In the last several years, I have written often of the ways that running changed my life. Becoming a runner changed me in more ways than one, physically, mentally, emotionally…and it changed my orbits, and the celestial bodies around me. I have relationships in my life that I would not have without running.
In early 2018, thru the algorithms of Facebook, I kept seeing a fellow runner posting in the run streak group. There were many times when her posts would appear, and I would think to myself…I wish I was her friend. Trephene exudes joy, and also a heart that when you see her eyes, you know…is full of love, and pain, and joy, and curiosity. And, I was drawn to her light. I was in awe of her poise, how she seemingly did not sweat, and how her red lipstick was always so flawless. But, I was sure…no roads would ever bring me to the same spot as this world class marathoner. So, from afar, I liked her posts. Until the day I got a friend request from her. Whoa…I wasn’t sure if I was being pranked. Eventually, we started to chat over Facebook…a friendship started to form. We talked of running, and of life, and challenges, and adventures, of aches and accomplishments. And finally, on a whim of a trip to New York City in October, 2019, we met for the first time in person.
My NYC trip that time was for a long weekend with a few of my YaYas, and we were very touristy, double decker bus, and a cruise to Lady Liberty. But, my flight home to Houston that Monday morning gave me enough time to meet Trephene for breakfast. Meeting at a popular spot off the corner of Central Park, I arrived with my small suitcase and a bundle of nerves. I was so nervous to meet this woman. I wanted to be her friend in real life, but was certainly sure she was too cool for me. That morning, Trephene had messaged me what she was wearing, and where in the restaurant she was sitting…as if I could miss her.
Suffice it to say…it turns out, we liked each other just a bit. That first breakfast has turned into dinners, hugs, holidays, shared beers, shared tears, laughing over ridiculous things seen and done, marathon weekends, quiet moments, big questions, more than I could have ever predicted. Somewhere along the way, Trephene told me she fell in love with my freckles, hence…a nickname was born for me. And…I’ve taken to calling her Boo Boo.
Boo Boo turns 50 this August. And, nearly a year ago, she invited me to be a part of her grand adventure, her “Back to Africa” trip to Kenya. After some thinking, and planning, I took the plunge and said, fuck yes. Some time elapsed, a group chat of names like Clover, and Pansy…due dates and packing lists, questions and direction…until finally, it was time to go. For Trephene back…but for me…the first time, to Kenya.
I departed DC early on a Thursday morning, for a one way flight to New York’s JFK airport. After clearing international security, and getting to the correct terminal, I found some of the amazing group of women I would adventure with for the next 11 days. International flights are tough, too much sitting, and too much food, but after a long 14 hours in the air, we landed safely at Nairobi. Trephene, and her beautiful niece Bri were there to greet us. It was luggage, and laughing, hugs thru tears, and lots of clamoring for showers…and of course, I needed to run. (No way was I prepared to let my streak die.)
The first hug at the airport was bittersweet. I was so very happy to see Trephene. But my heart was heavy for her, as the trip had nearly been cancelled due to the death of her father just a few days prior. Wrapping my arms around my sweet friend, I had so many things I wanted to say, but also…not say. I wanted to hug her hard, so she would feel my love after stepping out of my embrace. I was filled with joy at the possibility and the excitement of being with her…in Kenya.
Kenya is an absolutely stunning place, an assault on one’s senses. The traffic and noise of Nairobi, the vast still of the Great Rift Valley. The smiles and warm eyes of the Kenyans, speaking a Queen’s English as evidence of the history of colonization. The sun setting over the plains of the Massai Mara. Clouds and mist surrounding Kilimanjaro. Red dirt on the feet of the children who are herding sheep, goats and cattle along the roadside. Dust, birds, zebras…cars honking, Swahili, elephants bathing…the sun coming up over the Indian Ocean, the crashing waves and the white sands at Diani….Kenya. For 11 days, I found myself immersed in a place that almost immediately became familiar, while being so very different from anything I’ve ever seen.
