On God’s Turf

I really, really wanted to climb to the top of Mt. Sinai not just to know what it’s like from the top, or to breathe in the fresh mountain air - and get some much needed exercise - but I had a personal reason for making the trek; no, I actually had two reasons. My primary motivation was to carry out a tribute to a friend with whom I had lost contact with after my divorce. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a second chance to say goodbye and her passing 10 years after our last hug has had a more profound effect on me that I would have imagined. I still cry thinking of her.

We had lost touch years ago and family allegiances being what they are, I let go of far too many relationships that should have been nurtured. No one was choosing sides but me; at the time for some reason I felt that I had to. I met Diane through David’s Mother, so she was his half of the settlement and my loss. How wrong I was.

I had the privilege of working with Diane, so I got to see her often. She was a radiant beam of light during a rather dark period of my life. She touched me deeply. Diane was the kind of person whom exuded love; you could feel her goodness. She was good in the everyday kind of way that makes someone really, really beautiful. Radiantly beautiful. When you spoke to her, she heard you, I mean HEARD as in she completely took it all in and truly listened.  Losing someone who has touched you so dearly without so much as a good bye is not good. So I was hiking up to say goodbye to my cherished friend.

The second reason was personal. I wanted to have a chat with God. I know that I could do that from anywhere, but I wanted an occasion to really get down to the gristle. And since Sinai is kind of God’s turf, it was a pleasure to come to Him for a change. I had a couple of prayers to deliver, but mostly I just wanted to talk about my loved ones. This has been a tough year for my Nana. She isn’t doing so well and I wanted to make sure that he knows just how special she is and to be extra protective of her always…but if he doesn’t mind preserving her here in this life long enough so that I could make it back home to her, I would be extra grateful. I want to feel her sweet face and kiss her just one more time. But of course I am ok with him wanting the same, but you know, if he could spare her, I would appreciate it. Of course in a place as magical as this you can’t help but feel anything but gratitude so asking for anything seems a bit out of place. But asking God for anything usually seems out of place to me, so we just sat with one another for a while. I cried, but I always cry when I feel this deeply.

It was, how can I say it...

Heavenly.

I could have stayed up there for days holed up in that tiny little church, but our Africa trip is coming to an end. From here we have 2 days in Alex to get our car cleaned, sorted and unloaded. We need to fill out the paperwork for its boat trip to South Africa (which could be a big, big deal…most business transactions in Egypt are) and one day to get ourselves to Cairo for our flight home. Wow, we are really coming HOME!

In just a few days I’ll really be kissing your cheeks! Well, many of your cheeks.

My love,

Corrin

PS: While I’m doped out on gratitude I want to thank you all for joining us on our adventure. The letters and comments from home have kept us going and made the pain of slow internet connections totally worthwhile. Thank you for cheering us on. We loved every single word. And for those of you worried about our life after Africa, don’t. Our life is more or less always this exciting, I just don’t blog about it. There are fewer lions (we have Mountain Lions) in Oregon, but there are bears.

For more photos from Mt. Sinai click here. 

Inside of Ancient

Spending time inside the oldest (and most intact) Wonder of the Ancient World is a trip. Especially when accompanied by a group of energy seekers chanting up a storm in peaceful defiance of the raging pinstriped Egyptian dude who apparently thought that all of the chanting hippies needed to go, us included. There were no time limits that we knew of, you have to pay extra for the privilege of entry and only 300 lucky guests are able to enter on any given day. But Mr. Pinstripe wanted us out. Of course a madman shouting in Arabic wasn’t a focus for any of us inside the ancient tomb, but I did look on with more than a healthy amount of curiosity as his ranting reverberated throughout the tomb. I wanted to see what the chanters were going to do, how Mr. Noisy was going to conclude his rousting and what, if any, success the young local men would have diffusing his fire.

