She is down. It messes up her handle bars.

It’s now almost 7pm, and we are about 20km away from Eliye. It will take us long to get there with these sandy stretches. We are worn out! The temptation to pitch tent right here and sleep the night away is strong. But we trudge on.

After some time, we reach a fork on the road, and turn left. Google maps shows that both roads lead to Eliye, but the other one is longer. We wait for some locals so we can ask them the condition of the other road, especially because we are now doing pure deep sand. A motorbike happens along with three men onboard, and we stop them.

They inform us that this road we are on is better. There’s a lengthy discussion, which culminates in them convincing us to pay them some money to guide us. An idea strikes Tintin. She is completely worn out. She gives her bike to one of the men to ride, and offers to get herself sandwiched between the two other men on their bike. As she would say later, she was too tired to care, even if the man made off with her bike.

We get moving. I’m the slowest of the bunch. One of the local guys keeps waiting for me, and he doesn’t understand why I’m so slow. He will understand in a few hours, though. Additionally, the light has changed. Motorcycle headlights don’t illuminate sand the same way as daylight. You’d think it’s firm ground, until your front wheel sends you a violent disagreement.

These men take us up to Eliye town. It’s completely dark now. The sand at Eliye town is the worst. The other bikes disappear ahead. I tip over with no one around me. I try to lift the bike, but I can’t. I’m usually able to lift it alone, but not when loaded, and definitely not on sand.

A motorcycle speeds towards me and stops. A man gets off and comes to help me lift the bike. The two of us can’t lift it. Our feet just kick the sand. Another man comes along, and this time we manage to lift it. I get on and start riding. They get on the other motorbike and speed away (They ride fast on sand!!)

Just as they disappear, I tip over again. Exhausted, I put on the hazard lights and wait for help. I go to the side of the road and lay on my back, and for a moment, forget all my troubles and stare up at the clear unpolluted sight of the starry sky through my helmet’s opening. It’s beautiful. It’s quiet. A long time passes. I give Timam a call and tell him I need help. In a moment, some men appear and help to lift the bike. One of the locals, the one who earlier could not understand why I was so slow, offers to ride it. These locals are pros at sand riding, but this is a heavy bike. I’m skeptical. I’m afraid he might get hurt. But I’m also curious. I let him have a go at it.

“Please just be careful not to get hurt,” I say, “Watch your legs!”

He gets on. I get a chance to watch my bike in action from a distance, and this is when it really hits me how horrible my rear shock has gotten. As the man gives it gas, the rear wheel bounces out of the hole it had dug, the whole bike bounces uncontrollably about three times. He stands no chance. He hardly moves two meters before he goes down spectacularly. We lift it back up, and I get back on the saddle. I muscle the bike down to the beach, where we are set to camp. I dig in the rear wheel to park it, and switch off the ignition. Eliye at last! The stupid way. I know the Eliye springs are nearby somewhere, but the fatigue won’t let me even consider it.

Tintin and Timam had stopped somewhere a bit uphill. In a few minutes they come down. Tintin has gotten us a basket of water and drinks. I pitch the tent, not knowing if we will even use it. This is a place you can sleep outside. Two of our local company have stuck around, watching us and chatting among themselves. A man shows up on a motorbike and says something to then in Turkana, then furiously shoots off on his bike.

“He is saying that this is his land, and that you should pay for camping here.”

I’m getting annoyed. Really? Is this what capitalism has made us? Travelers show up and you can’t welcome and even be hospitable to them, and help them shed off their weariness, but all you want is to make something out of them?

The man comes back. He talks a lot. His breath stinks of alcohol. He tells us that this is his land and that we are welcome, that no one should bother us, and that he is going to make sure we are safe. The net effect of his speech is that now we feel unwelcome, really bothered and unsafe. All we want is for him to go away. At last he does go away. Tintin gives our riders a T-shirt, and they also leave. They will come tomorrow to help us get out of here.

We end the day by taking a much needed dip in the lake.

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PART 4: Day 5 | Eliye to Kainuk

I’m having one of those mornings in which I crave quiet. I go down to the lake and sit on the shore, watching the waves lap over the sand. The horizon is promising a very beautiful sunrise in a few minutes. Timam and Tintin come to the lake too, a little distance away. They are taking photos and having a good time, making jokes and laughing. They are making noise for me. They come towards where I’m seated, I tell them to be quiet, and to “go there!”

