Looks like Livingstone: At the Foot of the Mountain

"When God was giving out looks I thought he said he was giving out books.
So I said: Please give me a funny one!"
Actor Keith Pearson on his appearance

If you set out from Nairobi going north and then follow the road until it has changed from a three-lane highway to a small country road, and you continue along that road until you reach the foot of the sacred and majestic Mount Kenya, you just might come across an aging English actor browsing around the vegetables at the local market. A man who long ago bade farewell to the stress and hustles of the big city. His name is Keith Pearson, and he is as much an actor of the old school of theatrics as an avant-gardist in his way of living of the land and nature in the shade of the big mountain. As much a clown as a philosopher. Once in a while you get an offer you simply cannot refuse. So when me and Nils got the offer from our landlady, and by this time very good friend Vibeke, to follow her upcountry to meet this somewhat eccentric man of many talents we simply could not say no. So with no idea of what we had to expect from this journey we packed our bags and locked the door behind us.

In order to escape the horrendous Nairobi traffic as gently as possible, an early departure is key. That was why we, still with sleep in our eyes and the sun not yet quite over the horizon, got into the minivan of one Charles “Sugar” Sukali. After a little under an hour we started to really leave the widespread city behind. I had not realized that Nairobi was in fact that big. When all you do is walk around the central parts of the city, you get the false impression that it is a rather centralized city. As opposed to the savannah that greeted us when we went south to the ostrich farm, the nature to the north was something completely different. Plenty of fertile farmlands and green forests passed by the windows as we continued up north. After a short stop for going to the toilet, being hustled by a shop-owner selling souvenirs, and for drinking a cup of chemically enhanced instant coffee in a small restaurant, ironically located in one of the world’s largest coffee growing districts, we continued our journey. A little now and then along the road there would be policemen standing by the side. Like vultures looking for a prey. We managed to pass most of them without any problems, but soon it was time for us to witness one of the biggest drawbacks and problems with the Kenyan society.

The policeman eagerly used his red notebook to wave us in to the side of the road. After a short introduction in English, and after the policeman had been handed our driver’s licence and the registration of the car, the conversation between him and Sugar continued in Kiswahili. So there was no way for me and Nils to understand what the problem was. Sugar then left the car and walked out of sight together with the policeman, was gone for a few minutes and then got back into the van and started the engine. Apparently the problem had been that there was a stain on the picture on Sugar’s licence, something which cost him a “fine” of 500 shillings, money that went straight into the policeman’s own pocket. In Kenya, the police can sometimes be a bigger danger than the criminals. Some would argue that their only priority is to get as much money as possible from bribes. So they can pull people over for no reason what so ever, and then simply make up a reason that either costs you a “fine”, or in the worst scenario you will have to come with them and spend hours or days in a cell. With that in mind most people just pay the bribe and walk free, rather than being behind bars for a crime that might not even exist. There are even rumours of people who have been asked to pay for the petrol when calling to get a police to come and for example report a burglary in their home. The possible roots for this problem are many. Some argue that the policemen are simply so underpaid by the government that the only way for them to be able to pay their bills and food is to hunt for bribes. Another point which is connected to the first one is that corruption is very widespread in almost all places in Kenyan society. Very high politicians are accused of embezzling huge sums of the nation’s money. Money that otherwise could have been used to pay better wages for policemen and teachers, the latter which regularly goes on long strikes and thus cripples the nation’s educational system. Even within our University there are stories about different departments and institutions who hustle others for big Shillings. No, everyone would probably agree that the corruption problem is one of Kenya’s toughest challenges these coming years, but one which when solved will fundamentally change the whole of the Kenyan nation.

