Out of Africa — Mount Mtelo, Kenya | July 2007
“Reflections at the Mtelo Viewpoint. ”
There are giraffes, impalas and zebras below, there’s even a rhino, horn and tail held up high, dashing across the savannah. We made our way up to the Mtelo Viewpoint, high above the Great Rift Valley in the north-western highlands of West Pokot County in Kenya. The view is amazing. With me, making chapatis and tea on an improvised fire, is Joseph Kabisa, a local teacher I met at a pub in Kitale a week ago.
Proud of his work at a rural primary school at the foot of Mount Mtelo, Joseph told me engaging stories all night, after which he invited me to be a guest teacher at his school. Curious as ever, I accepted the invitation and joined him on a horrendous full-day journey, perched with a dozen others on top of the cargo of a ramshackle old truck, the “bus” from Kitale to West Pokot. During the trip, the truck got stuck a number of times and had its front tire blow up. Used to the ordeal, all the passengers simply clambered down and cheerfully did what needed to be done to help the truck back on the road. The sun had long set when we finally reached our destination.
The next morning, after a good night’s rest in Joseph’s unassuming wood-and-mud dwelling, and a hearty breakfast prepared by his wife, we set off to the school.
Joseph’s school in West Pokot County
Once we got there, I was introduced to his class of 36 pupils who surprisingly ranged in age from 9 to 17, a primary school? Without a qualm, I improvised a geography lesson about Laos, a country none of the pupils had ever heard of. It was a chaotic, but entertaining session; fascinating how similar the rural Kenyan kids are to those in Vientiane.
Today is not a school day and so Joseph suggested to hike up Mount Mtelo, not all the way to the top, just to the first viewpoint. I happily agreed, the African landscape and wildlife never seize to amaze me. Our hike started on the flat savannah surrounding the school, knee-high Elephant Grass and every now and then an Umbrella Thorn Acacia. On our way to the mountains, we passed small farms, or shambas, with herds of Zebu beef cattle, overseen by stoic-looking young boys, masters of the cattle stare. As we progressed, we were surrounded by zebras, impalas and other wildlife. In the distance, there were elephants and hippos.
Now, overlooking the amazing Rift Valley before me, waiting for my tea and chapati, I’m overwhelmed by severy melancholy. I’m having such a great time here in Kenya, but in a fortnight or so I’m supposed to fly back to Asia. I don’t know where they’re coming from, but my mind fills with questions: Where is my life heading? What is the point of it all? Why am I living in Laos? What do I want? Why? … Why?
The Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard floats into my thoughts. About a century and a half ago he famously theorized that life is divided into three phases of being: the aesthetic, the ethical and the religious. I never thought much of this idea, a bunch of existential angst written by a lonely man suffering from winter depression. However, as my own life progresses, I find he might have had a point after all.
I’ve definitely lived my life so far along the lines of Kierkegaard’s aesthetics, which has meant a continuous search for adventure and excitement while avoiding any kind of unnecessary responsibility or serious commitment. I found the perfect line of attack for this lifestyle by — after wasting three years at a business college — joining the Royal Netherlands Army. During my eight years there, I satisfied my aesthetic needs by learning how to drive an armoured personnel carrier, blow up things, climb mountains all over Europe, skydive in Thailand, scuba-dive in Mexico and generally travel to foreign countries as often as possible.
After leaving the army in January 2001, a trip around the world, and a short stint with an airline operating in Spain, I felt bored and decided that I needed a new challenge and should move to a place I knew nothing about, couldn’t speak the language and wasn’t even able to read the script: enter the Lao People’s Democratic Republic, one of the last “unspoiled” outposts in this world.
It’s been five years since I moved to Laos to become an EFL teacher in Vientiane, and it’s been quite a ride. It’s mostly been fun so far: the all-night drink, snack and talk sessions with friends at dim sum shops in Vientiane’s unofficial China Town; the workday rhythm of dinner and drinks at one of the many excellent restaurants downtown, followed by a late-night session at the infamous Samlo Pub; the mornings waking up on the floor in a friend’s house or at home next to someone rather unfamiliar.
Some nights we’d end up at a shabby construction of bamboo and sheet metal, with plastic chairs and red rickety metal folding tables, serving sticky rice with an array of barbecued mystery meats and located near the city’s most popular nightclubs. I don’t know what the real name of the place is, but we call it the Love-Shack because late at night it functions as the assembly point for the dazzling girls, who come from the surrounding nightclubs, looking for snacks… and Falang.
These girls, frequenting the nightclubs on weekdays, are often mistaken for the ever-present nymphs of darkness, but in reality they are just disenchanted young women hoping to find a foreign boyfriend, then get married and leave the country in hope of a better life. It is a situation easily to be taken advantage of, which we do. It’s been fun, but is this lifestyle sustainable?
A large marabou stork lands with flapping wings on an empty spot in front of me and gives me a questioning look. He’s right! As the bird continues to stare me down, the images of men in their 60s, 70s or even 80s, roaming the streets of Bangkok’s infamous Sukhumvit district looking for their next granddaughter-girlfriend, hunt my mind. Then my thoughts switch to the two expats I know in Vientiane, both around the age of 60. One forlorn and bitter, the other extroverted and always out looking for love; both angry at the world and very lonely. No! This is not the path to take.
Startled, the marabou clacks its beak and takes off in a swirl of dust. He’s right, I think again. I’m 35 years old. I spent most of my 20s playing around in the Royal Netherlands Army during what has arguably been the best time in history to be in the armed forces. Then I travelled the world for nine months, and now I’ve spent the past five years partying in South-East Asia; maybe it’s time to grow up…
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Clarinet concerto in A major, K.622 Adagio on Out of Africa OST [CD]. Nashville, United States: MCA Records. (1986)
This autobiographical sketch comes from my bundle In the Moment: A Disjointed Audiobiography which is available at Amazon.com. (USD 9.50 for a paperback or USD 4.50 for the Kindle version)
