For the wanderlust and footloose, Baringo Midlands is a bae. The rugged terrain, the colourful folks and honey, plenty of it, will make your trip sweet and memorable. You need an SUV and some redbull though. Eric Wamanji
“A Pokot man is not supposed to laugh carelessly. That’s a sign of weakness,” interjects Rev. Yusuf Losute. That’s a myth though. The good pastor is a vivacious man, cracking jokes and laughing liberally. On this August mid-day, the sun, as usual, is scorching. The terrain rugged. Still, our Isuzu Mux cut through the lonely jungle of sand, dust and thickets of Tiaty, at the heart of Baringo County unhindered.
This is day two of our sojourn in the arid. The day before, the drive to Marigat from Nakuru was long but enjoyable. We arrived at Kampi Samaki just after 6:30 pm. I sat at the lounge to sip coffee whiling the evening away. The coffee kick was delightful. The sun was just setting, and its rays reflected on Lake Baringo. Coffee plus a westerly sun was just hypnotizing.
Baringo is magnetic. During my hey days in journalism, I was a regular here hunting for feature stories. The most fascinating was of the “Love Island.” Lovers thronged the isle as if Eros lived there.
Today my brief is different – hunting water beyond the enchanting shores of Lake Baringo.
It’s the morning crow, a series of them, that wakes me up. It’s been eternities since I heard the bird in its majesty. At 5:35 we’re cruising to the shore to catch the sun. It’s still greyish. No soul in sight. Thickets appear ghostly in this semi-dark dawn. But soon, the East turns bubble gum pink. Chairman, the driver-cum-cameraman, quickly mounts his gadgets on a tripod. Slowly the sun peeps. First shyly, then elegantly in its splendour splashing our world in golden rays. Chairman also launches his drone. The buzzy little thing entrances a group of pupils trekking to school.
After a quick breakfast -coffee, eggs and chapati – at a kibanda, we’re on the road. At Loruk, we detour. The swelling lake has partially swallowed the road.
We thread our way through thickets of acacia and mathenge, driving over dry riverbeds. Our main guide, Rev. Losute, is enigmatic and down to earth. He enjoys serving his community, he confesses. He has established schools, churches and even children’s homes. Small wonder he is a recipient of a presidential award – the HSC. When you visit Chemolingot, please pop in at the AIC Church and donate to his missionary effort.
This terrain is treacherous. Filled with thorns and thistles, rocks, valleys, and gullies, yet it’s all poetic. This land is rustic. This is dry land. Sun bleached. It’s thirsty land. It’s land of the free spirit. For the wanderlust. It’s full of hope. Grit. Admirable resilience. Here, the old are charming. Ladies shy. Lads expressionless.
There’s something special, cosmic even, when you sneak out of city into the bundus. As a filmmaker, this is what I love doing. Here, where telephone connection is erratic, you connect with nature. Mind, body and soul sync. You’re thrust in a quasi-cosmological space, and in the trance, your mind distils.
The reverend is a chatty chap. He shares legend of local sharp-shooters and abodes of deities “with their kids and wives”. They, deities, are appeased with pure white sheep, honey and local brew. They’re not to be agitated lest they fume, move away and cause misfortune. There’re also revered ancient battlefields as are places for merry.
We stop to let a herd of cattle to cross the cattle-track. Of course, they have the right of way. At a place where a water pipe is leaking, goats enjoy the lush, as tots take a refreshing spluttery bath in the afternoon sun. Just a few meters, an ostrich couple take a stroll. From the thickets, emerges two chaps carrying raw honey in buckets. At Chelapou ECD, we bump into a granny who is admiring drawings in a children’s book. The book is upside down though.
At a watering point in Chepungus, women carry yellow and green plastic jerrycans. They’re a lucky lot. In this expanse of aridity, piped water flows. That’s why the good ladies sing elegies for us; for the water. Some even cry recalling the distances they used to trek and the danger that lurked in the bush as they searched for water. The water is courtesy of the Geothermal Development Company (GDC) which is prospecting for geothermal energy. The GDC water system running for about 160 KM is godsend. It’s design and impact matchless. It has dramatically transformed lives here. A master stroke of sorts.
Day three, we arrive in Silali at noon. Today a golfer called Boston and a budding politician called Chris aka Family Man, aka Banditos have joined us. Don’t be fooled. Banditos is tiny but fiery. He relishes big machines. Wait till you see him cruise in his grey Mazda Speed. Legend. Here, hundreds of sheep, goats, camel, donkeys, cows flood a community water point. The place is abuzz. Cacophonous. Bleats, brays, and moos rent the sultry air. Lads, bedecked in beads, jungle green caps each with an ostrich feather, blue T-shirts and sandals made of tyers, keep a safe distance admiring their cattle, their wealth, their lives quaff water. As for me a can of Redbull, please.