The acoustics deep inside of the pyramids are incredible. Upon entry we could feel the oms vibrating throughout the cavern. I slid down against one of the walls, closed my eyes and took it all in. It was perfect...until Noisy Pants came in. After watching the ruckus for 10 minutes or so I decided to shift my attention to the grumpy man. I focused my love straight at him. A few minutes later I opened my eyes and caught his glance. I smiled a calming, it's ok smile. Surprisingly, he settled down for a minute, stared back and a tiny crease appeared on his cheek and he let loose a hint of a smile. Ah, it was working, I closed my eyes and kept my attention on him. He took my look as an opportunity to try and evict me since he wasn’t getting anywhere with the spirit seekers, but I ignored his effort.

After a while we got up to leave and Mr. Slight-Smile decided to cheerfully be our personal guide through the tunnels and corridors of the pyramid. He graciously took our hands, guiding us through the narrow spots, showed us a secret tunnel and even relieved Glenn of his burden of carrying an empty water bottle by chucking it down a deep shaft inside the pyramid. Gulp. We would have gladly carried it out and placed it in the trash, but it will forever live somewhere within Khufu‘s tomb. When our tour was over he even allowed us back inside with our cameras for a photo. Wow, the power of a little love.

The next time someone is going a little crazy send them love and see what happens.

We did tell the guards outside that there was a pinstriped madman loose in the pyramids. This guy they asked holding up his arm like a prize fighter. That’s the one I said. No, no, they retorted. He is a good man. Maybe it was just a simple language barrier. The Egyptians do communicate with a distinct mix of verve and urgency at a notch just below a shout. A little unsettling even for noisy Americans like us. 

We never did see the hippies emerge.

Sending you love,

CP

For our photos and a hilarious sequence of Glenn getting manhandled onto a camel named Michael Jackson click here. 

All Aboard

Despite the horrors recounted by other travelers the 18 hour ferry ride from Sudan into Egypt was relatively mundane and almost pleasant. It was the bureaucracy that was painful. For some reason the only way you can cross from Sudan into Egypt is by sailing up Lake Nasser to the port town of Aswan. There are roads crossing between the two countries, but no border posts. Everyone and everything must go by barge. Crazy? Beyond crazy. And the kicker is that you cannot travel on the same barge as your car (and are usually forced to relinquish your keys). And…the ferry only leaves once a week! So in order to get to Egypt from Sudan you need to arrive in Wadi Halfa Sunday or Monday (to load your car, apparently the car ferry takes 3-4 days). You’ve no other options than to hang out in the dusty border town until Wednesday when you check in at the ferry terminal at 11:00 am for a ship that finally sets sail around 6:30 pm; the next 18 hours are spent sailing up the Nile. If you’re lucky (and we were) you car will be waiting for you at Aswan. If you’re not so lucky you get to wait in Aswan until it does. We’ve heard some grizzly accounts of travelers stuck in Aswan wondering where there car is…for days on end.

We docked around 9:00 am. By the time we cleared customs with the necessary paperwork stamped and filed, the standard Egyptian slimeball ‘tax’ extracted and doled out to the various ‘officials’ and ‘helpers’ it was 4:00 pm Thursday afternoon: a 4 day border crossing, our longest yet.

But we’re here and loving it so far.

My love,

Corrin

PS: If you’re en route to Egypt via Wadi Halfa and come across an Egyptian ‘fixer’ named Kamel beware. 

On Being Canadian, I Mean American

Just today I was standing outside of a café waiting for Glenn to clear emigration and load the truck onto the ferry for its 3 day journey up the Nile into Egypt. As I was sitting on a dusty concrete porch - watching a kid chase after a tottering wheel with a lead stick - a large robed Nubian man approached; in perfect English he welcomed me to Sudan and asked my name. During the course of our conversation Qutpi asked where I was from. I told him The United States, a truth reserved for officials but generally withheld from passers-by. His lips betrayed his narrowing eyes, a wry smile spread out across his face; he asked, “aren’t you afraid to be here?” “No,” I replied playfully. “Should I be?” I asked raising an exaggerated eyebrow to mirror his mockery with my own. We laughed at the absurdity of policy and he went on to tell me of his family living all around the United States and welcomed me to Sudan with a warm handshake.

