Music Like Dirt

in honor of some friends who drove to northern Kenya this weekend and because I couldn't go (damn you, commitments to this opportunity that brought me to Kenya in the first place!) I've put together 

the 31 core tracks of The Ultimate Northern Kenya Playlist. 

These songs have accompanied me on all my travels, in various stages of repetition (see play count).

A few notes:
Boxer, The National: This music is the sandy roads outside of South Horr. For some reason, while composed thousands of miles away in Brooklyn, this one of the most fitting soundtracks for northern Kenya. I had to include the album in its entirety.

"Strangers in Strange Land," Leon Russell: This song is the perfect accompaniment for a flock of birds catching a thermal, spiraling high above the desert.

The King of Limbs, Radiohead: While Radiohead’s entire canon could have been written to score a trip to northern Kenya, this album is the most precise. "Bloom" will forever conjure images of dropping down the final escarpment and speeding along the shore of Lake Turkana, sun beating down, hot air pounding through the vehicle, the water shimmering, people out floating on rafts or casting nets from the shore.

"Juicy," The Notorious B.I.G.: A slight departure from the other, more contemplative selections, this song is equally representative and emblematic of northern Kenya. To listen to music in the Land Cruiser, we have a basic memory stick reader that plugs into the cigarette lighter. Often, someone will insert a stick containing 11 songs that are played, on repeat, for the duration of a three week trip. However, if we are lucky, someone will throw on a mystery stick containing hundreds of potential gems. Hearing "Juicy" while driving through the Kaisut Desert was perhaps the gem-mest of them all.

this is way too much, I need a moment

6:00 am. The sun had risen. Birds were chirping. I had been up for nearly three hours, glued to the screen, not wanting to roll over or scratch my nose in fear that I would a) disrupt my decent internet connection or b) disrupt the force that enables you, sports fan, to influence the outcome of a game 7,000 miles away. I hadn't even made coffee. I had eaten a few frenzied mentos in a panic in the third quarter and now my breath tasted vaguely of orange and sleep.
Watching professional basketball in a place seven hours ahead of the east coast requires a frightening level of commitment. This was an important game, not only because the Celtics-that-everyone-gave-up-on could potentially make to the Finals by beating the soul-less Heat (I bet Perk was thrilled/terrified at the prospect) but because it might be the last time to see ALL DAY RAY RAY in that brilliant green. I had to watch it all. I had to be there.
Armed with espn radio, gamecast and an arsenal of illegal streaming options (espn3, some guy filming espn in his living room, etc.), I tuned in at 3:42am, just in time to catch a Ray Allen three. It was an auspicious start. There were moments of elation. There were moments of despair. There were absolutely beautiful shots and Rondo gems and there were terrifying this-is-what-we-are-up-against LeBlocks that knocked the wind out of you. The first half was glorious. Everyone was on fire. Ray kept knocking 'em down. And then we got tired. Or they dug deep and found some frightening motivation in the fear/arrogance nexus. I don't know what happened. Sometimes all of my windows would just freeze and I would be there, in silence, frantically clicking back and forth to try and see what was going on. It was no use. It got away. Something that had gone from certain to possible to impossible to absolutely not to they'll give it a try to trust that ol' Celtics pride to they should do this to they'd better do this to they'll never do this to HEY THIS MIGHT HAPPEN...just didn't.

And the worst part is that you simply like watching them play. All you want to do is spend time with them. It's a routine. It's something to think about. In the post-season, it's that manic all-or-nothing obsession. You can't make any plans because of games. You notice little things night to night: consistencies, inconsistencies, shoe laces. You wake up at 3am. It's exhausting. And then, head in your hands, it's over. You can no longer do the thing you wanted to do. There is no way to watch them anymore. You never, ever appreciated it when you had it. The screen goes black, the gamecast stops updating and it's 6:30am. You're sitting there, in your Ray Allen t-shirt that you slept in, sunlight streaming through the window, your lap hot from your computer, tears welling up because it's gone. And all you want is for it to be 3:42am again, when anything was possible.

Words Fail

30 October 2011

9 December 2011

Laisamis.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

so on our most recent trip to the field, we sort of forgot that rain is possible (and was at one time, expected) in October in northern Kenya. Everyone has gotten so used to the rains failing that they are simply not a factor when doing things like planning trips...or building houses...it made for an interesting (and amazing) 18 days.

standing in the Chalbi Desert, earlier in October. definitely no rain there.

driving to Laisamis, changing our first flat. that is the road.

our training session in Laisamis was interrupted by a serious rain storm. these women were prepared with an umbrella. the lack of glass in the windows made it necessary to open the umbrella inside the training hall. bad luck? ...yeah, right.

driving through Fallum, usually the dustiest part of our northern Kenya circuit. this time, it was the muddiest and most worrisome.

clouds on the outskirts of Kargi, ominous (and beautiful) on our last day.

this was the status of the roads for the majority of our 11 hour trip home. our Kenyan Director of Operations kept opening the windows and saying "Thank you God. Thank you for these blessings."