These three photos are of a Turkana village. They don't especially like having their photos taken (and I don't especially like upsetting them), so we attempted to take these three photos very discreetly. Sorry they're not the greatest photos. You can go to some of my archived stuff (March of this year) to see better photos of the Turkana people.
This gorge was formed by a sudden seasonal river. Collins and this other boy enjoyed throwing rocks into the remaining wet mud. 
We watched a woman and her children harvesting water from this hole in the sand. First they have to dig the hole. Then they fill their jerry cans, one cup at a time. Then... they have to carry it home. They may have to walk several miles with it! Can you imagine doing that every day of your life? Kim and I first traveled to Lodwar and Kakuma last December. Our desire was to get Deng Deng back into the system of UNHCR. We’d heard from other refugee friends that there was a head count at the camp and that voluntary repatriation (returning to ones homeland) was being encouraged. Anyone who didn’t show up for the head count would be removed from the registry.
However, when the two of us didn’t see Mark at church for a couple of weeks, we went ahead and ventured forth on our own. Both of us have been endowed with a wanderlust spirit and the Northern Frontier of Kenya beckoned us!
This hot, windy, dusty, and arid expanse in the northwest corner of Kenya is known as Turkana land. The Turkana are a people group in Kenya that modern time has seemingly skipped past. They still live the same way they’ve lived for hundreds of years. The men wear three-inch wrist knives and some women wear smaller thumb knives; both are used for hand-to-hand combat.
Many of the men decorate their hair in a rather unique and interesting way – with colored mud and ostrich feathers. Virtually all the women wear their hair in braided Mohawks. The women adorn themselves with row upon row of brightly-colored beaded necklaces. A few of the adults have various objects pierced into their faces – pieces of bone, wood, or metal. Most of the adults do not wear modern clothing; in spite of the year-round heat, they cover themselves with a “shuka” (a woolen blanket loosely draped over one shoulder).
I love to watch them walk. The woman always follows about five feet behind the man. If several women are together, they walk in single file. Often they sing a rhythmic song to maintain their cadence. The women carry the majority of whatever load they might have – usually including several “jerry cans” (plastic five-liter containers) of water, cooking oil, etc. It’s not at all unusual to see a woman carrying a large, heavy bag of charcoal – on her head! The women have an unusual gait and extremely good posture when they walk. Perhaps it comes from years of carrying water and charcoal on their heads.
I find their culture and diehard adherence to their traditional way of life to be quite fascinating. Being among them is like stepping into the pages of a National Geographic magazine! The really cool thing, though, is that they’re real people going about their normal daily routines… and we have the incredible privilege of interacting with them! We get to smile at them and wave to them. We get to chat with them and share our snacks with their children on the bus. The whole experience almost defies description.
For centuries, the Turkana tribe (unanimously described as being aggressive, confrontational, and warlike) has lived a very spartan life in this harsh environment. In fact, they struggle just to survive. One travel book says they engage in cattle rustling and slaughtering their neighbors in the same way the rest of the world competes in sports!
The landscape of the Northern Frontier is dotted with thousands of eight-foot tall termite hills. The distant horizon in every direction features interesting peaks of extinct volcanoes. Scattered scrub brush and acacia trees are the only vegetation. Camels are not an unusual sight. Women and children can be seen tediously harvesting water – one cup at a time – from deep holes dug in the sand of dry, seasonal river beds.
Kim and I recently made our second journey to Turkana land; Collins also joined us. As it turned out, the experience and information we gleaned during our first time at the refugee camp was a great help. We strongly desired to find Mark for the sole purpose of encouraging him. With no living relatives and having been relocated numerous times in the past ten years, we wanted him to know how much we valued him. We wanted to demonstrate that he had someone in his corner and that we cared deeply for him.
The first leg of the trip was m-u-d-d-y! We left from my place at Matunda, where it’d been raining every day for weeks on end. The mud made the road to the Matunda market almost impassible! Our boda boda guys really struggled. By the time we reached the market, my shoes were covered in mud and my pants were quite mud-splattered.