Fear is a weapon that divides, a concept known all too well by people throughout the world. Sometimes it is dressed in a cloak of culture and other times faith, it is the classic us against them mentality. It usually boils down to unfamiliarity, all too often we fear the unknown. This Nubian man understood such divisors, and felt propelled to thank us for coming to Sudan. He asked me to write home and share our experiences of what it really feels like to be here. He understood that something as simple as a familiar face is often times enough to turn an adversary into a friend.

I must admit that the media machine helps perpetuate these imagined divisions between people. My first day in Sudan I was walking through the souk (market) sussing out the various array of Sudanese produce, taking stock of the new ingredients on offer. As I traversed the alleyways tasting and sniffing my way through I was welcomed to Sudan no less than a dozen times. The question that follows is: ‘where are you from?’ Up until now we’ve been pretty stoked to be American since Obama is nothing short of a demi-God in Africa. But Sudan is another story and one not so easily bridged by skin color or bought with food aid.

So are we afraid? We claim Canadian citizenship to the casual asker, so yes, in a sense we are. But I do feel more than a twinge of remorse lying to these beautiful people who simply ask out of curiosity. I am torn between portraying the truth and extending another face of America to a population as unfamiliar with us as we are to them. So why the lie? Good question. Of all the countries we been through this past year we’ve yet to feel as safe as we do here in Sudan. Glenn says that it is a safe bet, everyone like Canadians, but I think there is something else, a reason that isn’t as easily explained. Perhaps it is out of fear, but the answer isn’t one that I can put my finger on.

My conversation with the Nubian man changed my perception of the banality of that lie. I am withholding information that might break down that fear by replacing it with a human face; every day I have the opportunity to be the familiar face of America. Come to think of it, we traveled under Bush for 8 years, talk about hated, so what is the big deal? Is it because the Sudanese are Muslims and we’ve been told that Muslims are ‘bad’? How much of the fear mongering has actually taken hold? I don’t know.

From here on out we will claim our rightful nationality. Not everyone likes Americans, so what better reason to be American? We might be the only Americans presently in northern Sudan, so we’ll do our best to represent y’all.

My love,

Corrin

Thank you Qutpi…

Our photos around Sudan can be accessed here and here. 

Getting Closer to God

Islam is grossly misunderstood in the west. In The United States where freedom of religion is one of the cornerstones of our country – not to mention one of the freedoms many of us cherish the most - one gets a sense that those religious freedoms were not intended for Islam. Besides, Muslims are different from us. Their God is named Allah*, very unlike our God. Sometimes I wonder if freedom of religion actually means freedom to choose your preferred version of Christianity.

Sudan is 70% Muslim with most of its adherents Sunni, so it is best to know a thing or two about Islamic culture if you’re going to be out and about. I have more than a slight aversion to the term ‘culturally competent**’, but I try my best to keep any major guffaws to a minimum. Besides, Sudan does not have a friendly relationship with the USA, our government’s long history of foreign policy precedes this little micro adventure of ours and we’ve certainly felt the effects. As diplomatic as Glenn is, he hasn’t been able to iron out the wrinkles we’ve created in this part of the world, yet.

Without getting too off course on policy issues there is a breakfast dish here called Bush. It is a thin gruel of bean water; no beans, they were too precious after Bush cut relief to Sudan in response to Sudan’s backing of Saddam Hussein in the first Gulf war, just bean water and a slab of onion, which pretty much sums it all up. And financially Sudan is cut off from the world: no visa, not ATM’s that are not Sudanese owned, so our credit/debit cards no workie here in Sudan. Just two little strangle holds the western world imposes when you choose not to play ‘their’ game. Ok, back to Islam.

So when we heard about Omdurman’s Sufi dervishes we had to check it out. How many of you hear whirling dervish and conger up an image of the Warner Brother’s Tasmanian devil spinning up a dust cloud? Surely I am not the only one. As famous as the dervishes are, I didn’t know a thing about them - apart from my comic imagination - until we joined them one night in a ritualized chant of la illaha illallah (there is but one God).

