To many of us, Lodwar was little known in the past; but in
recent years this dusty town in the Turkana district of
Kenya's Northern Frontier Province has gained world-wide
prominence. All this can only be attributed to the fact that it
was at Lodwar that Mr. Jomo Kenyatta and his associates were
restricted.
Those of us who have had the "misfortune" of serving in this
district will surely not like to return there again; but having
spent a greater portion of my service career in Northern Frontier
Districts, I have always felt a yearning to re-visit these areas.
It was not until June 26th in 1961 that I planned to re-visit
Lodwar - and why?
During the historic Maralal Press
Conference, Mr. Kenyatta, in reply
to one of the questions asked by my
brother, had described Lodwar as
"a hell on earth" - a place where
"you sweat from morning to evening
- if you are not sweating you
are covered with dust"! And with
all these enough-to-frighten-anyone
remarks about the place, would any
young man still like to go there?
Yes - my brother and I were both
determined to make the trip.
We accordingly telegraphed the
District Commissioner at Lodwar
for permission. The Turkana district,
as are other Frontier districts,
is a Closed Area, and permission
to enter the area is obtainable
only on prior application to
the Provincial Commissioner at
Isiolo or the D.C. I was not very
optimistic, I must admit, about the
D.C.'s approval to this trip since it
is not usual to approve telegraphic
applications; besides normal applications
have to be submitted at
least a month in advance giving
precise details as to the size and sex
of the visiting party, the type of
vehicle it is proposed to use and the
particular area of the district to be
visited. Furthermore, at the time of
my application for entry into Lodwar,
all was far from quiet in the
district; there had been a recent
tribal clash between the Turkana
and Kararnojong tribesmen who
inhabit the Kenya/Uganda border
areas. All these considerations only
helped to strengthen my pessimism.
In the end however, I found that
my brother's optimism had survived.
Our trip was sanctioned by the
D.C. and when reading out his telegraphic
reply to my brother, I was
filled with the same joy and emotion
that usually grips a person who
for the first time hears of his success
in a popular Sweepstake! I
was simply overjoyed, thrilled, delighted
- so was my brother and
equally so my wife. She knew,
though, that she would be unable to
make the trip with our two year old
son but nevertheless, as she had
previously spent a fortnight at
Lodwar in 1950, she was thrilled at
the thought that my brother would
presently be seeing the INFERNO
in which I, her husband, had spent
two long years.
Time was not to be lost as the
approval from the D.C. was precious
and had to be made use of
quickly. I accordingly took a casual
four days leave and we set off from
Njoro in the afternoon, arriving
Kitale on the evening of Saturday
July 1st. The fact that my parents-in-law lived at Kitale helped matters
a lot as such problems as accommodation
for my wife and son did
not at all arise. There was one
hurdle still to be overcome however,
and that was transport.
Through my past service in Turkana, I had established good contacts with the local Government
Contractor at Kitale and was relying
on him for conveyance. This transporter,
a Muslim, who has served
the Turkana district faithfully for
30 years now was very willing to
assist; unfortunately, none of his
trucks had returned from their
Frontier tours. Owing to the unusually
heavy rains in many parts
of north-west Kenya and Uganda,
the roads were in most cases impassable
and we were told that If
any of his trucks did return we
would certainly be transported to
Lodwar.
To our good luck and surprise, a
few hours after we had left the
office of the transporter, word reached
us that some of the stranded
vehicles had returned to Kitale and
we would probably be fortunate in
obtaining a lift in one of them.
From Lokitaung (a sub-station of
Lodwar) too came an urgent request
for maize meal and the transporter
was naturally obliged to despatch a
truck posthaste. A driver was immediately
sent to us with instructions
that we be ready to leave immediately
after lunch.
My brother and I lost no time in
preparing for the safari, equipping
ourselves with a small supply of
food and drink, the bare minimum
of clothing and a hold-all containing
our bedding. Since I had taken
only four days leave our supplies of
food and drink were restricted to
safari requirements only.