On our first full morning in Kenya, we headed off for a safari adventure. For the next several days, we traveled in two Land Rovers, equipped for safari. Moses and Joseph, both Nilote men from neighboring villages, would drive us, protect us, care for us…I rode “shotgun” or “Chair Lady” as I would find out, with Moses. Like creatures of habit, our seats on that first day would become our places. In Moses’ rover, Trephene’s cousins Sonia and Alecia, her sister Nadia, her dear friend Lina, and me. In Joseph’s rover, Trephene, her momma “Auntie Niecy”, her cousins Frida and Pansy, neice Bri, and sister Jacqui. From Nairobi, we adventured to the Massai Mara.
The Mara is a national reserve in the southwest region of Kenya, nearly directly west of the capital city of Nairobi. Driving to the Mara, up the steep hills and down into the Great Rift Valley, I began to ask Moses what would eventually be a million questions. I asked about the vegetation, the places, the cattle, the people, words…and every question was met with a patient response. Eventually, I took to calling Moses “Mo”. I never asked, but he always responded…and when I hugged him the last tearful goodbye over a week later, he said….”come back and see your Mo.”
We crossed through terrain that reminded me so much of the dry plains and foothills of my Montana. The vegetation was distinct, but the horizon with the mountains in the distance and the corn and wheat fields…familiar. Eventually, we arrived at Zebra Plains. Near the Mara, we would sleep, eat, drink…and in my case, run…at a beautiful “camp” along a river adjacent to the Mara.
From our arrival at Zebra Plains, we were met by a group of helpful and kind Kenyan people. Ruth, the head of the “hotel” would give me many hugs after that initial side eye when I asked if I could run outside the fence the next morning. My question was met with a solid no, I would need to stay inside the encampment. We settled into our beautiful “tents”, were served a delicious lunch, then it was time to load up, we had a safari to embark on. We headed up the dusty, dirt road, and crossed into the gates of the Mara. From early on that first afternoon, I started to understand this was going to be unlike anything I had ever seen before. Along the road, it was the zebras, and the wildebeest, the emus and the hyenas…and the sky. This massive Kenyan sky stretching out endlessly in front of us.
That first afternoon, we would see more zebras than I ever thought possible, and beautiful giraffe; we passed by animals I only had seen in pictures and film before. After a few hours, we knew we had to depart before 6PM, as the reserve has rules about how long trucks and humans can be in the park. A rain cloud was moving in, and I wasn’t sure what was ahead, but as Mo took a turn off the main road, crossed a small valley, and came to a stop, the rain started to come down. And as I looked to my right, nearly 10 elephants, some big mommas, and a few small babies, were coming our way. I lost my breath. We sat, engines off, and watched these majestic, beautiful creatures walk seemingly silently by. But, we could hear their breath…the steps on the ground, and the pushing of the earth under their trunks. As the group crossed in front of us, one stopped to my left and began to throw dirt onto its back, another laid down. The babies took their opportunity to play, piling on the mother who had laid down to cool. And the rain…the rain wet the ground, and their backs, and my left arm and shoulder as I leaned out the window, silently observing. My cheeks…those were wet with the tears that I found I could not hold back. Whose life was this??
After leaving the Mara that evening, we enjoyed an amazing dinner, drinks by the fire pit, stories and dancing, and so many laughs. By this point, I had been in country for a bit more than 36 hours, and was already settled on my love of the Kenyan beer, Tusker. So, that evening, I enjoyed a few Tuskers…and marveled at my day. Bright and early, due to our 6:30AM safari start, I rose before the sun. I had previously visited with Ruth, the keeper of all things at Zebra Plains, and told her I would be running about 5:30AM.
When I stepped out the door of my “tent”, there was a tall, silent Massai man, stick in hand, wrapped for the dawn chill. I quietly said good morning in my amateur Swahili, and started off on my run.
He ran with me.
I stopped. He stopped.
I stammered, I’m okay, you don’t have to run with me. He smiled, cupped my right elbow gently, and said, let’s run.
So, in spite of my protesting, we ran. For .30 of a mile, we ran along the dark stone path, past the main lodge, and to the opposite side of the encampment. Along the way, other silent sentinels, wrapped for the cold, and with protection in mind, lit the way with their small fires and flashlights. After the path ended, we turned, and ran back. I continued in this fashion until I had finished my mile. Streak intact…after I finished, several of the Massai protectors gathered around the front of the lodge. I was stopping to get some coffee, and thanking my particular running guide, and one of the men said, will you run again tomorrow?