“Why don’t YOU go there?” says Tintin.

I stand up and go there, and sit down there, and continue waiting for the sunrise in silence. The orange glow starts peeping from above a distant hill. The water responds by letting the tips of its waves glow orange. In a few minutes, a large orange-yellow orb hangs over the hill. My eyes are fixed on it. It’s beautiful!

“Bring your big camera!” says Timam. I ignore him. I have done photography for years. I promised myself that on some days I should forget about my camera and just enjoy the beauty of what is in front of me. This is one of those days. After a while, I get into the water and play a bit. Then I take a walk along the beach. I’m now recharged, ready for my noisy colleagues.

We make a fire to heat canned beans. There are no stones to shield the fire from wind, so we dig a hole in the sand. In some minutes, we have hot beans and buns. Some camping pots I carried come in handy as plates.

Our two local rider friends arrive and watch us, bemused. It’s still early, hardly 8am, but it already begins to feel hot. It’s obvious that we need to break camp and get the hell out of here before we get roasted alive by the noon sun.

Soon after, everything is packed up, and we are ready to leave. I still have to muscle my heavy bike out of the Eliye sands. Good thing there’s a lot of helping hands available.

One of our local friends rides Tintin’s bike, the other carries her on their bike. They are pretty fast. I’m the one slowing the whole group down. But I take my time, not letting anyone speed me up. Last thing I need is an injury or damaged bike here. And it’s not a rally race. We use a road that goes directly to Lodwar. Our friends show us some diversions to avoid sandy stretches.

We get to Lodwar and roll into our usual restaurant for lunch. I’m feeling good to be out of Eliye sands. I now have just 90km of offroad, and I’m praying that my rear shock holds on for just a little bit longer.

After lunch, Timam decides to ride all the way to Nairobi nonstop. I know he can do it with no problem at all. He is strong, and loves night rides. Tintin and I are left to figure out our destination for today.

We make a decision to reach Kainuk by dusk. The ride from Lodwar to Lokichar is tiring because we already worn out. The multi-day trip has taken its toll on us. We make about three rest stops within the 90km. One of my spot lights arrives hanging like an eye out of its socket after its bracket snaps.

At Lokichar, I quickly air up my tyres, and mount the spotlight elsewhere, and we fuel. We then hit the road, determined to make it to Kainuk without too much night riding. It looks like a long ride. We hardly meet any other vehicles. My only fear is wild animals jumping onto the road. As we near Kainuk, our fear moves from wild animals to insecurity. We are very much aware that Kainuk is an area known for bandits. Timam, who went ahead, sent us a message strongly suggesting we spend the night at Lokichar, which we ignored.

At one point near Kainuk, I get a real scare. It’s dark. I’m riding on the left. tintin is to my right and a bit behind, she is using my headlights. Suddenly I see a man wearing shukas walking towards me in the middle of my lane. I’m doing about 80kph. My instant thought is that he is the first of a party of attacking badits. He has something long in his hand. He pauses and shifts it in his hands. For a moment I wait for him to throw a spear at me. I’m torn between swerving to avoid him and gunning it, or trying to clip him with my left pannier. Better to crash and break a leg than to get a spear in my throat, I reason. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realise it’s just a walking stick, and he was dazed by my headlights. We fly past and go on, to find a place to rest our weary selves for the night.

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PART 5: Day 6 and 7 | Kainuk to Nairobi

The next morning, we start off really late. Coming together to begin the day is hard because some of us who shall remain unnamed are not morning people. But we do eventually get on the road. It’s a quick easy ride to Kitale, and on to Eldoret.

At Eldoret, I go ahead of tintin as we approach the town centre. I’m quite familiar with the roads here. I figure that I have to press forward through the traffic since I have panniers limiting my progress. Tintin is nimbler and will easily catch up. As I approach Paul’s Bakery, I can’t see Tintin in my mirrors. My heart sinks when I feel my phone vibrating. I quickly get off the road, and even as I’m still fumbling through my pocket for the phone, a matatu drives past, it’s tout with his head out of the window.

“Mwenzako ameanguka hapo nyuma!” He shouts. Your colleague is down!

SHIT!!!

Phone in hand. It’s Tintin. I don’t even wait for her to say anything. I yell “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

I turn around quick and ride back, looking for her. All I can see in front of me is her son’s face, asking me where mama is…

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

I can’t describe the relief I feel to see her on her feet on the side of the road!