Suddenly we saw a huge dark silhouette growing higher and higher at the horizon. Mount Kenya appeared to us for the first time and with its highest point being just under 5200 m.a.s.l. it is an impressive sight. We followed the road as it curved around the mountain before we took a sharp turn onto a small gravel/rock-road leading straight towards it. After bumping along this trail we soon arrived at a small piece of paradise, Karichota. The home of the man, the myth, the legend: Keith Pearson. Located in a very isolated place it consist of a few houses, a garden of plants, fruits and herbs that is Keith’s own pride and joy, and off course also a stage for performances of different kinds. The house which serves as a lodge for anyone who wants to visit is often frequented by artists of all kinds so it is a place where creativity blooms and art thrives. We got a warm greeting from the man himself and also had time to say hello to Vibeke just before the two of them went away to do some errands. Since the house is located inside the national park that surrounds and includes the big mountain, what better thing to do than to go for a hike? For this purpose we took the help of one of the best experts in that area, Keith’s right-hand-man Lorenz. Lorenz knows the area like his own pocket and we simply equipped ourselves with wandering sticks and set off out into the bush. Lorenz is a man of few words but a ton of wisdom regarding everything that nature has to offer. His vision is unrivalled as he can spot even the smallest bird sitting almost completely hidden by the leaves on a branch and make a perfect identification of the species. He reminds me of the usually very calm and harmonic people living way up north in Sweden, the ones that we usually call “the northlanders”. We followed his lead for a couple of hours through bushlands that then turned into an almost tropical forest until we reached our destination. Suddenly the sound of roaring water became more and more intense. The forest then opened up, and we were all standing on a cliff right next to a waterfall. Down below was a basin where the water swirled around, and around that a big cave. The cave was a very important part of the Kenyan fight for independence. It was used by the freedom fighters in the Mau Mau rebel group as a hospital and hide-out, before it was bombed by the British. So therefore it is still today regarded as an important place for a lot of people, even though the Mau Mau are still a controversial and sensitive subject.

Gradually escaping the city

Busted...

Open landscapes

Lorenz warming up his walking stick

Nils at the waterfall

The waterfall itself

The crossing of the Naru Moru river

Lorenz on the trail

The hike took a total of four hours. Enough for one to really find that special pace and peace of mind that occurs when walking longer distances. But even though we were tired when we got back home, we were not quite ready to call it a day just yet. So we decided to head out with Sugar and check out what the nearest town located a rough 20 minutes’ drive away had to offer. The town of Naru Moru is the home of just a few thousand people. It consists of not more than 10 streets in total, a dozen of small shops located along the main road and at least one bar. Even still it is bursting with activity. Everywhere one looks, something is going on. People are standing about, arguing, engaged in commerce or teaching an eager driving school-student how to drive a truck which looks like it came straight out of the 50ies. Stepping into that extremely charming town was like taking a trip back in time at least 40 years. I was almost in a state of chock, and total and utter amaze. So, what to do for two young wazungu dudes and one Sugar in such a place? Find the local bar, off course. So Sugar decided to ask a man for directions as soon as we entered the town. The man did not only describe the way to the bar, or lead us, he even joined us! Our guest of honour is named John, and when he does not show confused tourists from Sweden the nearest watering hole, he has a small roadside stand built up on the back of his pick-up selling different kind of bags. Naro Moru might be a photographers dream, and John made it my dream when he agreed to show me around town for me to take some pictures. I could have stayed for hours. Everywhere I looked was a great picture waiting to be taken. And there was a huge difference in the attitude from the locals when compared to Nairobi. Nairobi in that sense I guess is like most big cities, a little bit rough, aggressive and hostile. Here people were just so incredibly friendly. All of a sudden when walking in a back yard I would feel a tiny hand in mine. And when I would look down, a small toddler had grabbed my hand.

Kenyan dusk

John and Nils at the local bar in Naro Moru

The kids on the block

Donkeys

Old-school Fiat

The coolest truck in town!

Motorcycle men

Heavy duty

Downtown Naro Moru

John and his family at their pickup-trunk bag shop

Backstreet by dusk

The day after such an intense day we really did not think that anything could top the sights and sounds of yesterday. We were at least partially wrong. On the schedule for the day was a visit to a friend of Keith’s that we had been invited to come along and have lunch with. To get the most out of it all, me and Nils walked under the safe guidance of Lorenz half of the way. All of a sudden when walking through an area containing a climbing lodge for people who wants to climb Mount Kenya, we spotted something furry. And big. Sitting and staring at us at the end of our trail was a huge baboon! When looking around into a nearby garden, we spotted a whole bunch of them going about their business. Which in their case mostly meant sleeping. This was somewhat comforting to us. Because they do get rather hostile sometimes, and you do not want to get in a fight with a baboon. So when one started walking towards us, we decided that it was best to make like a tree and leave. Soon after reaching the main country road Keith and Vibeke came and picked up me and Nils whilst Lorenz decided to walk home. We squeezed into the back seat of Keith’s very tiny Japanese mini-car and went down a mud road which would be called rough even by Kenyan standards.

