James carries Napirai, and Lketinga takes my bag. Freedom at last! I pay for my stay at reception, and we go over to the Mission building. There’s a mechanic lying under the Land Rover fiddling with various bits. He crawls out, covered in oil, and tells us that the gearbox has nearly had it and we can’t use second gear anymore.
That’s it, I tell myself. Now that I’ve got my health back and my baby, I’m not taking any more risks. I suggest to my husband we go back to Maralal today and on to Nairobi tomorrow to buy a new car. James is immediately thrilled at the idea of going to Nairobi. We get to Maralal before dusk. The gears crunched all the way, but we made it safely to the boarding house. We’ll leave the car here.
Five of us set off for Nairobi – James insisted on bringing a friend along so that he wouldn’t have to spend the night in a room on his own. We’re carrying the equivalent of twelve thousand Swiss francs, everything that we could muster from the shop and my account at present. How we’re going to find a new car, I don’t know yet as Kenya doesn’t have any second-hand car dealers where you can just go and pick one up. Cars are hard to come by.
We get to the city around four p.m., and all we plan for the day is to find somewhere for us all to stay. The Igbol is full so we try some of the cheaper places because I reckon it’s only for a night or two. We’re in luck and find two rooms. First I have to wash and change Napirai. A basin serves to get the dust and dirt off my little girl. Of course, half the nappies are used up already, and there’s no way of washing them. We grab something to eat and have an early night.
Next morning the question is: where do we start? I try the telephone book in the vain hope of finding a second-hand car dealer, but with no luck. Then I stop a taxi and ask the driver. He immediately wants to know if we’ve got the money on us. Sensibly I say no, because I want to find a suitable car first. He promises he’ll ask around for us, and we agree to meet at the same place tomorrow. Even so I don’t want to sit around doing nothing, so I ask three more taxi drivers who just give us funny looks. There’s nothing for it but to go back to the taxi stand as agreed the next day.
The driver is waiting there for us and says he knows a man who might have a Land Rover. We drive halfway across Nairobi and stop outside a little shop. I talk to the African who indeed has three cars for sale, but unfortunately none with four-wheel drive. We can’t see the cars either because he’ll only ring the current owner when he’s found a potential buyer. He says there’s no way we’re going to find a second-hand car that isn’t still being used. Disappointedly I turn him down, as we absolutely need a four-by-four. I ask him with little hope if he knows someone else. He makes a couple of phone calls and gives the taxi driver an address.
We drive to another district and stop in the city centre near a shop. An Indian in a turban comes out to greet us in amazement, asking if we’re the people who want to buy a car. ‘Yes’ is my short answer. He asks us in to his office where tea is served and he tells us he has two on offer.
The first, a Land Rover, is far too expensive and I start to lose hope again. Then he tells us about a five-year old Datsun with twin seating areas, which we could have for fourteen thousand Swiss francs. But even that’s way more than I’ve got, and in any case I’ve no idea what the car even looks like. He keeps on telling us how hard it is to find cars, but nonetheless we leave.
When we’re out on the street he comes after us, telling us to call by again tomorrow and he’ll show us the car with no obligation. We agree, even though I’ve no intention of spending that much.
Once again we’ve nothing to do for the rest of the day. I buy some more nappies as all the ones we brought have been used. The dirty ones are piling up in the hotel room, which isn’t exactly doing wonders for the atmosphere.
We go back to the Indian, even though I’ve no intention of buying from him. He greets us jovially and shows us the Datsun. There on the spot I’m suddenly ready to buy it as long as it goes. It looks comfortable and well looked after. The Indian suggests we take it for a test drive, but I decline in horror at the idea of losing my concentration in three-lane traffic driving on the left. So we just try the engine. Everyone is in love with the car, but I’m worried about the price. We go into his office. When I tell him I have a Land Rover in Maralal, he’s prepared to buy that off me for the equivalent of two thousand francs, which is a good deal. Even so I’m reluctant to hand over twelve thousand francs, which is all the money we have and we still have to get home. We’re thinking it all over again when he offers to send a driver with us, who’ll come as far as Maralal and drive our Land Rover back. All I have to do is give him the ten thousand francs and then hand his driver a cheque for the rest. At this point I’m surprised how trusting he is and impressed by the generous offer, given that Maralal is two hundred and eighty miles away.
On the spur of the moment I accept, particularly as it solves the problem of driving out of Nairobi. My husband and the lads are delighted when they hear that I’ve decided to buy the car. I pay up, and we write out a proper contract. The Indian tells us we’re very brave to drive around Nairobi with so much cash. By tomorrow evening he’ll have the car ready along with its logbook, which will have to be transferred into my name. That means spending another two nights in Nairobi! But the thought of having such a nice car leaves me in no doubt. We’ve done it and can return home with a magnificent vehicle.
The driver turns up as agreed at our hotel early on the morning of the second day. I check the papers and find my name really is on them. We load up with our bags including God knows how many pounds of unwashed nappies. In our good-looking quiet car with a driver we feel like kings, even Napirai seems to enjoy the ride. By evening we reach Maralal. The driver is taken aback by where he’s ended up. Everyone in Maralal notices the arrival of a new car. We park outside the boarding house right behind the Land Rover. I explain the problem with the car to the driver who’s also a mechanic. ‘It’s okay,’ he says and goes off to bed. The next day I hand him his cheque and off he goes.
We spend another night in Maralal and drop in on Sophia. She and her daughter Anika are well. She wondered why she hadn’t seen me for so long and is shocked when I tell her about my hepatitis. I admire her cat and its three kittens, tell her to keep one for me, and then we set off.
We go via Baragoi and get to Barsaloi almost an hour earlier than we would have done in the old Land Rover. Mama beams when she sees us; she had been getting worried, as she didn’t know we had gone to Nairobi. We’ve barely arrived before there’s a crowd gathered to admire the car. I’d sent a letter to my mother from Maralal asking her to send more money from my Swiss bank account.
After chai we go down to our house. That afternoon I pay a visit to Father Giuliani and proudly tell him about my new car. He congratulates me on the purchases and offers to reimburse me generously if I use it to take schoolchildren to Maralal or transport the sick. At least that’s some income.
We get back to enjoying life; things are good. The only problem is sticking to my diet, which is not easy out here. The schoolchildren have a few more days before the end of the holidays. Then I take them to Maralal, leaving Napirai with ‘Gogo’, her grandmother! On the way James and I discuss opening the shop again but only in three months’ time when school is over and then he’ll be keen to work there.
In town I go to see Sophia again who tells me she’s going to Italy in two weeks to show her daughter to her parents. I’m pleased for her and at the same time feel a little homesick for Switzerland. I’d like to show off my daughter too! Even the first photographs were spoiled because someone opened the camera. I pick out a little orange and white tiger-striped kitten and take it with me in a box. The journey back home is wonderfully easy, and despite going the long way I’m back before dark. Napirai has been drinking cow’s milk all day off a teaspoon, but when she hears me she won’t stop crying until she’s back at my breast.
My husband has been out all day with the cattle. There’s a cattle sickness going around in Sitedi, and valuable animals are dying daily. He comes home late thoroughly depressed: two of our cows have died and another three can’t stand up. I ask if there’s no cure. He says there are only preventive measures for healthy animals; the infected ones just die. The medicine is expensive, and you’re lucky to find any in Maralal. He goes to talk it over with the vet. The next day we set out again for Maralal, taking Napirai and the vet along, and at a high price get hold of the medicine and a syringe. We have to inoculate all the healthy animals in the next five days. Lketinga reckons he’ll have to spend the whole time in Sitedi.