp was just strolling, taking in the sights. After a few minutes, I realized Kipp was no longer talking. I stopped, put the map down and turned around. Kipp had fallen in a massive hole in the street. At this point, I was mystified - I was walking with a large unfolded map in my face and he had fallen in. I helped him out and we eventually made it to the gorillas and had an amazing time.
We ran into political problems when we got to Burundi and had to return back to Uganda the way we had come. We were irritated, and it was a long gruelling journey back. Once we returned to Kampala, we decided to go all the way back to Nairobi, where we would part company. I was running low on cash and was anxious to return to Yemen for the volunteer training, and Kipp was excited to go onto Tanzania. We got back to Nairobi, spent a fun evening and said goodbye in the morning. It had been a very good trip, and I left with a lifetime of memories. Kipp pressed on, determined to continue tempting fate.
I first heard about Kipp's next misadventure back in Sanaa. I was told he was in a hospital in Tanzania, the victim of a bus accident. He had dislocated his shoulder and had to return to Nairobi. He stayed there a few days before returning to Yemen. We were all eager to see Kipp when he returned to make sure he was ok, and to hear the story. More Peace Corps volunteers are killed in accidents than from any other cause. Kipp came from the airport with a large sling on his arm. We greeted him and he shared the story.
Kipp had crossed the border into Tanzania and boarded a mid-sized bus for Kilimanjaro. He sat near the back and was enjoying the ride. At some point the bus began to skid and Kipp made a split-second decision. He had heard somewhere that drunks and infants were often unhurt in accidents as they were completely relaxed. In that millisecond it took him to recall that, he let go of everything and tried to "unbrace" himself. The bus crashed and Kipp was the only one injured.
I am glad to say Kipp had no more death defying incidents that I was aware of. Evidently, that trip to East Africa had his number. I was very glad he survived. I did decline a later trip to South East Asia with him however........

On a Cheap Safari with Cheaper Spaniards

A friend just sent me this picture, I had never seen it before. It was from a safari we took together in 1989 to Masi Mara in Kenya. And even though it had been more than twenty years, I recognized the look and intent on my face immediately - I was ready to kill some Spaniards. I didn't end up harming any of them directly, although I did exact some measure of revenge/justice without creating an international incident. It turned out to be a good safari.
I was on my summer break while teaching in a refugee camp in Yemen. I had two months off, and I was eager to visit nearby Africa. Another volunteer and I planned the trip for months before we left, hoping to travel through Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, and Tanzania. We would travel for a month or so, as I wanted to return early to help train the new set of Peace Corps Volunteers who would arrive late summer. My friend did most of the planning, and we had a very impressive itinerary created by the time we landed in Nairobi.
Having just spent a year in a very conservative Muslim country, we enjoyed the amenities of Nairobi for several days before we journeyed out into the countryside (actually, I think I spent the first two days in the Modern Green Bar, a legendary establishment that hadn't closed its front door since 1968 - another story for another blog that my daughter doesn't read!). We found an inexpensive safari outfit that promised to take us to Masi Mara and a few other parks for three days. I was very excited, at least until I met our fellow travellers. We would spend three days in a small van with four Europeans, three from Spain. I was prepared to like them, I really was.
Two of the Spaniards were very gregarious, and I initially thought they would be great companions. The third (sitting to my left in the picture) said all of three words to me in three days. He turned out to be my favorite. So much for first impressions. We had two Kenyan drivers, who were quite pleasant and very helpful. Perhaps if they hadn't been so nice to me, I might not have plotted against the Spaniards who were rude and very impolite to these guides. In any event, it gave me something to consider when the wildlife was absent.
We first talked to the Spaniards while waiting for the safari to get underway. The Kenyans were a few hours late, and the Spaniards declared they would give no tip at the end of the safari for this outrage. This was the first of their many gifts to the continent that I would witness. Unfortunately, they had been there for months before I stumbled upon them. The two that talked to me quickly explained that it was their goal to stay in Africa as long as they could, spending as little as possible. They went on to detail how they defrauded local banks with "funny" travellers cheques, how they never tipped, and how they drove down any price offered to them by the Blacks. I was quite sure that I did not invite these lessons in thrift, yet they were offered to me through the course of the three days. But as I mentioned, it was how they treated our guides that set me on my determined course.
When we made camp the first evening, I was quite pleased that our tent was a good distance from that of my adversaries. I considered absconding with some dinner scraps and later sprinkling them around their tent. We were in the middle of a massive game reserve after all. I thought of the mess, and the difficulties it would present for the guides, then reconsidered.
It was the second day when I heard from the mute Spaniard. He was the antithesis of his colleagues, dour, quiet, and forlorn. I tried to speak to him and he just stared at me. Finally, I asked him what he did for a living. His reply, "I rrride arses." It took me a minute to gather the context, for I desperately did not want it to mean what I thought it meant. He saw my bewilderment or horror, and he mimed riding a horse. That was it, I ride horses. I never heard him speak again.
I got my hopes up again on the second day of the safari. We stopped by a large river for lunch. We got out of the van and I looked down over the river. The bank was about thirty feet high, very steep. At first I thought I was looking at some very large logs that had run aground on the sandy shore. When one of them moved upstream, I realized they were very large crocodiles. A new idea brewed. It would be easy - I would call the Spaniards over, point down at the awesome site, wait till they huddled together in wonder, then give them a little nudge. I figured they would have a sporting chance, one might even make it out alive. When I called to them they looked at me like I was crazy, and only the mute meandered over. I wasn't sure if I lost my nerve, or perhaps the thought of not having the pleasure of hearing him scream made me abandon the plan. I still had one more day.
On the last day in the park, we made our way to a Masai village where we would spend an hour with the tribesmen. When we pulled up to the circular set of huts enclosed by a stick fence, we were told we would have to pay $5 each to go in. In return we would be allowed to take as many pictures as we liked. I was thrilled to go in. As I crawled to the front of the van to get out (the Spaniards were not going to part with that much cash for the opportunity), one of my foes said something to me that I did not understand. I ignored him and stumbled out of the van and started walking towards the gate, five dollars in hand. I heard my name called from inside the vehicle and I looked back to see one of them hand a very expensive camera to the mute at the window. He stuck out his arm with the camera and nodded at me. Evidently, they thought I would carry their camera into the village and take pictures for them. I walked back towards the van, dodging cow dung and mud, smiling broadly. As I got in range, I nodded in acquiescence. I reached out for the camera, and when he released it, I dropped it. I looked down, stifled my grin, feigned as much remorse as possible, looked up, and mouthed the word "oops." I did an about face and spent a very enjoyable hour with the Masai. I got no more argument for austerity from my friends from Spain on the four hour ride back to Nairobi.