Lunch over and the usual adieus
said, we were in the huge Army-type
5 Ton Austin truck bound for our
lonesome frontier trail.
Leaving behind the greenery of
Kitale, we arrived at Kapenguria by
2 p.m. Kapenguria is only 21 miles
away from Kitale and like Lodwar,
this little town in Suk country has
also gained fame the world over
because of the famous Kenyatta trial
that was held here in 1953. At
Kapenguria there was likely to be a
delay since there were several bags
of posho to be loaded on to our
truck, so we decided to visit friends
there while the loading was in progress.
An Indian trader readily
drove us in his car from Kapenguria
junction to the boma where
we were treated to a refreshing cup
of tea by friends. These friends,
both bachelors, were busily engaged
in improving on their culinary art.
We left them about 3 p.m. and returned
to our truck ready to resume
the journey.
We were fortunate in having a
very lively and interesting driver Kartar
Singh (in no way connected
with the controversial and now
banned film which bears his name!)
who throughout the journey kept us amused by his frequent halts for refuelling; fortunately the trucks needed no .ef uellin g, but Kartar
Singh felt that he and we too needed
a bit of refuelling every so often.
Not many petrol stations exist on
this route, but it is amazing to see
how many "human filling stations"
one notices all along. Even the
smallest duka which couldn't be
selling more than a few pounds of
posho and sugar a day displays large
"Tusker Beer" notices. These flashing
notices only helped to distract
and of course attract our good old
Kartar Singh who, at the sign of
every such notice would stop and
extend to us the cordial invitation "Chullo ek Tusker Lagainga" (Come on let's have a Tusker). The
tea we had had at Kapenguria was
till sustaining us and we tried hard
to resist the temptation of a "refuel".
However, there was no alternative
- we had to join in since,
according to Kartar Singh, the
monotony of the journey had to be
broken and this was one fine way of
doing it! We reluctantly accepted
this fact and joined Kartar Singh
in this new endeavour to rid one of
safari monotony. After we had
gulped a few glasses of beer, we
noticed a truck approaching us
from Lodwar direction. It was one
of the Government transporters'
trucks which, according to the
driver, had seen quite a rough safari.
We were warned that we might
have to camp out for the night. We
were prepared for the worst. Kartar
Singh, our driver and entertainer,
was soon to leave us. He had
been given instructions at Kitale to
transfer his load on to this truck
and return to Kitale in time to
resume his Turkana trip with the
mail for Lodwar and Lokitaung.
As soon as the transfer of loads
on to the respective trucks was
completed we set oft. Our new
driver, a Sebei from Uganda, was
equally cheerful and extremely efficient
at the wheel. He was suffering
from the strain of his earlier
safari and look quite fatigued. If
we were agreeable, he suggested
that we drive until dark and then
camp out in the bush for the night.
This seemed fine and at 10 p.m. we
stopped at Loroo on the Uganda
border. With pariah dogs barking
from the nearby village and hyenas
laughing throughout the long night,
my brother and I passed quite a
sleepless night. At first light the
next morning, in fact at 3 a.m., we
woke the driver and resumed our
journey.
The road was very rough and
bumpy and the Loiya Escarpment
nerve-wrecking. A road sign
conspicuously displayed at the
entrance to the escarpment reads
"Private burial ground for reckless
drivers". The sight of this inscription
was enough to make anyone
shudder, recoil and return. But
these drivers have been plying on
this route for several years and such
hazards present no problem at all
to them. After some five hours of
rough and dreary driving - during
the course of which we stopped at
one stage at Loiya to sign the Log
Book at the Tribal Police Post - we
eventually arrived at Lodwar boma
at a few minutes passed 8 a.m.
The D.C. was away at Nairobi, so
we reported on arrival to the Administrative
Officer in the boma at the
time. After these formalities were
completed, we were taken over by
a very hospitable and likeable staff
of Goans who included among
others, the Medical Officer to Mr.