After arriving at Kitale via matatu, we found a bus. It took over three hours for it to fill with passengers. As we got on our way, an armed soldier positioned himself strategically in the front. This is common practice, as the area where we were headed is notorious for bandit raids.
For much of the journey, the bus was overcrowded with extra passengers squeezed and standing in the aisle. Enduring a foot on my toes, an elbow poking my shoulder, or a butt practically on my lap became the norm for the entire trip. With a road that’s all but non-existent much of the way, the trip is long and oh… so arduous!
The first night (14 hours after leaving my house) we stayed in Lodwar, a very unpleasant and unwelcoming dusty town. Both times I’ve been there, its many bizarre personality quirks and frustrations make me think I’ve accidentally walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone! All I can think is – “Let’s get out of this place!” Both Lodwar and Kakuma (the smaller of the two) have the same captivating mixture of people groups, but I like Kakuma town so much better!
A descriptive telling of our companions on the overcrowded, two-hour bus ride from Lodwar to Kakuma town would likely make a complete story on its own! We three were certainly in the minority, being among the very few who were not Turkana. Our hair style, clothing, and adornment seemed rather bland and boring compared to our seatmates! Being in the company of such fascinating people has a definite advantage! No one stares at me or even gives me more than a second glance. Apparently, even with my white skin, I look fairly normal!
Our first stop, upon alighting from the bus, was High View Hotel. Kim and I had eaten there numerous times when we first visited the area. Owned by a Somali refugee family, their chai is delicious! Many Kenyans use a powdered spice mix (“masala”) to flavor their chai. But, after complimenting the owner’s mother, I was told this café uses fresh ginger. In spite of the flies it attracts, their fried beef is also incredibly delicious and cheap! Actually, I’ve drawn my own conclusion after being in Kenya for almost six years: The higher the population of flies in a Kenyan hole-in-the-wall café, the better the food! We shared our more fatty pieces with the five cats that hovered around our legs.
Well fed, we walked about a mile to the refugee camp. We summoned Kim’s friend, Immanzo (Immanuel). He agreed to let us keep our bags in the office while we looked for Deng Deng. He’s worked for Film Aid (an agency of the UNHCR) at the refugee camp for two years. The first time Kim and I visited the refugee camp, he did an excellent job of hosting us and showing us around the place. In fact, it’s because of that prior experience that we were comfortable traversing the camp on our own this time.
(continued below)
However, when the two of us didn’t see Mark at church for a couple of weeks, we went ahead and ventured forth on our own. Both of us have been endowed with a wanderlust spirit and the Northern Frontier of Kenya beckoned us!
This hot, windy, dusty, and arid expanse in the northwest corner of Kenya is known as Turkana land. The Turkana are a people group in Kenya that modern time has seemingly skipped past. They still live the same way they’ve lived for hundreds of years. The men wear three-inch wrist knives and some women wear smaller thumb knives; both are used for hand-to-hand combat.
Many of the men decorate their hair in a rather unique and interesting way – with colored mud and ostrich feathers. Virtually all the women wear their hair in braided Mohawks. The women adorn themselves with row upon row of brightly-colored beaded necklaces. A few of the adults have various objects pierced into their faces – pieces of bone, wood, or metal. Most of the adults do not wear modern clothing; in spite of the year-round heat, they cover themselves with a “shuka” (a woolen blanket loosely draped over one shoulder).
I love to watch them walk. The woman always follows about five feet behind the man. If several women are together, they walk in single file. Often they sing a rhythmic song to maintain their cadence. The women carry the majority of whatever load they might have – usually including several “jerry cans” (plastic five-liter containers) of water, cooking oil, etc. It’s not at all unusual to see a woman carrying a large, heavy bag of charcoal – on her head! The women have an unusual gait and extremely good posture when they walk. Perhaps it comes from years of carrying water and charcoal on their heads.
