Lake Turkana

Lake Turkana

In the far north of Kenya, lies a very barren, arid area with the vast Lake Turkana at its centre.  The wind blows incessantly (the only wind farm we have seen in Africa is here) and temperatures hover around 40c in the day and not much less at night.  To stand outside is like having a very powerful hairdryer pointed right at you.

So why on earth did we go there?

The region is famous for its tribes and David really wanted to visit them, plus the journey there and back is stunning, both in terms of the tracks (mostly dirt) and the scenery. All told, it is about 860km from Eldoret to Marsabit.

We were very lucky to have made this trip just prior to the rainy season, which would have made the roads impassable for Big Bertha. And we were in no mind to take risks with mud – it is a year since our massive stuck in Zambia.

The route starts off on tarmac, then turns to quite technical mud tracks (dry) and then sand, with the scenery getting better and better, and the elevation starting at 2,100m, peaking at 2,600m before dropping to around 370m beside the lake.

The area is ‘bandit country’ and we were warned not to bush camp. We did, but were careful where, and at one camp spot we were advised to move on by the army (we did).

Coming over the final brow, with the lake before us, surrounded by mountains, was stunning.

How people live here is a wonder, yet they do.  Their dwellings are made from palm fronds and are of a semi spherical shape to withstand the unrelenting wind.  Food comes from the lake and whatever can be grown. Before boreholes, people used to drink the slightly brackish lake water.

Dave visited two tribes here, the El-Molo and the Turkana; both with differing cultures and dress.

At night, the wind blew so violently that the truck rocked continuously.  We had fitful nights sleeping.

Below our campsite there were fishermen and women hauling in the nets in the mid afternoon sun.  David went down to watch and was soon put to work on the rope.  After a long haul, there were precious few fish in the net, but the people were cheerful and seemed impervious to the sun.  David, on the other hand, was exhausted after an hour and retreated to Big Bertha.

We left the lake after four days and headed north east and then south east in a loop towards Marsabit, travelling on rocky roads interspersed with sand tracks.  There is a river before North Horr, which has to be forded, and we wondered if it would be flowing after the rains. Luckily it was not and we continued our journey towards Kalacha.  We found a truck that had been stuck in sand for three hours and Big Bertha was tasked with pulling it out, which she did easily.  Our new friends were very grateful and we parted company in opposite directions.

We met Chris, a Brit coming the other way, and we asked about the Chalbi desert track (a short cut).  “No problem” he said, having driven it that morning.  Father Anthony , the pastor at the church at which we stayed overnight in Kalacha, had a different view and warned us against taking the short cut.  As if to emphasise the point, the heavens opened and there was a downpour.  This settled our dilemma – we would take the long way around.

After some very scenic driving across volcanic rocky plains and the edge of the Chalbi desert, we arrived in Marsabit and we were very happy to see a tarmac road and temperatures below 30c.