Karen Blixon and a couple of giraffes

Travel is about the journey and the destination and nowhere is this more true than in Africa, especially Kenya. Not only are there matatu’s (minibuses) commuter and intercity buses, boda-boda’s (motorcycle taxis), auto-rickshaws from India and Pakistan, actual taxis (complete with company logos or a rooftop sign) and informal taxis ply the roads for carless travelers. There are even a significant number of bicycles despite Nairobi’s slightly deranged drivers. A recently opened commuter train connects central Nairobi to the suburbs and there is even an overnight train to Mombasa on the coast and more rarely, a train to Kisumu on Lake Victoria. Even without schedules, getting to Karen, a popular Nairobi suburb should not be difficult, even on a quiet Sunday morning.

I rode a matatu from my front door into downtown Nairobi but had to cross the entire downtown area to find a matatu to Karen. I did walk by the Kenya parliament building (which is tiny) and saw the city hall, two sources of recent government strife and action (see MP salary issue and the new Nairobi local government). Once I was dropped off at Karen Road, I figured a short walk and I would be at the Karen Blixon farm, a relic from the colonial era. What a joke, it was closer to two and a half miles in, such a short distance on my map but a long walk. Only once I arrived did I realize why the boda-boda’s kept honking at me, asking the crazy mizungo if he wanted a ride.

British colonial influenced reached the region in 1899 when the Uganda railway built a supply depot in a flat, swampy area which later became Nairobi. Karen Blixon arrived in Kenya in 1914 from Denmark with a baron husband and began a coffee farm at the foot of the Ngong (means knuckle) Hills. Unfortunately, the farm failed in 1931 and Karen moved back to Denmark. She continued to write books including Out of Africa, which was made in an award-winning film in 1985.

At the museum

It is amazing to think what she must have thought of this place, literally 100 years ago, compared to middle class Denmark. Culture shock on perhaps the most epic scale? She must have thought she was headed back into history. While I know she had the same view of the Ngong Hills, I wonder if she heard the same bird sounds I hear, which were deafening. Or felt the same soft breeze. Even the occasional plane flies overhead, just as her boyfriend Denis once did. What a beautiful place but nowadays, cars rumble by on a paved road at nominal frequency and I can hear singing from where the medical school is, perhaps a distant hymn from a church (Kenyans do love church). Every now and then, I heard the honk of a matatu, calling out for riders. In Karen’s time, the birds, animals, Maasai squatters and infrequent visitors were her only sounds.

The house itself is modest, only a single story, with a small detached kitchen and a handful of rooms. The interior has dark, Mahogany paneling which covers the grey brick exterior, themselves large, handmade cinder blocks. Karen’s bedroom is twice the size of her husband’s (and later boyfriend’s). Unfortunately and similar to most African museums, artifacts and antiques are hard to keep around or too expensive to purchase on the open market, and there were only handful in the house. Two lanterns, one red and one green, were used by Karen to signal whether her boyfriend Denis should land, depending on her mood. It is even fascinating to think that in this house, Prince Edward and other dignitaries dined and even lounged on the same lawn. It turned out that the soil was too acidic to grow coffee and the Blixen’s would have been successful had they stuck to their original plan, to begin a dairy farm instead of a coffee plantation.

After a leisurely lunch, I moved to another matatu (saving at least 45 minutes of walking) which took me to the Giraffe Center. Funded by a wildlife organization, this center had a small, elevated platform to feed giraffes at their height and a lower area in which they could bend down to eat out of your hand. Why the constant eating? If you do not feed certain giraffes, they may head butt you.

The three giraffes I met were of the endangered Rothschild’s variety. Daisy, a six year old female, was a notorious head butter and frequent fighter. She was found wandering alone either because she was lost or her herd had kicked her out, likely for fighting. The few Rothschild’s giraffe’s left justified her capture. Female giraffes rarely fight and one of the guides told me that she was the most difficult to handle. Abraham was only about three months but already twice my height. Ed appeared to be slightly older. The same guide also showed me how to kiss a giraffe. By placing a small piece of food between my lips, the younger giraffes’ tongues reach way out and grab it, slobbering my lips at the same time. I was assured that because giraffes are vegetarians, their mouths were clean. With any luck, some of the giraffes would be released into the wild once the herd at the center grew large enough. It was a neat little sanctuary, a bit small but a great example of how local Kenyans care deeply about their wildlife.

Actual photos!