Kenya believe it?

I have stored on a disk a massive blog, or rather the first portion of a trilogy. Something along the lines of "Suthiopenya." A disk, that is, that became necessary when the first available, functioning internet in the entire region where the triangular saga unfolds, went down before posting. A disk that cannot be inserted into this caged CPU of the POSTA SURF post office in Meru, Kenya where 4 of 11 computers actually function anyhow. So for you who have logged on to this site over and over again (possibly no one) over the last few weeks, I must leave you once again without substance. I must leave you with only the knowledge that I am, indeed, alive. In Kenya now.

Or, say, I'll just pick up where I left off on the trilogical saga. Yup, that's better.

As we crossed the border in Moyale to Kenya, we were immediately thrown into the back of a lorry truck ready to bullet down the dirt track for hours. Dust became our enemy number one, as any attempt to witness the desert and hills zip by at an alarming rate, while trying to stand and balance in the heaving, hawing truck without toppling over just to peek over the top was rewarded with pupils full of dust, sand, grit. Annoyance obviously reigned, as I "sat" (rocked, held on for dear life, was bounced around, often airborne) in the lorry, with long underwear pants and a button down shirt over my head. I saw a cumulative total of maybe 30 minutes of scenery and tribal people through the 12 hour saga of Northern Kenya before reaching Isiolo; but at least I know that should I ever be tossed in the back of a mafia truck with a sock on my head, I will survive.

In Isiolo, we debriefed. Talked about the self, about intuition, about change. Talked about anxiousness for home alongside the dread of knowing what reassimilation, whenever it should come, will actually entail. And talked about all that we have learned...or, at least, that which we have learned which can be put into words. That which we have learned which can be discussed in a single hour. Seven months together, and for me 10 months on the road though countless lands and countless people I had never met, never known, never tried to understand. And now I find myself calmer yet wilder, more understanding and less. It cannot truly be explained, I fear. But then, that's the point. That's why to travel one must leave the armchair - and the symmetrical, straightlined, confined space of their own thinking.

But with all those unfamiliar faces constantly staring us down, we decided to burn our way on down to central Kenya, into Nero Moru to meet up with Matthew Bruce and Kristy whose last name is so daunting I can't do it justice here. We met the familiar, and almost instantly I was thrown for a loop - not by the comfort of it all; but by my own reaction to a familiar audience. The dedication in my prior mind to be quietly accepting, to refuse the temptation to slosh magnificent stories whose alure and entertainment value is derived almost entirely from the mere mystery - from the fact that they are outside of the audiences' understanding - is thrown aside. Stories fly of randomly wandering into a village and sleeping with the family at midnight in Ethiopia, of crossing Sudan, and of all the other events of, well, mostly the last few weeks (a stark reminder of just how many stories the last eleven months holds, and how many will remain untold save for our minds and memories). Moreover, the stories flew with heartfelt enjoyment on my end. Turning the temporary changes that travel (of mind and body) provides to permanent will be a testing task.

Then it was off to Mount Kenya National Park, after, of course, we'd given in to the ludicrous costs involved in entrance fees and glove rentals. We nixed the guide, of course, and headed out solo to the familiarity of one foot in front of the other - made only slightly more difficult for the injured foot I sustained while jumping from a semi in Ethiopia. We trudged through the lowland forest up into the rolling alpine plains and into the tundra. Except the tundra here isn't exactly tundra, so much as giant lobelia plants. The last thing growing on Mount Kenya are eight foot tall stalks of green, under a backdrop of 3000 feet of vertical rock and ice. I plopped down next to a few, and together with Matt lamented our decision to save money and, perhaps, a limb or two by skipping the technical adventure to the summit. Ropeless, there was no turning back from our sound, but unexciting decision.

Instead, we awoke under the 3 am stars to huff to Point Lenana for sunrise alongside the only other group on the mountain - the first Israeli we've met since Israel, a Frenchman comically convinced he would die, and their guide, gasping for air as he took up the rear. Jenny was possibly on the verge of hypothermia, which deterred me from snapping an amazing photo of the Israeli, but I managed to revel in the moment while basking in the view of Mount Kenya's massif anyhow. And I didn't even cry that we hadn't any ropes to go to the top.

We trudged down into moss-covered tropical forests and further still into the clouds that had been so far below; into the muddy tussocks and bamboo forests. We saw a few dik diks (which are toy-sized antelope, approximately one foot tall), and a rustle in the jungle, combined with a little rare patience, revealed some of the most amazing monkeys I've ever seen - complete with non-monkey-esque fluffy white tails.

The van awaiting our arrival at the park gate was a welcome sight for my throbbing foot, as was the bacon, sent from the Gods, obviously, back in town. A debate finally led us up to Meru instead of down to Nairobi. A sound choice, that one, as the riots near the Matatu stand in Nairobi yesterday left one police officer stoned to death and three people shot.

I'm still adjusting to life in fours. I feel somewhat like Africa is pushed away from us as we cruise down the sidewalk in our dominating posse. But the jokes are fantastic, the reminiscences appreciated, the time with good friends priceless.

Now we'll just see if this station-wagon adventure actually gets off the ground.