HONEYMOON IN THE WILDS
Elsie Maciel
mervynels.watuwasha...@gmail.com
1952: I'd always dreamed about getting married on the
roadside of the Great Rift Valley escarpment in the beautiful
little chapel the Italian prisoners-of-war had built, to mark
the end of their work on the building of the Nairobi-Nakuru
highway. But my parents wanted the wedding to be in their
newly-built home in Kitale (in the White Highlands). And so,
we had a wonderful wedding day on August 16 (1952) at my
family's Kitale home.
At dawn, one of the former Italian prisoners-of-war came,
carrying in his hand, a shallow basket of real orange
blossoms. What bride could not hold her breath at such a
sight? Trust an Italian to bring that romantic touch.
After the wedding reception, I left with my newly-wed husband
Mervyn, on the evening of our wedding day, leaving our many
guests still celebrating.
Our honeymoon in the wilds began as we left Kitale
by that sleek weekend train, joining the romantic
Uganda-Mombasa Mail at Eldoret, and then on to
Nairobi for a stay. The dinner on the train was a
perfect wedding celebration. The next day, we
boarded the Nanyuki-bound train from Nairobi.
Quite to our surprise, two friends had driven all
the way from Isiolo to pick us up at Nyeri (facing
Mt. Kenya). From here, we drove on to Isiolo via
Nanyuki. At Isiolo, our friends had organised a
right Royal reception at which we were able to meet
many of the Goans from that area.
At sunset the following day, we boarded a heavily-loaded
truck at Isiolo for the onward journey to Marsabit. We drove
through part of the dark night, before pitching camp at
Laisamis, amidst roaring camp fires. I sat on a log,
absorbing the atmosphere and looking out for a roaring lion!
As we settled down, I saw, through the haze, a hysterical
Rendille woman holding a child and making a dash for Mervyn.
In what appeared to be a begging posture, she pleaded for a
lift to Marsabit to take her sick child to hospital. She
turned to me and said, watoto wengi, wishing me many
children in Swahili.
I watched Mervyn as the Chief and important tribesmen arrived
to greet him and shake his hand warmly as though he'd been
away for a long time. He handled to whole situation with
authority and good grace.
I looked towards the sick child, about 11 years old, and as I
shook his hand I felt his fevered skin. I offered his Mum
half an aspirin tablet which she promptly gave to her child.
I thought no more of it.
The sky filled up with more and more stars; I'd
never really noticed stars as I'd never camped out
in the open before. The breathtaking scene made me
feel I could touch the sky! Ever since, the night
sky, rare shooting stars and stardust, remain my
grace before bedtime. Two camp beds were soon set
up for us, and with my hand in the hand of my hero,
I fell asleep, safe and secure.
We entered Marsabit early the next morning, in an unusual,
almost magical cold and dense mist. A group of very happy
women had waited around a U-bend to surprise us with presents
of sheep and lambs, the best of their flock. I was lost for
words and did not know how to cope with such kindness and
generosity. By the time we arrived at the Government boma,
we had six animals, with more people waiting along the route
to surprise and greet us.
We had breakfast with our neighbours, yet another celebration
spread! Our host and hostess, who had also been recently
married, knew the feeling. After breakfast, came the most
spectacular moment. Mervyn walked me down the garden path,
his eyes beaming with pride and laughter, to the door of our
new home. We made a fairy-tale entrance. From the moment I
set eyes on the lovely stone cottage, with its tin roof, I
couldn't stop making plans for it.
By the afternoon, the township Chief and Elders held a tea
party for us. The women had turned out in brightly-coloured
clothes of silk and satin, while the men folk wore their
traditional attire. They welcomed us warmly to the festive
occasion. Beautifully-dyed, hand-woven circular and square
straw mats, almost in geometric design, decked the walls of
the reception room. Ours hosts sang, danced and ululated,
after which we drank very sweet, strong and hot spicy tea
while others sipped soft drinks. The Chief's wife presented
me with twelve large walnut-sized amber beads.
One afternoon, soon after we'd arrived in Marsabit, there was
a knock at the door. I opened it only to find the most
magnificent DUBAS (Frontier Tribal Policeman), in his special
snow-white uniform gleaming in the bright sunlight, with his
post-office-red turban, the ammunition in his highly polished
bandolier, his rifle strapped to his left shoulder. In his
right arm was a great big bunch of Fireball lilies which
seemed to match his