She was lane splitting, and failed to notice another motorcyclist turning left, and rear ended him. The other motorcyclist was fine, but she went down in the middle of the road. She is lucky no vehicle ran her over. She is alright, but with an injury to her hip and shoulder, and a small wound on her elbow.

Her bike is in bad shape. The gear lever is bent backwards. Her handlebar is bent. Some of the plastics around the headlight are broken. The sole of one of her shoes is half off.

She says she can ride out of there. I ask if she is sure. She says yes. This woman is made of steel. I tell her that there is a mall nearby, if we get to it, then she can take a rest while I sort out the bike for her. I put on my hazard lights. She gets on her bike, and we slowly make our way to the mall.

I get her settled down at a restaurant as I think about how to sort out her bike. “You just relax, I will take care of it,” I tell her. She goes to a nearby Pharmacy to get some attention to her aching hip, and some pain relieving ointment. I take her boot to a fundi, then I send a bodaboda rider to get fetch a motorcycle mechanic from nearby.

The mechanic arrives, and we decide to go with the bike to his workshop. It’s in gear one, and gear shifting is impossible. He hops on and I hop onto the passenger seat behind him. Just as we get out of the mall’s gate, he swerves weirdly and we almost plunge into a ditch to our left. He stops just in time, and says the bike is too tall for him to ride. Maybe I should ride instead. I scoot over to the front, and he jumps behind. As I set off, I too almost plunge us into the same ditch. Turns out the steering is so bent, it takes a moment for the brain to adjust to it. I’m in awe at how Tintin rode this for over a kilometer to the mall! Later, after he has fixed it, he is actually able to ride the bike comfortably.

It becomes apparent that we shall not make it to Nairobi today. We book rooms at a hotel. Tintin is beginning to be in a lot of pain. She contemplates leaving the bike at a friend’s, and flying back to Nairobi. We agree to rest for the night, meet in the morning and see how she feels.

In the morning, I get in touch with her and ask if she still has plans to fly back. She tells me that she can ride. I’m happy to hear that. I take some packing tape we bought the previous day and tape up her broken headlight cowling. While doing that, I spot a pool of oil under my bike. My rear shock finally gave up the ghost at night, and spillled all of its oil. The bike is now all bouncy, sitting on its spring with absolutely no damping! It will be an interesting ride to Nairobi. Thank goodness it’s all highway.

We set off after breakfast. Tintin rides to Nairobi. I bounce to Nairobi alongside her.

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Epilogue

This trip was a lesson in friendship, determination, stupidity, and pursuit of dreams, among many other things.

Timam defied all odds to bring his sport touring bike to an offroad trip, and the bike proved capable and less unwieldly than my heavy dinosaur. Who would have thought? Props to him for that. He is the type that doesn’t get told that something can’t work, he prefers to try and fail. And fail he did not. He has taken his bike to places I have never seen the supposed king of adventure go, the BMW GS1200.

Tintin almost gave up a lot of times on this ride. It pushed her beyond what she thought she could ever do. She showed strength and resilience, defying odds to finish the trip on her battered bike with her battered body. She has vowed to make better friends than us. I too think that would be good for her health, mental and physical.

As for me, I’m grateful for the gift of friendship. I’m grateful to have people to do crazy things with. I’m grateful to have friends I can argue and disagree with, and remain friends. If we can’t disagree, then we are not friends at all! I’m grateful for all the people that kept sending messages and calling me to check on me, to wish me a good journey, and to express relief every time I assured them that I was alright. Even to the one who wrote me a touching (albeit a tad lecherous) poem, because I was heading into a dangerous area, you know yourself. I also pat myself on the back for being able to muscle my quarter century old heavy dinosaur with a failing suspension through these terrains and limp (bounce, rather) back home in one piece.

And to my late father… We were not close as years went by. But I’m grateful that you gave me a good start to life, to be God-fearing and fearless. I’m grateful that you PERSONALLY took time at home to teach me English. I owe my writing skills to you. And I learnt from you how to be handy and fix things with my hands. May you rest in peace, and may justice be found for you one day…

And I’m grateful to you, dear reader, for surviving this piece to the end.

Shalom.

THE END.
This story was first published on Facebook on 14th July 2019.

Link to TIntin’s account of the trip.