The Guinea Fowl are brave today. Like diners waiting for a table, they crowd the entrance to the kitchen, talking amongst themselves as they wait for the doors to open. Some age old urge in me makes me want to run through them, scatter their flock. But they are too friendly, too known, and so instead I sit amongst them, watching them as they watch me.
Yesterday, we went on a hike to the top of Mukenya, a pre-Cambrian outcropping of rock along the Northern edge of Mpala. We trudged through five foot grasses, and though the way was steep, I leapt from ridge to ridge with ease. We reached a plateau on the top, and I sprinted ahead of the group to where the guards had seated themselves, atop the highest outcropping. I pulled myself up and then walked to the edge. In front, just below the drop, a Verreaux eagle stared at me with hard eyes. With utter ease, it lifted a single wing, and was caught on the winds blowing South. He floated onto the airstream with no effort, it seemed as though he had simply stepped from ground to wind. I stepped closer to the edge, looked over the expanse of Laikipia to the East, from the Savannah grasslands below all the way to the three pronged ridge of Mt. Kenya.I have never felt more like a bird; I have never wanted so badly to fly. Behind me, the rest of the students crowd, stepping tentatively out to peer over the edge. Eventually, everybody grows comfortable enough to sit and stand closer to the view. But the first few minutes, I am completely alone, a small tree, swaying softly in the rush of the winds.
Eventually, we hiked down to a cliff just below a nearby outcropping. There, we listened as Dr. Martins spoke to us about the rainy season, the landscape below, and the possible projects we might pursue in the coming weeks. We talked about maybe doing a project on the relationship between ticks and tortoises, and later, to my intense discomfort, I find a tick feasting on my ankle. One of the researchers pulls it off, head intact, without a second glance.
We are told we have the rest of the day free, with a possibility for a hike later. The undergrads spread out across the campus, alternately reading, writing, resting, and working out. A couple of students are planning to go play soccer in the neighboring staff village when we are suddenly informed that we are going to the dams. A mad rush ensues, with people hopping out mid shower, and rushing to change into field clothes from soccer paraphernalia. This is how the schedule works here, with little to no information about dates, times, and events. But we hop into the van, hair wet, freshly clean, and ride through the deepening sunset to the rainwater reservoirs, where the center receives its water. They are surprisingly beautiful places, with the sun setting behind them, and cascading pools of water, one below the other. After mere minutes, we turn around and head back. In our vehicle of five, we play Billy Joel's Piano Man, and sing along loudly as we chase herds of zebra down the darkening path.