Sufi’s are a separate order of Islam who abide by the sharia (Islamic law prescribed in the Koran) but they differ from Orthodox Muslims in their belief that the path to Allah is through more mystical means, like trance and meditation, not ritualized prayer. Sufis often garner skepticism from mainstream Muslims but their long and varied history in Sudan is a testament to the relaxed traditions of Sudanese Islam. And you would be hard pressed to encounter a population of people more welcoming and gracious than the Sudanese.

On Friday Glenn and I hopped in a cab and headed out for a night of chanting, whirling and spectating as the dervishes shortened the gap between them and God. Here are our photos of the weekly ritual. And despite being a woman wedged in between all of the men I was singled out by a beautiful Sufi chant leader who took it on himself to lead me in my own personal path to God. There was an indescribable tangible quality to the evening and I could almost grab hold of the love that radiated out from the dancers. For one night we were all Sufi and love ruled.

The rest of the photos are here.

Sending my love to you,

Corrin

*Allah is God in Arabic.

**Do you actually think that one can become culturally competent in a culture that is not your own? Think about it.

 Is it possible to bone up on another culture in say a few weeks? a few months? I don’t think so. Cultures are so rich and diverse because you grew up learning all of the intricacies over a lifetime. They can’t be explained away in a book of etiquette.  So you see the rub. You can certainly become sensitive to other cultures extending a basic knowledge as an offering of respect, but to become competent without living in an environment seems like a nice way for westerners to strive to ‘understand’.

Legend Has It

If you’re Ethiopian you most likely believe that: the Nile River originates in Ethiopia (the White Nile actually originates in Lake Victoria running through Uganda and Kenya first), that Mt. Kilimanjaro is in Kenya (it is in Tanzania) and that Moses’ stone tablets inscribed with God's law rest in a church somewhere in Axum, a little town in northern Ethiopia not far from the Eritrean border (check out Gram Hancock’s The Sign and the Seal if you interested in the plausibility of this claim). Ethiopian's also abide by the belief that if you want to hide something, you make many, many replicas of it and guard them fervently. So word on the street is that the true Ark of the Covenant lives somewhere in the Tsion Maryam Church, guarded around the clock by a monk who has devoted his life to keep the ark safe through constant prayer. It is believed that if the monk were to falter in his devotion, the ark would come under threat. He is the only person alive who has seen the Ark. 

We rolled into Axum 2 days before Timkat, the celebration and reenactment of the Ark’s arrival in Axum. Cool. We were told that one of the replicas would be carried through town toward the old reservoir known as Queen of Sheba’s Bath where it would spend the night before returning to Tsion Maryam Church. The precession of pilgrims and townspeople, priests and deacons, camera wielding tourists and the Chinese video crew was quite a sight.

Later that evening we met up with our Israeli friends and word on the street is that the Israelis want it back. So we told them where we last saw the Ark and they headed that way. It is Ethiopia and it would be totally possible for them to have (at some point) mistaken the fake ark for the real one, so who knows. When we picked up the Israelis the next day, their packs were quite heavy. We tossed them into the back of the car and headed south to visit the churches of Tigray together. We didn’t say anything about weight of their packs and they kept quiet about their evening escapades. It seemed like an auspicious start to our adventure into Tigray.

As a country Ethiopia is steeped in myth and Ethiopians are fantastic story tellers. For any given question you can always expect an answer, rarely will it be the same answer and it is not uncommon for the same person to give you different answers on different days; answers can often vary wildly, and when asking about dates, responses can vary by a thousand years or more! The cool part is that no one really knows how old most of the churches actually are. Some sources will date a particular church to the 4^th century, while others believe it represents 12^th century architecture; complicated by renovations, additions and the inclusion of plaster and frescos at random many of these churches have continued to evolve throughout time as an amalgam of periods rather than belonging to just one era. 

There are over 350 known rock-hewn and cave built churches throughout Ethiopia, many of them over 1,000 years old, and nearly all of them are still in use today. So a 6^th century church that has been used throughout the decades as a sacred place of worship is bound to come across a designer or two who just can’t help but dood it up a bit. This is Africa and African's love bling. A few of the churches are believed to have been built before Christ as pagan temples, later converted into Christian churches. If you’re a historian the ambiguity might drive you nuts, if you’re Ethiopian your certainty is fact, if you’re a curious observer the mystery only adds to the mystique.