I find their culture and diehard adherence to their traditional way of life to be quite fascinating. Being among them is like stepping into the pages of a National Geographic magazine! The really cool thing, though, is that they’re real people going about their normal daily routines… and we have the incredible privilege of interacting with them! We get to smile at them and wave to them. We get to chat with them and share our snacks with their children on the bus. The whole experience almost defies description.
For centuries, the Turkana tribe (unanimously described as being aggressive, confrontational, and warlike) has lived a very spartan life in this harsh environment. In fact, they struggle just to survive. One travel book says they engage in cattle rustling and slaughtering their neighbors in the same way the rest of the world competes in sports!
The landscape of the Northern Frontier is dotted with thousands of eight-foot tall termite hills. The distant horizon in every direction features interesting peaks of extinct volcanoes. Scattered scrub brush and acacia trees are the only vegetation. Camels are not an unusual sight. Women and children can be seen tediously harvesting water – one cup at a time – from deep holes dug in the sand of dry, seasonal river beds.
Kim and I recently made our second journey to Turkana land; Collins also joined us. As it turned out, the experience and information we gleaned during our first time at the refugee camp was a great help. We strongly desired to find Mark for the sole purpose of encouraging him. With no living relatives and having been relocated numerous times in the past ten years, we wanted him to know how much we valued him. We wanted to demonstrate that he had someone in his corner and that we cared deeply for him.
The first leg of the trip was m-u-d-d-y! We left from my place at Matunda, where it’d been raining every day for weeks on end. The mud made the road to the Matunda market almost impassible! Our boda boda guys really struggled. By the time we reached the market, my shoes were covered in mud and my pants were quite mud-splattered.
After arriving at Kitale via matatu, we found a bus. It took over three hours for it to fill with passengers. As we got on our way, an armed soldier positioned himself strategically in the front. This is common practice, as the area where we were headed is notorious for bandit raids.
For much of the journey, the bus was overcrowded with extra passengers squeezed and standing in the aisle. Enduring a foot on my toes, an elbow poking my shoulder, or a butt practically on my lap became the norm for the entire trip. With a road that’s all but non-existent much of the way, the trip is long and oh… so arduous!
The first night (14 hours after leaving my house) we stayed in Lodwar, a very unpleasant and unwelcoming dusty town. Both times I’ve been there, its many bizarre personality quirks and frustrations make me think I’ve accidentally walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone! All I can think is – “Let’s get out of this place!” Both Lodwar and Kakuma (the smaller of the two) have the same captivating mixture of people groups, but I like Kakuma town so much better!
A descriptive telling of our companions on the overcrowded, two-hour bus ride from Lodwar to Kakuma town would likely make a complete story on its own! We three were certainly in the minority, being among the very few who were not Turkana. Our hair style, clothing, and adornment seemed rather bland and boring compared to our seatmates! Being in the company of such fascinating people has a definite advantage! No one stares at me or even gives me more than a second glance. Apparently, even with my white skin, I look fairly normal!
Our first stop, upon alighting from the bus, was High View Hotel. Kim and I had eaten there numerous times when we first visited the area. Owned by a Somali refugee family, their chai is delicious! Many Kenyans use a powdered spice mix (“masala”) to flavor their chai. But, after complimenting the owner’s mother, I was told this café uses fresh ginger. In spite of the flies it attracts, their fried beef is also incredibly delicious and cheap! Actually, I’ve drawn my own conclusion after being in Kenya for almost six years: The higher the population of flies in a Kenyan hole-in-the-wall café, the better the food! We shared our more fatty pieces with the five cats that hovered around our legs.
Well fed, we walked about a mile to the refugee camp. We summoned Kim’s friend, Immanzo (Immanuel). He agreed to let us keep our bags in the office while we looked for Deng Deng. He’s worked for Film Aid (an agency of the UNHCR) at the refugee camp for two years. The first time Kim and I visited the refugee camp, he did an excellent job of hosting us and showing us around the place. In fact, it’s because of that prior experience that we were comfortable traversing the camp on our own this time.
(continued below)
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