And of course they're beautiful creatures. The big eyes, the long eyelashes, the longer legs, the longest neck. The toffee and custard yellow patterning. And the graceful, almost slow motion way of running, which we got to see on our second full day safari, when the naughtier of the two guides we had drove a little closer to the animals than he should.
Seeing my first wild giraffe, right there, in the flesh, was just one of many firsts I clocked up on a week in Kenya. It was my first time in Africa (not counting my two visits to Egypt, that's more Middle East, right?) for a start, the continent never having held much interest for me. But when the opportunity to go came up I was certainly up for the adventure, the chance to experience a part of the world I knew nothing about and seemed almost alien to me. As was my safari buddy for the trip, Anna, who was realising a long-held ambition to go on safari.
Nairobi International is much like any other airport, only very small things making you realise you were in a country not as rich as your own, like the lack of a screen telling you which conveyor belt to pick up your bags, for example. Things like this were not to be expected in Kenya. We waited at the belt that had the most people around it – if in doubt do what everyone else does, right? – but there was no sign of our bags. I decided to go on a hunt as their seemed to be piles of bags near the other belts. I found ours on the other side.
The people of Kenya are very welcoming and lovely. Tourism is big business here so most of them have a loose, formal grasp of English. Walking outside the airport was like walking into the '70s – the dated architecture, the ancient, simple vehicles, the slight blurriness to everything thanks to lack of sleep on the plane. We had a three hour journey ahead of us so I figured I could get some sleep on the way. After being introduced to our driver, John, Anna and I got in the car and grinned at each other. We were here.
Before the trip we were told we may need motion sickness tablets. On our three hour drive to the first camp we realised why. Thanks to the bumps and potholes and general lack of smooth roads anywhere in the country, I only managed to drift in and out of sleep, head lolling onto my shoulder only to be jerked upright every now and then by one of the wheels jumping in and out of a pothole. It was like this every time we got into a vehicle from that point on. The African plains are no smoother than the roads.
We headed out through an industrial part of Nairobi, not seeing much of the city itself. It was around eight o'clock in the morning and scores of men queued up outside factory walls, waiting to be let in for a day's work. There were no women in sight. The factories became fewer and far between and the countryside revealed itself to be sparse and dusty, the yellowy, sometimes brown dust getting into our vehicle and up our nostrils. We saw baboons sat on rocks. I saw two children running across a field in a red and blue school uniform, which seemed odd to me at first. In a country where so much is more primitive than ours, school uniform seemed to be at odds with the surroundings. I chastised myself for being patronising. Why would they not have school uniform?
It was to be my first lesson in the fact that, while Kenya is a country that is less rich than us, its differences are also brought about by the fact that, while its people have some of the same priorities as us, they also have many that are different.
Nairobi is, for all intents and purposes, just like any other bustling international city. It took status as the country's capital from the other big town, Mombasa, in 1907, but, by our standards, there are elements to it that visitors will find backwards. For example, there is the strange understanding that it is dangerous for any woman to be walking around the streets after seven in the evening; that they are seen as some kind of prostitute if they do decide to leave the house at that time. And there's the people's approach to their roads and buildings, in that they don't really have an approach. Both are just functional. Roads are mostly just mud and pavements a rarity, while buildings are used until they fall down and another one is built. You won't find any listed historical buildings here. That said, you can tell the difference between a poor area of the city and a middle class area. The poor areas are shockingly run down, with big piles of rubbish by the side of the road, kids playing nearby. The middle class areas are a little cleaner, the buildings a little nicer maybe, but still very functional. Every one gets around in matatus - white minibuses with a yellow stripe; there are few buses around. While most have this uniform colour of white with a yellow stripe, we see many that are painted in various colours and inscriptions, a trend left over from before 2004 when a law was passed to make them more safe – they all had to have seatbelts and travel under a certain speed, and be recognisable – hence the white and yellow.
I woke up again as we drove through a town called Sulton Hamud. It's a town like any British town, in that it has shops, a chemist, awnings with Coca Cola logos splashed across them. But this is a primitive version of a modern town. All the buildings are one storey, rarely two, more often made of tin and wood than brick, sometimes all three. There are no pavements here, just mud road. The market has few or no stalls, the sellers displaying their wares – clothes, vegetables etc - on a sheet on the ground. The contemporary clothing seems to clash with the surroundings.
