End of the trip, begining of the story

So our Africa adventure is over already, and we have returned to Nairobi.

I'm slimmer, darker skinned, and acclimatised. Where I was Daz-white and sweating in my spanking new "technical" clothing, I'm now brown with an ever present red tinge from the day's sun. The clothing that made me resemble an over-weight Millets model is now sun-bleached, torn, and/or ingrained with the red-brown dust of the bush. I've had to buy some safari boots to wonder the city in, as my KSB hiking boots now appear 10 years old after a month of living in Acacia commiphora scrub savanha".

Now I got to remember what we have been up to...

Our first morning in Nairobi started with a big breakfast with our new companions, and a walk to the nearby supermarket to club together for the essentials- Beer, Wine and Vodka. We had a party to prepare for as there would be a birthday party while we were in the Bush (but that will be a post on it's own).

Ruben then met us at the hotel, and we all climbed aboard a small minibus, known as a Mtatu for the first part of our 9 hour drive to camp.

As we thundered along past lorries belching smoke, over pot-holes and rattled down corrugation, I thought about our companions;

Ruben, one of the project leaders, had met us the night before with Doctor Hamisi from the African Wildlife foundation, the main man for the project. It was the Doc who explained the importance of our work. The data collected would be used for managing the wildlife in the migration corridors of Rhombo and Amboseli, areas with great animal-human conflict.

During the Doc's talk, Ruben looked at us all intently, seemingly looking through me with an intense questioning stare. Dressed in a sharp-cut dark suit with brightly polished boots and no tie, he could have passed for a "media type" or self-made business man rather than a conservationist who lives in the bush for weeks on end. He is a very deep and committed individual, but I soon found he always had a fast, genuine smile and the most infectious laughs I've ever heard.

Our fellow volunteers were made up of:

Reece- aged 17, it was his 18th birthday party while we were based at Rhombo- we made it, um, unusual, and certainly memorable for him (more on that later). We all thought a lot of him for doing the trip at his age and on his own, despite all the problems never complaining once.

Dee- similar in age to Mrs G and i, she had met Reece at the airport. She was only booked to stay with us for the first two weeks in Rhombo, sadly leaving us for Amboseli ahead of us.

Alice- (not her real name) had been travelling on her own around Kenya, and had climbed Mt Kilimanjaro shortly before joining us on the project.

Ellen- From Norway, Ellen joined us later on the first evening. She very quickly gained everyones affection with her kindness and fast, dry wit, regularly delivering one-liners with perfect timing.

Katrin- From Germany, Katrin only met us the first morning, having flew in-country and arriving at the hotel just a couple of hours before we left. Quite and sensitive, it was a great shame she too had to leave early, being booked on just the first 2 weeks of the project.

Shirley- The carer of the group, Shirley had recently been travelling in Rwanda and Uganda. It transpired she would be joining Mrs Grasshopper and I again in Goa, when she finishes a project in Borneo.

So all squashed together in 40 degree heat, we thundered down the Mombasa Road and beyond into the countryside, until we reached a small collection of shacks and a petrol-station/restaurant. There, we had a quick lunch while Ruben and a couple of new guys swapped our Mtatu for two very serious looking Land-Rover Defenders, one hard top, the other soft-top with a big roll-cage.

Dee and I wondered off after eating for a quick smoke at the roadside. We were puffing away watching the bags being strapped onto the roof of the hard-top, when an old guy hobbled over to us, giving a wide gappy-toothed smile.

"Jambo!" he cheers, waving, then offering me his hand. I respond and shake, and he keeps hold of my hand as he asked how I am. We talk for a few minutes, Dee and I with this strange old man, who asks us where we are from, where we are going etc.

While explaining to us he is an elder, suddenly out of the blue he asks: "How does it make you feel, coming here with all your money and seeing all of us so very poor?". His gentle Kenyan tones and continued smile confuse me, and for a moment I stumble for words. I shrug, remove my sun glasses and try to keep eye contact in the suddenly burning sun.

"We're doing volunteer work, to help the people here. We'll be going to a village, and, um hopefully our work will help them".

He laughs, takes my hand again and starts shaking it.

"Good, good, if you were ever to come to my village, I would be very happy!"

With that he ambles off, seemingly pleased with our chat.

Dee and I stump out our cigarettes and head back to the restaurant. I think about that man for some time.

When we were ready to go, the drivers, Simba and Sammi insisted that Mrs Grasshopper and I sit together in the one with all the luggage strapped on top. This was Simba's vehicle, and already inside was Katrin, some how still awake after the flight and drive. We all shared a worried look as the vehicle kangaroo's onto the compact dirt road. 1st gear, 2nd, 3rd, all, well, bouncing the 4X4 down the road, rather than smoothly driving forwards. The other rangey quickly overtakes, and I wonder idly what would happen, out here in the bush should we break down. I might have been wrong, but I hadn't seen many RAC patrols out and about..

We were soon to find out...