When I was a little girl I spent a lot of my younger years in Africa. By this time all the animals I'd read about in books had long since vanished from Senegal because of hunting and modernisation, but it didn't keep me from dreaming about going on safari.
At the time, my nannie, who was of Kikuyu decent proposed to my father than I join her for a vacation in her native Kenya. It took a lot of begging and pouting, but finally my father agreed and I was to have the safari I had always dreamed about. My father borrowed an old Land Rover from one of our neighbors and packed enough gear for three safaris, or at least it looked rather excessive to me at the age of 7.
What countries we crossed have long escaped my memory although I still remember Mali, Nigeria, and crossing through the uppermost part of what was then Zaire on our way to Nairobi. There was trouble in Africa during the 80's and we had a serious scare along the trip, but eventually arrived to Nairobi shaken but unharmed.
I dreamed I saw a lion climbing on an Africa brush tree and told my father we would see one. The trip took several weeks and we were almost near the end. The animal we mostly had to deal with were baboons who are quite terrifying despite their funny red bottoms. Near the very end of our journey my dream came true. I saw the lioness first and then a glimpse of mane caught my eye in some brush. A moment later out come Monsieur Leo in all of his regal glory.
After that I forgot most of the time I actually spent in Nairobi except for the traditional songs of the Kikuyu and how hospitable they were towards me. I got the feeling they simply loved children. I had brought gifts with me of wax fabrics and rice and bracelets I had made from string, but what they really wanted were my sneakers, my t-shirts, and my cassettes and Walk-man. I left all of these behind when we left (this time by plane as to avoid any other incidents) and am convinced to this day that I singlehandedly brought Madonna and George Michael to Kenya, though I suppose this is hardly true.
If I had known then that Nairobi had been the place where one of my favorite authors had lived a grand part of her life, I might have asked my father to bring me to see where she had lived at the foot of the Ngong Hills, but at the time I didn't know anything about Isak Dinesen or Karen Blixen or her amazing books.
I was 12 years old when I first discovered Karen Blixen through the film Out of Africa based on a book of the same name and part of another one of Dinesen's books Shadows on the Grass. I cried my eyes out at the end not only because of the hardships of her life and the loss of her great love Denys Finchatten, but also for the loss of an Africa that no longer existed. I immediately went to the library and checked out as many books as I could written by Isak Dinesen and it was the first time I found myself as interested in the writing as I was in the life of the author.
It's silly to say it, but as I prepare for my adventure in this new stage of my life, I cannot help but to recall her words. She was a courageous woman. Flawed but courageous to the point that even macho Hemingway admired her and her work. I am not crossing Africa, but I have left behind a part my life and I divide my life between two cities. Like Ms. Blixen I would like to find that place which resonates with me so deeply that I may someday write similar words such as these:
If I know a song of Africa
-of the Giraffe, and the African new moon lying on her back,
of the ploughs in the fields, and the sweaty faces of the coffee-pickers,
does Africa know a song of me?
Would the air over the plain quiver with a colour that I had on,
or the children invent a game in which my name was,
or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me,
or would the eagles of Ngong look out for me?
I don't have a coffee farm or the Ngong Hills as my backyard but like Karen I brought my modern conveniences - my crystal, my furniture, my dog (she had a Scottish deerhound) even a cuckoo clock bought while on a trip in the Schwartenvald (Black Forest) where Karen bought her own cuckoo clock that amazed the Kikuyu that lived and worked on her farm, and made a home. Instead of trying to cultivate something from the soil I will try to unearth my words and find my voice. I have never lacked courage, no matter what was in front of me because I believe as Karen said,
Good thing I love a good adventure!
Further reading:
Out of Africa
Shadows on the Grass
Seven Gothic Tales,
Ehrengard
Anecdotes of Destiny
Letters from Africa
At the time, my nannie, who was of Kikuyu decent proposed to my father than I join her for a vacation in her native Kenya. It took a lot of begging and pouting, but finally my father agreed and I was to have the safari I had always dreamed about. My father borrowed an old Land Rover from one of our neighbors and packed enough gear for three safaris, or at least it looked rather excessive to me at the age of 7.