When I'm jolted awake again we're in the bush. It's dustier, bumpier and there are bigger holes in the ground. John drives on as if we're on beautifully laid tarmac. He turns back and grins. "You're getting a real taste of African roads here," he says. I grin back, thinking, you're not kidding. "You must be seeing a big change," he adds in his strong accent. "From London, Nairobi, now you're in the bush."
He's not wrong. Looking outside we see the first dwellings of the Maasai people. The ones we see are the traditional huts, made of mud and cow dung and wood. John tells us that they are slowly decreasing in number as the Maasai turn to tin to make their homes. While it's sad that these traditional homes are gradually being lost, you can't blame them for using tin instead. We all look for ways to make our lives easier. We later find out that it takes around a fortnight to build a mud hut. A tin hut they can build in a day. It's a no-brainer really.
Despite being the most well-known, the Maasai are actually only a minor tribe in Kenya. There are many others much larger. But their distinctive dress and customs, and their close proximity to many of the big game parks, have made them the most familiar to tourists. They are a strong presence during our trip. We are greeted by a welcoming committee of Maasai warriors at both camps (the Gamewatchers Safaris' Porini Camps), all of whom are dressed in their colourful traditional garb – a bright red or purple or similarly-coloured shawl adorned with multi-coloured beaded necklaces – apart from one, who we are introduced to as Daniel. I later find out that this is his real name, despite many of the other Maasai taking on Western names when working on the camps and dealing with tourists. Daniel is dressed in Western clothes, safari type stuff, and tells us he will be our guide and look after us during our two nights at the Amboseli Porini Camp.
The camps themselves are simply set up - six tents, each with a double bed and a single, plus a bathroom at the back (more on that later). Then there is a main tent where the guests dine, together, plus a kitchen area behind that where all the food is prepared by the Maasai staff. We find our bags in our tents – the accommodation might be simple and in the middle of nowhere but it still has a five star sensibility. As do the tents themselves. The tent is huge.
It fits the beds, bedside tables, a desk and chair, a wardrobe. There's a bathroom at the back with sink and mirror, a flushing toilet and a shower. We are later told that, as water is scarce, we are only allowed six minute showers, the hot water coming from what is basically a bucket outside, filled by the Maasai staff on request, with a pipe that comes through to the shower. Anna, who has long blonde hair that she spends hours styling each day, looks worried. She looks even more worried when she realises that there is only a curtain between the bedroom and bathroom and we will hear each other going to the toilet. It's amazing how quickly we get used to this, although having lived together for two years previously might have helped.
We hear other weird noises, what must be bird noises. Although they sound nothing like any bird in Britain. The noises remind me of the scenes in Star Wars where Luke Skywalker is on Dagobah being trained by Yoda.Beside the main tent, set back behind it, was a little ramshackle hut, not much taller than myself, made of wood. We peered inside between the branches that formed the walls and saw an array of souvenirs – the colourful Maasai jewellery, the short Maasai swords, shields made of cowhide. Two Maasai came over and let us in, keen to sell us something. I didn't like any of the jewellery, and wasn't sure if any of my female friends would. Anna began to pick out some stuff for her friends while I looked at the swords. They were pretty cool but there was no chance of me getting one home. Anna bought some stuff. I was relieved as it meant I didn't have to. As much as I didn't like it, there was part me thinking I should buy something, help these people out. I resolved to tip them a bit more instead.
We were introduced to Wilson, a Maasai warrior, and his friends, who also had Western names. I later found out Wilson's real name was Ole Kasaine, but, like most of the Maasai who came into contact with us lazy Westerners, he had taken on a name we could get our tongues round. Wilson was to be our guide on a bush walk to a traditional Maasai village. This was both exciting and nerve-wracking. What a culture shock this was going to be.
Wilson spoke good English. He had been away to university in Nairobi where he had studied on a tourism course and gained a diploma. Now he had come back to his tribe to put his education to good use for them. As we walked along with Wilson, we learned that the Maasai were embracing the slow impingement of Western culture on African tribes by taking from it what they could and putting it to use for their own benefit. One example of this was the many Maasai that worked in tourism as guides on safaris, bringing the money they made back to the family. It was when Maasai people went off to the big cities to get an education and make their own way through life that elder Maasai would become angry, and they would find themselves unwelcome if they ever returned to their families.