I said yes, and he said, very good, we will go rest now. Those men had stayed awake all night to protect the lodge and the guests against any sort of danger, and extended their night watch to protect a silly, chubby American girl with a streak to protect.
That morning, the sun would rise over the edge of the river, and we would head out for a full day of safari. A stop along the way for lunch in the shade of an umbrella tree, safari style, and a “run” into Tanzania. And animals…a big, dark male giraffe ambulating along. Elephants. And baby lions lazing in the shade of the croton bush.
Eventually, with the sun high in the sky, we had stopped because word on the CB radio was that a large male Lion had been spotted. We arrived to a spot, several other land rovers full of tourists, everyone craning to spot the “Simba” (the Swahili word for lion…thanks, Disney). Ahead of the end of the rover was a patch of brush, and in the air…a large leg and paw. We silently watched this paw bat at the air, flick lazily at the flies, and stretch. Mo had cautioned us to be silent. So, we sat.
And like a too full teen, raising from a Netflix binge, that leg swung up and over, and up popped a massive mane ensconced golden lion. In profile, that Lion sniffed the air, stretched, licked his lips, and shook his mane. I was stunned. He was huge. I could barely breathe. I was afraid to make a sound to disturb the peace and laze of his day. After several minutes of stretch, and sniff…that Lion decided he was ready to move. And he turned, and stood up, and ascended from that patch of brush out, and directly towards the door of the rover. I was mesmerized. As he got nearly to the rover, he turned to his right, and lazily walked past the end of the vehicle. Reaching the larger pride, he muscled his way into a spot of the lounging females, dropping back down…apparently tired from showing off for all the cameras.
Mo said his frequent, “you good?” more comment than question, and I couldn’t choke out yes. I was overcome with emotions. I was sticky and hot, dusty, and needed to pee, but I had just come face to face with a Lion. In Kenya. I had watched the sun rise, run with a Kenyan man, hugged and laughed with an amazing group of women, and breathed the same air as the king of the beasts. Was I good? No. I was fucking great.
Just a short time later, after a bouncing, dusty drive across the roads and plain, we would arrive at a river. Adjacent to the river stands a stone pillar, marked with KE on one side, and TZ on the other. A boundary marker designating that we had reached the border between Kenya and Tanzania. I looked at Trephene, smiled and said, come on Boo, let’s run to Tanzania. So, off we went, towards the river. What I didn’t know at that moment, in my glee to “run” to Tanzania, was how angry I made Moses. Mo would later tell me that he was angry because I scared him. He would chide me about remembering that any animal could be nearby, and that I can’t just go running off…he was correct. It was impulsive and reckless. But, after a quick “free the nipple” moment in Tanzania, we returned to the clearing of the border marker. And I took my chiding. I deserved it. But, I don’t regret it.
After a third morning in the Mara, we left the reserve that next afternoon, to head back to Nairobi. On our way out of the Mara, we stopped along the way to “visit” a Massai village. The Massai people are true pastoral herders. They survive primarily on a diet of “barbecued” meat, cow’s milk, and the blood of cattle. The village is arranged on the family of a “chief”, they are predominantly polygamist, and live with no running water or electricity. (If you know me…not. My. Jam.) However, we spent some time that afternoon jumping with the Massai men, meeting the 105 year old mother of the chief, and touring the village. Our guide that day was a 25 year old son of the chief, LaShawn. He explained his people’s ways of living, answered our questions, gave us opportunities to learn, and then guided us thru economic tourism, where the women and men of the village provided us with ample opportunities to stimulate the village economy. Several dollars lighter, I returned to the rover, Mo smiled and asked, you good? I responded, Sowa-Sowa…and again we were off.
