The Burnin' and the Lootin'

FIRE, FIRE FROM THE MOUNTAIN

My bosses back in Nairobi wouldn't recognize the act of arson and claimed that I had been deceived by the good people I worked and lived with. In addition, they said that for no reason of threat, we should stay by the camp today and forgo our water-walk with the local mamas, an absolutely invaluable event we take our guests on to exposes the realities of water accessibility and sanitation.

I didn't tell the guests that the locals tried to fry us the night prior, and I wasn't going to tell them that our scheduled trip down to the river could put our lives in jeopardy. So I made up some hokey-pokey about the mamas being busy and the guests bought it. Instead of spending that good one-on-one time with the true pillars of this/any African community, we would go for a little hike nearby. Accompanying us was my Kenyan counterpart Naballah (Nabs) who rolled with me everywhere in the savanna. His job as a local Masai Warrior was to provide cultural context and colour commentary on our activities. Today he would lead the hike.

Side note on Nabs: This cat was the Fresh Prince of the Savanna. He was a very clever bro that spoke a mile a minute with a wicked sense of humour and the ability to make you love him instantly. If you were one of the hundreds I led through the savanna over my years in Kenya, with much respect to the Hippos and African sunsets, Nabs was the best memory you took home.

Our camp was positioned in a small valley at the foot of a small mountain. Nothing arduous to climb, but the peak provided an unparalleled view over the surrounding villages and across the savanna. Typically taking about an hour to get to the top, Nabs took lead and I anchored behind. All the way up he provided his typical humour riddled tales about his battles with king cobras, wart hogs and lions. The family hung on to every syllable of every word because, damn, he spoke with the kind of detail and conviction that could convince you cows were purple.

About 45 minutes up the mountain the view became panoramic and as the Dean redirected his view from the steps in front of him, back to the countryside below, he noticed a scene anomalous. In reaction, we all turned to look down. Below were immense flames and thick black smoke that was beginning to fill the air and darken the royal blue skies. My eyes met Nab's and we shared an intuition of devastation and nausea. We knew what this shit meant. An entire village was being burnt to a crisp no more than 600 meters from our camp. The small and quiet farming village including a handful of cow-dung huts, a single school house and one shared community vehicle, was smouldering. With no real familiarity of the land surrounding us, but with vast book knowledge, the Dean asked "Are they making charcoal?" and Naballah responded with no air in his lungs "Yes". Naballah quickly reverted their attention back to the mountain but instead of taking us higher, he led us deceivingly lateral, out of view from the blaze and eventually down towards camp. My heart hurt.

That evening, I connected with the head of our organization back home via Skype. For me, this was a chance to understand what their plans were for the health and safety of our guests. For her, a chance to provide a false sense of comfort and lay claim that everything was peachy. She told me that she had connected with the country director in Nairobi and he assured her that there was nothing to worry about. You see, he had been in contact with his trusty sources from camp and they were without fear... very different conversations from what I was having. Foolish to think that after living in closed quarters with good people for over 8 months, I wouldn't have developed real bonds. Foolish to think I was not ingrained in the community, the culture and the inner circles around camp. However, as an impressionable young buck with genuine uncertainty and insecurity, I let her massage the situation into a classic "Let's see what happens tomorrow".