After feeling like four astronauts who are in a caught in a meteor storm we rolled up to a place hidden deep in the bush. In a small house we met the man of the day; Joseph a man of Indian decent, but raised in Kenya as a Kenyan. He is among a lot of other things a homosexual Muslim, something which to some is very controversial, particularly so in Africa. As a young man he, as so many young people before him, realised that he had to set out to search for his true identity and his origins. For him it was the quest of what it meant to be an “authentic Muslim”. One of his endeavours was therefore to dig deeper into Islam. So he travelled to Iran and lived there for two and a half years doing research for a PhD in Islamic Philosophy. A thesis which took a whole nine years to complete. What he found was more than he had ever imagined. The violent preachers and power mongers of today who claim to be Islamists have gotten it all wrong. Very wrong. Just as one very speaking example, the word “Muslim” in the Koran simply means “believer”. So Christians, Jews and Muslims alike are all referred to as “Muslims”. The early Islamic societies in the Middle East were highly evolved, tolerant and advanced societies, long ahead of their European counterparts. A thousand years ago in what was then Islamic Spain lived a Muslim scholar. At the age of 80 he realised that he had yet to answer one very important question; “in how many ways do people fall in love”? In another part of the world; in Central Asia, lived another Muslim searching for the truth. His quest led him to travel to India and study Sanskrit. The Indian society was at this time one of the most advanced in the world, but when he told them about Greek mathematics, they had never heard anything quite like it. So he ended up both studying and teaching in what became a very prosperous cultural exchange when the Europeans were busy fighting each other after the final collapse of the Roman Empire. He ended up writing a very complete and still to this day very famous ethnography of India, and measured the Earth circumference with stunning accuracy by climbing a hill and using Euclidean geometry. Truly amazing accomplishment. To Joseph it is a mystery and a shame that most fellow Muslims today never get to hear about the likes of these people and follow their examples in a quest for knowledge and acceptance. Instead people are doing horrible deeds in the name of his religion, and absurdly enough by claiming that it is to restore the origins of Islam.

Joseph truly is educated and intellectual through the roof, and used to be working as an anthropologist at one of the finest universities of America when he fell into a well of both physical and mental pain deeper than the Rift Valley. He tried for a long time, but he just could not endure. The pain was simply too much. So he decided that he would take his own life. Like a most of the things he had done in his life, his suicide would also be an act of grandeur and splendour. So in a very dark journey through is mind and soul he set out to plan in rigorous detail how it would be done. Because of his Indian decent, he would travel to India and go to the home of his ancestor’s, high up in the Himalayas. There flows many a violent, rumbling mountain river crossed by a high bridges. Throwing himself out from such a bridge into the cold, roaring water would surely mean that his goal would have been fulfilled in a matter of a few dramatic seconds. When he was done with the horrible planning, it was as if the light came through. He suddenly realised that he actually had a choice. A choice of death, or a choice of life. He chose life, and took the decision to do whatever it would take to confront the problems and the pain. So he decided to travel to a meditation retreat San Francisco, where he was to undergo a process of intense therapy and meditation. As he was approaching what would become his place for enlightenment, he had the strangest revelation. He realized that he had in fact seen it before. In a dream in vivid detail, many years ago. Needless to say, it came as a big shock. When in most of these installations, it is common practise is to give yourself love and kindness and others love and kindness. In doing so, the memory of four very nasty white racists came to his mind. They presented themselves in a spiritual way, each of them looking exactly like they did 40 years ago. During his young years these boys had been his worst tormentors. They had beaten, stoned, and insulted him time after time again. He forgave them one by one. Since then life was never the same again. It was as if a deep tranquillity came and lowered itself over Joseph. Slowly, but surely he managed to get back in control of his mind and body. Since then he has completely changed his way of life. He decided to quit his very high position in the academy and start searching for himself. When sitting and writing down his life story he recovered a lot of lost memories of things that had been so important before, something that made him come to insights he could never have dreamed of before. He is now a full-time philosopher and writer, and with all of his experiences he is not short on things to write about. Hearing him and Keith converse and discuss was better than most any radio or television program. Two truly inspiring characters engaged in a dance of words and gestures. It is a man and a meeting I will not easily forget.

Once again that night we all sat in the dim light of the hanging gardens that is Keith’s porch. Without warning the silence was broken by an unmistakable sound. The trumpet blow of an elephant. And judging from the loudness and clarity of the sound, it was not too far away… Just another night after just another day in Eastern Africa.