After a day in Nairobi, complete with a trip to a giraffe sanctuary, a mall, a meat restaurant called Carnivores, great beers, and a night out…we would again meet Mo and Jo early in the morning to head to Amboseli National Park. Moses had communicated it would be dusty, and recommended we wear masks once we reached Amboseli. Driving to Amboseli, we weaved thru traffic, passing truck after truck, along a steep, narrow two lane stretch. Driving in Kenya felt like a fever dream. Scary. And exhilarating…with a dose of dangerous. The road to Amboseli is heavily traveled, as it leads eventually to the coast. So, the truck traffic and transports of workers, commuters, humanity, was heavy. Eventually, the shift in the landscape was noticeable. What had been shrubs and dry turned into more green, more fields, and out the window…the base of Kilimanjaro.
For a girl that grew up with the Rocky Mountains always to the west…Kilimanjaro was just different. Unlike the Rockies…Kilimanjaro rises out of the plain like a lone sentinel. Kilimanjaro is a dormant volcano, and the highest free standing mountain above sea level on the planet, as well as the tallest “peak” on the African continent. Noticing the way the vegetation and water was changing, how the peak was creating it’s own weather, and how imposing it was…I was mesmerized. As we changed direction on the road, Kilimanjaro was out my window, and I couldn’t help but tear up as I watched it grow. Finally, we would arrive at the “gate” of Amboseli National Park.
Kenya thrives on tourist dollars, so nearly every stop along our routes, there would be women coming to the windows of the rovers. The gates of Amboseli was no different. Many of our group got out to “shop” while Moses and Joseph headed to arrange our entry, and payment into the park. After an opportunity to pee (not on the side of a road), I walked over to where Moses was standing visiting, and had the chance to meet one of his cousins, who worked for the Park. Meeting a member of Mo’s family…that was awesome. We finally loaded back up, and into the rovers, headed into the park to reach our accommodations, and for safari.
Moses was correct. The dust…was stifling. It seems incongruous considering that unlike the Mara, Amboseli is rich with water. Lake Amboseli shines on the horizon, full of birds like flamingoes and herons, hippos grazing along the banks. There are spots of marshy, green land where the elephants are nearly sunk, bathing and grazing. And trees…a veritable jungle of trees. But, the white, fine dust that every vehicle throws up creates clouds, and the wind moving down the slopes of Kilimanjaro creates whirling dervishes that mark the horizon line. It is a sight to see. But, to breathe? Not so friendly.
After a few dusty miles, my head on a swivel with all the elephants, giraffes, hyenas…animals for as far as I could see…we reached the imposing gate of the Ol Tukai lodge. Ol Tukai is a lodge with cabins, spread across acreage peppered with trees. The main lodge is resplendent with lush colors and deep furniture, polished shining floors, and a round bar. Of course, I had to first stop at the bar for a Tusker. So. Much. Dust. (and it was past happy hour). Our cabins were on “Elephant view”. Can you even prepare for that? Could I have even imagined what it would mean to look out the window of the cabin I was sleeping in to see elephants bathing and grazing? To see a hippo wandering past? And, the monkeys and baboons, ready to come in to the cabin if you didn’t bolt the door. (This wasn’t the only spot that we would have monkeys visit a room or two, and even walking from the lodge to the cabins…carrying food became a blood sport.)
After freshening up, we headed back out into Amboseli. The amount of animals that we saw was stunning. But, it was the moment when Jo’s rover stopped, and his arm pointed, causing Mo to stop. We all looked, and what we saw…a break in the clouds that were shrouding Kilimanjaro’s peak…showing us a sliver of the snow cap, exposing just a fraction of the huge top. I asked Mo…how many times have you seen the peak, he said..only a few, and that it doesn’t happen as frequently as pictures might make one think. I consider myself lucky…to have witnessed a fraction of that majestic beauty.
The next morning, after a lovely dinner and drinks around the fire…I rose early. Trephene, Lina and I were on board to watch the sunrise. I slipped out of my cabin, and found Trephene. We didn’t need to talk, we just walked, and looked. The sun was coming up, Kilimanjaro was shrouded. The animals were moving around, zebras and elephants as far as you could see. Lina would join us, and we would drink coffee with amarula (a liqueur), and marvel at the beauty. Finally, I left the two breathing beauties to get my run done. Unlike my Mara run, I had some acreage inside the high electrified fence, and it was daylight…so, I set off.
