Benita, Sher-Ping and I were the only people staying at the Zigi Rest House at Amani. It is offseason due to the rain, but we woke up to a beautiful day and headed up the mountain. All along the way we ran into people, always exchanging 'Jambo!' or 'Habari!' whether they were also walking, in trucks heading up, or on pikipikis (motorcycles). Watching a family of 4 share a motorcycle on a very bumpy mountain road was quite amazing. And, always, we were greeted by smiles. People on motorcycles coming downhill coasted the whole way.
As we ascended and the morning wore on it got hotter and we took it slower. We were heading to Amani Rest House. The sun was out, and the views of the mountains, the sounds of rushing streams and the mountainside villages, the flowers and amazing dense palms, beautiful white tree trunks set against a sea of deep green jungle. across the valleys all made for a spectacular day. Up the switchbacks, one after another, thoroughly appreciating the occasional cooling breeze.
At the top, we found an array of buildings and villages, a Catholic and an Anglican church, a malaria research station, and best of all, a small shop in Amani village where we each got a wonderful orange Fanta, enjoying the cool liquid sweetness. That says a lot coming from a non-soda drinker. At the store, there were boys carrying large buckets full of items atop their heads. The views of the surrounding mountains, the valleys, the villages tucked into the forest, and the people, the smiles, the greetings, the colors of their clothing, was simultaneously exotic and comforting. Unlike being in the big city, there was no sense of needing to be 'on guard.' That opened up more possibilities for interacting with and meeting people. Kids enjoyed having me take their photo and then looking at themselves on the screen. At the same time, I was also very conscious of not being too intrusive with the camera.
As we walked through the forest following trails through lush foliage that made it almost dark in the sun, sometimes including rock hops across mountain streams and bright orange clay trails damp/muddy/slippery due to the daily afternoon rain (with recent imprints of bare feet), nearly every trail led to a hidden village of mud huts and thatched roofs, surrounded by banana trees. We often came across kids playing. On one occasion as we made our way down a steep hill through thick bamboo, we found ourselves at a rough plank bridge crossing a rushing mountain stream and connecting to another thatch-roofed village. We met a man at the stream who offered to show us a powerhouse and waterfall. We followed him through the bamboo, to an old powerhouse, he held the door open to show us the equipment in the interior. He showed the equipment very proudly, the sluice gate, the turbine, showing me the "London 1928" date on the decrepit equipment. It clearly hadn't been used in many years. In the corner was a place to sleep. It was also his home.
He then took us further up the hill along the stream to the middle of the waterfall, where helped each of us through the thick brush and across the slippery rocks. The most lovely part of this was that it was very clear that he was showing us the waterfall because he loved the place. He asked us (in Kiswahili) to remove our shoes and showed us where to walk so that we would be less likely to slip and fall. The waterfall was beautiful, and we never would have been able to go there without his assistance. It was a truly lovely experience.
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