What countries we crossed have long escaped my memory although I still remember Mali, Nigeria, and crossing through the uppermost part of what was then Zaire on our way to Nairobi. There was trouble in Africa during the 80's and we had a serious scare along the trip, but eventually arrived to Nairobi shaken but unharmed.
I dreamed I saw a lion climbing on an Africa brush tree and told my father we would see one. The trip took several weeks and we were almost near the end. The animal we mostly had to deal with were baboons who are quite terrifying despite their funny red bottoms. Near the very end of our journey my dream came true. I saw the lioness first and then a glimpse of mane caught my eye in some brush. A moment later out come Monsieur Leo in all of his regal glory.
After that I forgot most of the time I actually spent in Nairobi except for the traditional songs of the Kikuyu and how hospitable they were towards me. I got the feeling they simply loved children. I had brought gifts with me of wax fabrics and rice and bracelets I had made from string, but what they really wanted were my sneakers, my t-shirts, and my cassettes and Walk-man. I left all of these behind when we left (this time by plane as to avoid any other incidents) and am convinced to this day that I singlehandedly brought Madonna and George Michael to Kenya, though I suppose this is hardly true.
If I had known then that Nairobi had been the place where one of my favorite authors had lived a grand part of her life, I might have asked my father to bring me to see where she had lived at the foot of the Ngong Hills, but at the time I didn't know anything about Isak Dinesen or Karen Blixen or her amazing books.
I was 12 years old when I first discovered Karen Blixen through the film Out of Africa based on a book of the same name and part of another one of Dinesen's books Shadows on the Grass. I cried my eyes out at the end not only because of the hardships of her life and the loss of her great love Denys Finchatten, but also for the loss of an Africa that no longer existed. I immediately went to the library and checked out as many books as I could written by Isak Dinesen and it was the first time I found myself as interested in the writing as I was in the life of the author.
It's silly to say it, but as I prepare for my adventure in this new stage of my life, I cannot help but to recall her words. She was a courageous woman. Flawed but courageous to the point that even macho Hemingway admired her and her work. I am not crossing Africa, but I have left behind a part my life and I divide my life between two cities. Like Ms. Blixen I would like to find that place which resonates with me so deeply that I may someday write similar words such as these:
If I know a song of Africa
-of the Giraffe, and the African new moon lying on her back,
of the ploughs in the fields, and the sweaty faces of the coffee-pickers,
does Africa know a song of me?
Would the air over the plain quiver with a colour that I had on,
or the children invent a game in which my name was,
or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me,
or would the eagles of Ngong look out for me?
I don't have a coffee farm or the Ngong Hills as my backyard but like Karen I brought my modern conveniences - my crystal, my furniture, my dog (she had a Scottish deerhound) even a cuckoo clock bought while on a trip in the Schwartenvald (Black Forest) where Karen bought her own cuckoo clock that amazed the Kikuyu that lived and worked on her farm, and made a home. Instead of trying to cultivate something from the soil I will try to unearth my words and find my voice. I have never lacked courage, no matter what was in front of me because I believe as Karen said,
"God made the earth round so that we would never be able to see too far down the road".
A picture of Karen Blixen's study with Masai warrior weapons and shield
on the wall, her desk, and her collection of books.
I hope to have a space like this one day.
As a child I looked at the horizon with great curiosity and impatience to know what was just beyond it and even now, older and wiser, I still see the horizon with the same eyes and feel the same impatience despite knowing that the horizon is unreachable because it is the journey that is the adventure.
Good thing I love a good adventure!
Further reading:
Out of Africa
Shadows on the Grass
Seven Gothic Tales,
Ehrengard
Anecdotes of Destiny
Letters from Africa
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