Kenyatta. The lavish hospitality we
received from these gentlemen cannot
adequately be covered in this
article, but It is worth recording
that they went out of their way to
make us comfortable in every possible
respect. Even the weather
seemed to treat us with tender
care the temperature being
tolerable and sand storms less furious.
Despite an absence of 12
years from this District, I renewed
quite a few old acquaintances and
noticed that there had been quite a
few changes too. The shopping centre,
for instance, had undergone a
complete change although very much
in keeping with N.F.D. standards.
The D.C. now had a palatial house.
There was a new 40-bed hospital
where even major operations were
performed by the young Goan
medico, a new school and Prison
and five separate blocks of houses - one of which was vacated by Mr.
Kenyatta not so long ago. Even the
office hours had recently been altered,
and wisely too. Officials in
Lodwar now work from 8 a.m. to 2
p.m. at a stretch with no afternoon
session. This. for a hot place like
Lodwar is a welcome change and also helps regulate tempers!
The inhabitants of Turkana are
still very primitive and prefer so to
remain - clothing making little or
no appeal to the masses. The men
wear no clothing at all although
they are very particular about plastering
their heads neatly with ochre
and proudly displaying ostrich
plumes from the crest. The women
clothe themselves very scantily with
goats or cow hide - yet adorn their
oil stained bodies with beads of
varied hue. The main diet of the
people is goats or camel milk, raw
meat, posho and pints of fresh
blood.
The district has unfortunately
suffered a lot from famine and
many of us will recall the excellent
work put in by the R.A.F. in transporting
Famine Relief supplies to
these arid areas.
At Lake Rudolf, 45 miles away
from Lodwar, the Government runs
a Paupers Camp for those hardest
hit by famine and drought. The
numbers at these camp are steadily
increasing. Posho is supplied free
of charge by Government while fish
which abounds in the Lake goes to
supplement their diet. In return,
the paupers turn out bundles of fine
rope for the Administration - this
rope is invaluable for donkey and
camel safaris.
We were unfortunately unable to
secure transport to Lake Rudolf
(which I have visited on several
occasions previously) and this was
naturally a bit of disappointment to
my brother. Since we had seen
most of what Lodwar had to offer
us, we decided to return to Kitale
the following day. After an early
dinner on July 4th, we left Lodwar
for Kitale at 10 p.m. that night.
Thirty miles of sandy terrain had
barely been covered when we came
across the Lorogumo river which
was in flood. If there were no
further rains during the night, we
would be lucky to ford it by about
10 a.m. the following morning. We
therefore resigned ourselves to this
fact and spent the rest of the night
on the truck. Fortunately for us the
river was receding and by about 7
a.m. we had crossed over and were
now driving happily through hot
desert country. There was little to
be seen along this trail - scrubland,
thorny bush, miles and miles
of black lava rock interspersed only
with primitive Turkana youths
herding their goats or camels from
their nearby manyattas (Masai term
for village).
We had not had any breakfast
and were naturally beginning to
feel the pangs of hunger. However,
we decided to endure until the
nearest duka, some 80 miles away
was reached. Meanwhile, on the
way we bought a goat as a standby
little realizing at the time that
this poor creature was to be our
main stay for the next day or two.
Throughout the drive along the
80 mile stretch we encountered two
rather bad road patches; but for the
assistance and techniques of the
driver and Turn Boys, we certainly
would have been bogged down at
some of the sand rivers. But this
was not all; instead of a late breakfast
we had hoped to have at the
end of our drive, we found, to our
utter surprise and dismay, a stubborn,
swollen and angrily flowing
tributary of the Turkwell river at
Amudat. We were now on the
Uganda border but just couldn't get
across. The river was in spate and
swelling fiercely every moment.