The Maasai warriors we walked with had spent some time away from the tribe making the move from childhood to manhood as they learned how to hunt and how to fight. They showed us how they throw spears, each of them hitting a tree trunk with precision aim. Wilson asked if I wanted a go. I jumped at the chance and immediately made a fool of myself. While theirs arched through the air, landing in the trunk with a thud, mine just flew through the air in exactly the same position, crashing into the tree and landing on the floor. I had a few more goes - it was fun more than anything – before conceding that I was never going to be entering the Olympics throwing javelin.
We arrived at the Maasai settlement, where we were greeted by a song from the women. It was touching but a little harsh on my Western ears.
We were introduced to the chief, who would guide us around the settlement. He pointed out the set up, how the animals were kept in a pen in the middle of the camp, and surrounded by the huts.
He couldn't stop staring at my t-shirt. I'd noticed this with Wilson as well, and the other Maasai. While the rest of my clothes were plain, I was wearing a brown t-shirt which had an Emily Strange cartoon on the front. It was black and white and fluorescent green and obviously fascinated the Maasai, but none of them asked me about it. It made me feel slightly uncomfortable – had I done something wrong in wearing it? I ignored it and tried to take in what the chief was saying.
He showed us a backgammon-style game that they played to pass the time.
And he got one of the tribesmen to show us how they made fire from cow dung and two bits of wood. One had a pointed end and the other had grooves into which the pointed stick fitted. He placed the two bits of wood near the dung and proceeded to spin the pointed stick between his hands. In a moment there was smoke coming from the grooved bit of wood and quickly the dung caught alight. He continued for some time, blowing on the smoking dung until the fire was lit completely. It was impressive and looked much easier than it probably was.
The chief took us to another side of the camp where a woman was sat by a fire and shoving a hot stick into some gourds. He explained she was cleaning them with the heat. They were used to store milk in, and cattle blood – both part of the staple diet of the Maasai. 
We moved on again, and he took us to one of the huts. We stood outside as he explained that it was the women's job to build the huts and, as I said before, they took about two weeks. We had to duck down to go inside – these are short people, none much taller than me. In fact, the word warrior did seem a little incongruous just looking at these thin, wiry men in their coloured shawls, but it's only as you learn about them – their lifestyle and history, the many battles they have gone through over the generations – that you see it's a very apt word.We followed the chief inside the hut and as our eyes got accustomed to the dark (a little light came through a small hole in the roof that allowed the smoke from a small fire situated in the middle to escape) we saw it was much more sophisticated than you might expect. We had to walk down a small corridor to get to the middle room, which was between the man's room and the woman's room. For reasons not established they slept separately. In fact much of the time the men and women were separate, each having their own sections of the camp.
We left the hut and made our way back to where we'd arrived. This time the men put on a performance for us – a traditional Maasai dance were they would jump as high as they could from standing position (to show how agile and strong they were), coming down with a loud thump in rhythm to the song their friends were singing.
We thanked the chief and shook hands with as many of the Maasai as we could, patting the children on the head (this was the norm apparently). Wilson and his friends walked us back, pointing out the various plants that the Maasai used in their everyday lives, and showing me the tiny bugs that made the weird, perfectly circular, holes in the dirt.
Back at the camp we met the first of many just married couples we were going to meet during the week. Kenya seems to be a favourite destination for honeymooners, though ones who have a taste for adventure, rather than a taste for romance. The less than private bathroom would soon kill any romance.
Ed and Jessica had been out on safari all day and were now joining us for a 'sundowner' – a trip out to a remote part of the bush to watch the sun go down. They enthusiastically told us about how they had woken up that morning to see a giraffe outside their tent, feeding on the trees above them, and about all the animals they'd seen that day. I began to get excited about our own safari.
Sundowners are a nice way to end the day. After a full day's safari it becomes less about looking at the beautiful but desolate landscape that stretches for miles in every direction, and more about cracking open a beer. But our first evening we'd yet to get accustomed to the surroundings and it was nice to get our first taste of these seemingly unending stretches of grass, occasionally punctuated by the odd tree or bush. We didn't have much luck with our sundowners, the cloud often hiding the sun's departure, but on our first night we did get to see the top of Mount Kilimanjaro (the tallest free-standing mountain in the world which is situated in the neighbouring country Tanzania) peeking over the top of the clouds – it's that big.
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