Midway thru my run, it hit me. I was running in the shadow of Kilimanjaro, elephants to my left, wildebeest ahead, zebras munching…and the sun shining on my face…in Kenya. That is a run I will never forget. Even working to avoid the spongy spots or to not disturb the “cheeky monkeys”…I loved every step.
When we arrived in Kenya, Trephene had gifted us each a lovely bag with a combination of items inside. One of the things in our gift bags was a tshirt. Now, I’m not much of a matching tshirt kind of girl, but when in Rome…or Kenya…we were instructed to pack our shirts for day two in Amboseli. So, that morning, after breakfast and showers, I put my shirt on. When I had first unfolded my shirt, the front design celebrates Trephene’s “Flirty 50”, is lovely and fitting. I unfolded it, and saw on the back, “Who Runs the World”. And I thought, how cool…girls. We run the world. It made sense. But, in a conversation over dinner that first night in Nairobi, I mentioned how I loved what the shirts said. Trephene looked at me and said…what do the shirts say? I was confused…until I realized that everyone’s shirt said something different. Trephene’s shirt said, “I am the birthday girl.” And everyone else…something unique, something special to them, and to their relationship to Trephene. So…for me, the one who runs the world. How fucking cool. For that afternoon, there are so many pictures of all of us in our “matching” shirts…but, what a beautifully unique group we are.
In spite of Trephene’s insistence that we would run on her father’s sense of time, which was scheduled and punctual…we had some trouble that day, and were running out of time. I was starting to sense something was off, Moses was anxious, asking me questions about how long did I think it would take everyone to eat lunch, looking at his phone, checking some paperwork. After a few quick photos, and eat and go lunch, we headed to get OUT of Amboseli.
Unlike other days…Moses led Joseph. And…we were flying down roads meant for low speeds. We were not stopping to take pictures or follow paths. We were moving. Moses was sweating. The dust was flying. For the first time…he wasn’t entertaining my questions. And I figured out that I needed to shut up and hang on. At one point, we nearly hit a large giraffe. A few giraffes were crossing the road, and as we barreled down the road, one large giraffe remained split from his friends…I was sure Mo was going to slow down as the giraffe ambulated onto the road…Mo didn’t stop, neither did the giraffe. But, at the last moment, that giraffe ran along side of us, all assholes and elbows…I only laughed AFTER we got past the startled giraffe. At one point, Mo made a quick phone call, speaking Swahili, and certainly not more relaxed at the end.
Finally, the gates of Amboseli rose in front of us. Moses slowed down considerably, we pulled through the gate, Mo pulled to the left of the main road, threw the rover into a stopped position, opened his door, jumped out, and jogged back towards the entry office. We had met our exit time by four minutes. What I didn’t know at that moment was our entrance into Amboseli the day before had cost 60$ US dollars…per person. And, that we had paid for a 24 hour entry. That if we did not exit in the constraints of the 24 hours, we would have to pay again…for every person, plus a fine for breaking the law. I didn’t know the phone call that Mo made was to his cousin, asking what HMFIC was in charge at the gate, and what if we didn’t make it…apparently Mo’s cousin said…don’t be late. What a wild ride….
A wild ride was the theme for our day, as just an hour or so after leaving Amboseli, with Joseph’s rover leading the way, we would again run into a snag. The clutch pedal snapped on Joseph’s rover. Moses would kick the chair lady out, that’s me, and I would wander the road, laugh while Trephene gathered sticks with kleenex protecting her from slivers, while we waited for Mo to return from the nearest “town” with a mechanic. Finally, after the mechanic finalized the repair at his shop, and we wandered down the street to drink a Tusker like a local…we got back on the road to Nairobi. That was a long day, the darkness flattening out the hills until we saw the lights of Nairobi ahead.
When we arrived that evening at the Boma, our Nairobi spot…it was tough. I was sad, and didn’t want to say goodbye to Joseph and Moses. I cried. What an absolute joy those two men were for us. I had teased Moses that no one was as much fun as us…and he reassured me that we were certainly unique. My Kenya will always be wrapped in the warmth of the Nilotes.
