At the Crossroads

Nixon what? Watergate Scandal when? With every detailed account of American History quickly evaporated into thin air, I painfully realized that high school was not my cup of tea. After all I was too pre-occupied dazed in a dream of heroic proportions. I was the all round tough guy breaking limbs, shooting futuristic guns and dodging well aimed bullets. As slugs zinged past me, I dove, rolled and fired the epic shot killing the evil maniacal mad man and saving the damsel in distress. When the last spent cartridge fell towards the ground in slow motion, I was rudely woken-up by the hall bell. Alas I was done. Today the ever annoying sound of the school bell signified the end of a milestone. I was finally done with high school! Now scores of literary works and unsolvable mathematical equations are all behind me. My life is now an open book ready to be written and I was the poet, author and architect. No more tyrannical math teacher telling me that I could not mix apples and oranges. No more wannabe poet taunting me to express my deepest thoughts on a John Milton sonnet. No more… I was ready to be my own man. So here I go - chapter one…chirp chirp. As the blank pages of my life stared at me with blinding emptiness, my soul was gripped with fear. With a calming breath, I was able to psyche myself into a deep meditative trance in hopes of achieving a sense of direction. Ohmmmmmmmm…..zzzzzzz…. now wait a minute? I thought I killed that bad guy!

Question after question slowly filed into my tiny cranial cavity. Inundated with unanswerable questions, I felt like a contestant in a TV show Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Where are my life lines? Do I get at least a 50/50? Now faced with a monstrous question - is what's next? How is life going to be like without skipping my 3^rd period Algebra class for a smoke? How am I going achieve subliminal bliss without a Shakespearean play lulling me to a dreamy state? What was to become of me? I was at that great divide between the past and future. I was at the crossroads.

Pathologically the word confusion is best described as one's loss of orientation. There I was the best model for this mystified state of mind. Overwhelmed by my perplexities, I struggled to set my compass at the right direction. I was like a ship without a captain a drift in a treacherous sea of decisions. While floating aimlessly in turbid waters, my parents seeded a blasphemous thought - college.

College! Why infamy! The emblem of higher education was a pen overpowering the sword. College was place of holy reverence. It was a sanctuary for intellectuals, philosophers and masters of the literary arts. They are the few chosen ones that have attained the unattainable academic rankings. They are the so-called warriors of corruptible knowledge and twistable truths. They are the holy men in quest of an answer to constant ever nagging nonexistent question. They are purest most righteous form of knighthood in search for a lactose substitute. They are the academicians.

I was different. I belonged to a different breed of men. Free spirited and idealistic boneheads! I was in rage by the absurd of the notion of bounding such a free sprit to scores of historical manuscripts, artful literary lines and to the abstract mathematical problems. I was a victim of the game theory. Indeed a victim of a primeval ethological survival choice - flight or fight.

Ignorantly I agreed to set my unholy ass into the most holy and revered place - university. To many it was a bookworm's utopia, but for me it was a four-year jail sentence bounded by scores textbooks, pages scientific mambo jambo, and notes of who did what when. To my dismay, I was presented with another challenge - to select a field of study! Ok this should be simple… I failed high school Accounting, English Literature, Mathematics, etc… yeah right! Conjuring my limited mental prowess, I deliberated over the numerous academic specialties. After weighing all the pros and cons of each major field of study, I finally narrowed it to Zoology? Why Zoology? The study of wildlife biology was an innate part of me. I was a naturalist, an amateur snake handler and a man of the wilderness. Why fight against my destiny?

Not knowing how I was going to perform in a university setting, I decided to give it a try. I enrolled in an off semester course called Introduction to Marine Biology. The course was taught at a remote off-campus marine station located in Watamu, Kenya (about 1000 kilometers from the main campus). Watamu is a typical small peaceful and serene African village populated largely by Muslim Swahili or Muswahili. The first Arabic colonist landed in Watamu in the early 17^th century and they introduced the slave trade, spice trail and Islam to the region. A testament to this foreign settlement is the ruins of Gede/Gedi. Gede/Gedi was 18 hectare city that mysteriously vanished into the annals of history. The town was complete with several Mosques, homes, mullah graves and 180 foot deep fresh water well. Many archeologists today still speculate and theorize the enigmatic disappearance of this 17^th century Arabic civilization. Besides Watamu's rich history, the locale is a popular tourist hot spot with its miles of pearly white sandy beaches and clear turquoise water. For naturalists, Watamu has numerous avian and marine sanctuaries making it the most ideal place to study marine biology.

The big day was finally here. Our departure time was at 9:00 am sharp. Tick tick… ok around 9:00 am… tick tick 2:30ish in the afternoon... tick tick get off my back! We are leaving sometime today! This waiting game was an all too common occurrence during my undergraduate program. Finally a monstrous 90-seater bus ran by the Akamba Express pulled through the university gates and parked just outside the department. We had "rented" a few seats from this bus company. Since the bus was half-booked the driver decided to fill the remaining seats with public commuters maximizing profit. Due to the driver's aggressive business sense, he decided to make numerous stops before picking our class - hence the eight hour delay.

Finally the last remaining boxes of food and equipment were packed into the bus! We were out of here! My high spirits were let down by a new twist brewing at the driver seat. Instead of driving towards the capital - Nairobi, the driver was instructed to take a "short" detour to pick-up more passengers from a small Lake Victoria town called Kisumu. This was about a little over two hours away …THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION!