There was nothing we could do. At
the earliest it would take two to
three days for the waters to abate
and that too if there was no further
rain. What a desperate situation we
had encountered. With our food and
drink supplies nearly depleted, you
can well imagine the feelings of my
brother and I. It was his first experience
and one I am sure he will
not easily forget. The only seemingly
consoling words I could offer
him in this our plight were, "Well,
life's like that in the N.F.D."! We
did not despair, however. After
greedily devouring some half-cooked
goats' meat in typical Robin Hood
fashion, and gulping down cups of
strong sweetened tea, we decided to
park ourselves in the truck and
retire there for the night. Stranded
with us on the Lodwar bank of the
river were two other trucks and one
Land Rover belonging to the Ministry
of Works, while early the following
morning we were joined by
three Kenya Police trucks from
Lokitaung. On the Kitale side two
civilian and one Police truck were
also stranded; in fact this party had
spent two nights at the river now but were in a much better position than
we. On their side were based
most of the dukas owned by the
Indian and Somali traders who
dwell on the Uganda border, while
there was not the remotest sign of
human habitation on our side. Naturally
we had to do something
about replenishing our food and
drink stocks. The goat solved only
part of our problem - for the
drink part, we were fortunate in
securing the services of a Turkana
youth who gladly swam across the
river and ferried bottles of beer to
us at a remuneration of one shilling
per round swim. This wasn't bad
at all and we, as did the others, took
full advantage of his services. At
the end of our unfortunate experience, this energetic youth had earned
a little under twenty shillings.
The weather in the mornings seemed
clear and bright and we were
hopeful we would get across - but
it had rained the previous night and
this only helped to swell the level of
the river even further - much to
our disappointment.
Among those marooned with us
was a South African employee of the
Ministry of Works who was as
anxious as we were to get back to
his family. He informed us that if
the waters had receded sufficiently
enough by 1 p.m. he would send one
of his heavier trucks across and
later get us all towed across to the
other bank. No amount of anxiety
would solve the situation - we
needed pluck and grit and a good
bit of optimism too.
The drivers and Turn Boys of the
various stranded trucks kept planting
sticks to mark the water level.
Some of them were hopeful we
would get across in about two to
three hours time; others were hopelessly
pessimistic and completely
ruled out the idea of our being able
to cross over for the next two days
at least. This was much too much for us. There was no means of getting
a message across to my family
or to my office at Njoro informing them of my plight. but the South African was both anxious to get back and optimistic about the weather; for the best part of about two hours we kept consoling each other - by about 12:30pm the waters were receding but rather lazily. At approximately 1.30 p.m.
when the level of the river had
dropped slightly, the South African
made bold and sent one of his trucks
across. Faces that had been long
drawn and dejected during the past
day began beaming with joy as the
first truck cut proudly across the
waters of this stubborn river. The
going was not easy, however, and
at one stage it seemed as if the
vehicle might be washed away with
the tide; but a Police truck from the
opposite bank together with scores
of volunteers towed the truck to
safety. Then followed the Land
Rover carrying the delighted South
African. We were next on the list
and by no means did we have an
easy passage. After us followed the
remainder of the M.O.W. and Police
trucks. We were all excited and
overjoyed at having crossed the
river to safety; so were our friends
who were also marooned on the
opposite side and who had also now
crossed over safely.
Jubilant shouts could be heard
from either direction as the whole
operation was completed and then
amidst thunderous cheering from
the Suk and Turkana tribesmen and
the various spectators who had congregated
to watch our two-day
ordeal, we finally departed.
The driver was shrewd enough to
maintain a regular speed lest we
get stuck again; in a little under
two hours during the course of
which we covered stretches of washed
away and sloshy roads, we were
at Kapenguria. All along the
countryside between Amudat and
Kapenguria we passed several
batches of guinea fowl and dik-dik
who all posed with a challenge
which seemed to suggest their knowledge
of our being unarmed.
Within a few moments of leaving
Kapenguria we were back again in
the farming zone of the TransNzoia.
It all seemed such a change
from the waste and barren scrubland
we had travelled through all
the way from Lodwar. Even the
primitive spear-armed tribesmen
had faded away and his place taken
by a modern, richly clad, civilised
and cultured townsman. This was
the atmosphere in which we returned
Kitale - to tell our family and
friends of our fate and experience
during that all too memorable safari
to that "HELL ON EARTH".
|