We were nearing the end of our trip, and after a helluva flight to the coast, we would land for our last hours at the Indian Ocean, in Diani. Diani is a coastal city, built for leisure…the white sand and the turquoise water, the music and the people, the tides, the stars, the trees, and the roar of the ocean crashing against the shore. I had been telling all the ladies, when we get to the beach, if you need me, I’ll be on the beach. And, like Ken from the Barbie movie, I beached like it was my job.
The first afternoon, my bikini, my book and some beer spent a whole bunch of time belly down, listening to the waves crashing. Even a little rain, only the second that I had seen the whole trip, didn’t drive me off the beach. We eventually settled into the beachside bar, to drink, dance and cheer on the nightly entertainment. I can’t promise the videos that exist from that evening depict my best behavior…but damn…we had a time.
The next morning, I arose early to run on the beach. The sun coming up over the horizon, changing the color of the sky, and the water….the tide high, and the sand soft…well, that is just a particular version of paradise that I know exists. Trephene and her sister Del negotiated a boat trip for us, and eventually we would head off in a “tuktuk” for the spot where we would board a “glass bottomed” boat. Reaching the sand bar exposed by the low tide, we wandered around, snorkeled and swam, people watched, and laughed alot. Eventually, we had to get back to the shore, as the tide was coming in, and really changing the landscape. After our foray, I headed back to my book, and my belly.
On our final night in Kenya, Trephene has planned for us to have dinner together, on the beach, with stunning views of the sky, under the care of a team of professionals. So, the Red Party would be the result. Trephene wears a red lip, always. She is known in the running community as “Bibandredlipstick”. In our packing list was a red dress for the red party.
We each arrived at the meeting spot in some shade and shape of red, in honor of our Trephene. And, after making it to our destination, we were treated like royalty. Multiple courses were served, drinks, dancing between courses, toasts and tears, hugs and so much joy…and we all looked stunning in our red. The hosts of our party treated us to so much goodness, bringing out a birthday cake with sparklers, and singing and dancing with us to celebrate Trephene. I took my sparkly shoes off to step into the pool to hold the float that would hold Trephene as she took a float out on the sparkling water to cheers her 50th, with a plastic glass of bourbon in her hand. (She was originally going to jump in, but once we discovered the float…it was a better choice.)
Arriving back at our hotel late that night, Trephene and I decided that a beachside nightcap was in order. With a cold Tusker, I settled on a lounger, dressed in my red, with my stunning friend settled next to me on the adjacent lounger. We laughed, we cried, we talked deeply and frankly. I said some things, she listened. I listened while she shared some things. We breathed of the ocean, and of Kenya, the salt and sea air, the stars overhead, and a Massai man standing wrapped against the chill of the night air, keeping watch.
Just a few hours later, after running on the beach, and holding hands with Trephene’s momma over coffee, we would depart Diani, return to Nairobi, weave our way through terminals and so many layers of security, and eventually…I would hug and kiss each of these beautiful women, and board my return flight on British Airways, destination Washington, D.C. Sitting on the plane, alone for the first time in nearly two weeks….I missed the hearts, hugs and humans that I experienced Kenya with.
As I said earlier, Trephene’s father, husband of over 50 years to her beautiful momma, Daddy to her sisters and brother…died on the Saturday preceding our trip. She told the story of how her father would speak of being “giraffe elated” and “hippopotamus happy”. His presence was with us on that adventure…and the moments of his family, and the people like me, who love them…being elated and happy, will carry me for many days. Kenya is a special place.
There were so many times that my heart broke from the beauty of the place, the people and the experiences of Kenya.
A friend said to me that they read once that Africa breaks your heart, and the only way to piece it back together is to return. I can confidently say…I left a piece of my heart with the elephants, and the people like Moses, and my Massai running sentry.
For now, I’ll let the rain soothe me…it really does rain in Africa…I’ve seen it. On the backs of elephants…
Kenya….Nakupenda, and Assante Sana. I love you and thank you.
And to my dear Boo Boo, my life is better, more rich, and the sun shines brighter because you were born. Happy (Hippobottomus) Birthday. Love, Freckles.
GratitudeThroughChange 