At around 7:00ish pm, the bus liner carefully pulled into a dingy dirty Akamaba Express Office parking lot at Dewinton Street in downtown Kisumu. Kisumu is the third largest city in Kenya and the capital of Nyanza Province nestled at the murky edges of Lake Vitoria. Lake Victoria also known as Ukerewe or Nalubaale is third largest lake in the world. This small lake shore community is home to indigenous Nilotic tribesmen called the Luo.

Before the monstrous vehicle could come to a complete stop, a group of local entrepreneurs armed with roasted corn, boiled eggs, fresh fruits and baked peanuts stormed the bus eager to sell their goodies. In Kenya (like in many third world countries) these tradesmen satisfy the numerous hungry and starved travelers looking for a quick and tasty bite to eat while on the road. Not long after the bus doors flung open a sudden deluge of salesmen hastily rushed the single narrow isle with all their wares. As I pulled myself from a slouched position, I could barely see outlines of dimly lit tin shacks selling different merchandise called kiosks. Upon opening window a gust of strong aromatic smoke carried its heavenly scent that filled the entire cabin of the bus. Smells of freshly fried fish (samaki), deep fried unsweetened donuts called mandazi, and moist succulent grilled meat (nyama choma). I could not resist the temptation to get off my seat and take a bite of this simple lakeside bus station's cuisine.

Long lines of charcoal grills (jiko) offer a gastronomic experience from fresh corn, meat on a stick, fish, and moist succulent meat on the grill. Above the commotion both young and old chefs show off their culinary skills while enticing each passerby with mouth watering goodness. As I moved towards the end of the grill parade, a gentleman dressed in a plaid shirt violently picked up a slab of red sizzling meat and slammed back into the open flames! The force of falling slab meat generated searing sweet-smelling flames. I quickly recognized the carcass on the grill - goat (mbuzi) meat. As the slab of prime rib and meat sizzled in the hot flames, it kicked up some aromatic sensations which were totally irresistible! I ordered about a pound of mouth-watering ribs, some oily soggy fries (they call them chips), mandazi, and a Coke. Armed with my bounty, I headed up back to feast on my food while waiting for the bus to head to the capital.

Before reaching Nairobi we had to stop at a small Rift Valley town called Nakuru. Nakuru Township is a melting pot of many cultures. Although the town is build on Masai land, there are numerous other tribes, Indians, and Brits that call this Rift Valley community home. The bus slowly pulled into an open gas station at around 2:00 am in the morning. To my surprise all the kiosks were still open on this ungodly hour of the night. When the bus came to a complete halt, the somber vibe of the station suddenly changed to a pulsating party rhythm! Lingala music began blasting in the background, wood stoves are being stoked and flamboyant cooks start their magic. Samosas yum! Kenyan samosas are different that Indian samosas. Kenyan samosas have a thinner dough wrapping and are stuffed to the brim with well season ground beef. Then they are deep fried until their skins turn a golden heavenly brown. Oh my … Farmer's Choice sausages are the best! These fat short delights are well season and deep fried until the casing becomes nice and crispy. These delicious bites simply burst in your mouth sending you in a gastronomic high! So without any hesitation I placed an order for four samosas, four sausages, salad (coleslaw with no mayonnaise, just lemon, salt and black pepper) and a cup of coffee. Stuffed to the max, I passed out!

Finally we arrived in Nairobi in the wee hours of the morning. The bus navigated the city's empty streets to the station where a few more passengers eagerly awaited its arrival. As the waiting passengers single filed into the bus, the passenger count increased steadily. The 90-seater bus gradually increased to a staggering 110-person container!

African sunrises are the best, especially when heading east. The typical bright orange hue horizon slowly fades away to light baby blue. Short flat-top Acacia trees cast silhouette shadows giving the all presences – I am Africa. An occasional outlined rocky outcrop juts out of the earth from a distant. These massive geographic topological statues are symbols of Kenya's dynamic volcanic prehistory. Just off the beaten path, school children running in yellow fluorescent shirts and burnt umber shaded shorts. As they merrily greeted each and every vehicle that zipped past them, their smiles convey a carefree spirit full of vibrant gusto. It is a life without the technicalities and complicated burdens that we in the western hemisphere cannot live without. Life here is simple and the most exciting episode is to see foreigner empty out his bladder by nearby Acacia brush. It would be impossible of me to give an honest portrayal the moment. You would have to be there to experience it, to live it, to feel it.

A few hours later the bus slowly turned onto a small gas station and eatery at Voi. Voi is a small arid farming community that cultivates sisal and pineapples. The sweet-smelling blends of coffee, sausages, mandazis, eggs and samosas filled the air. Many coffee connoisseurs agree that Kenyan coffee is one of the best in the world. Its slow dark roasted sweet aromatic blends are so intoxicating! Due to Kenya's British influence, most Kenyans love their coffee café au lait. This potent brew will not only tickle your taste buds, but give you enough energy to last the day.

As we drove closer to the coast, monstrous baobab trees gave way to swaying coconut and mango trees. Finally we arrived at our destination more than 16 hours eating and sitting in a bus. Once we unpacked and settled in, I sat on a nearby sandy berm facing the Indian Ocean. Slowly in the distant horizon the finally cast the sun's last rays of light signifying the day's end and the beginning of my new life. As dusk turned into night the sound squawking crows faded away to the tranquil sounds of Watamu nights. The constant gurgling waves, leaves thrashing in the wind and the occasional titer tatter of ghost crabs on the sandy beach acoustically performed their nightly chorus. It was peace. I was at peace.