For photos of Axum and Timkat click here. 

For photos of the Tigrian Chruches and our escapades with the Israelis click here. 

Sending love out to you,

Corrin

En Route to Ethiopia

The road leading from Nairobi, Kenya to Moyale, Ethiopia is legendary. In a bad way. For starters it cuts through a rather lawless and sparsely populated swath of semi arid desert. It is potholed, rutted, washed out and pretty much one of the worst stretches of road yet. We have encountered some truly awful stretches where we have had to rely solely on our GPS, turning a little to the right or left when we appear to be veering off course, but this bit of ‘interstate’ stretches on for nearly three brain rattling, mind numbing days. Not only were there human casualties, there were long stretches of tension where one or both of us were totally ‘over it,’ but the car succumbed to the endless rattling as well; we broke both welds connecting our high-lift jack to our bumper, rattled numerous bolts loose, vibrated the caps off of jars and other kitchen casualties, but the real finally was an electrical short that was a miracle shy of catastrophic [read: car fire].

Fortunately I had just given George, our night guard, three books to read; the same three books that had been pressed against the now meted cable that connected our solar panels to our battery. Thank you George, you just might have been an instrumental part of our little miracle. 

Glenn, following the noxious cloud of smoke, quickly sorted out the issue, clipped all of the offending wires and within minutes we were happily bumping down the road windows open breathing in dust and the smell of burnt plastic. Of course, we faced some serious repairs as soon as we reached Moyale, but given the alternate outcome, we were happier spending a day or two tracking down wire, fuses and any other necessary tidbits than we would have been replacing melted plastic Toyota parts.

Onto Ethiopia.

XoXo,

C

For photos of the road to Ethiopia click here. 



Wearing the beautiful shuga George
 gave me as a parting gift from Kenya.



.

Feeling the LOVE

I am prone to brood on occasion and yesterday I had given in without so much as an iota of resistance, I was just circling the drain. No, nothing happened per se, but I could not seem to shake feeling lonely and disconnected. Just then I received an email from my friend Michelle. She was saying that sometimes you get bogged down by the little things. What you need  in such a situation is someone with whom you can really chew through an issue with to get down to the gristle of the matter. She is spot on. I have been missing my girlfriends terribly and it was starting to get to me. You know how guys tend to offer up simplified remedies that seem like a logical ‘fix’ but they rarely allow you to ‘get to the gristle.’ I was feeling a bit depleted. I miss my ladies and nothing recharges my batteries like a good dose of girl time. Glenn is a lot of things to me, but he isn’t a girlfriend.

So this morning I woke early enough to give myself a good talking to before Glenn got up. New day, new attitude, was my mantra. I walked down to the lake where I had intermittent cell service, opened up Facebook and the first message on my home page was from Charles Draghi. It read:

Four weary, cold, hungry travelers spent over three hours driving to our restaurant from Maine this evening. We're closed for business on Monday nights. But I turned on the ovens, fired up some pans, and gave them four courses of Christmas cheer. I had more fun tonight than I have in some time. Man, I love what we do!Top of Form

Now talk about generosity of heart, Chuck, is the chef owner of one of my favorite restaurants. To those of you traveling through Boston, check out Erbaluce near the theatre district; I can guarantee it will be one of the tastiest meals you’ll ever eat. Chuck, you made my morning. I am honored to call you a friend.

Then, I opened my email and read a letter from Jessica, my sister-in-law (I really don’t like that term, it sounds so stiff. She is more like a sister so that is how I think of her).  Jess graciously went above and beyond helping us get Christmas presents out to our nephews on time. I am indebted.  

And if that wasn’t enough heart-warming generosity for one morning, my other sister, Darcy (same sentiment as above, different sister), calls her sister in DC to help procure our visas which have been collecting dust on the desk of an overworked and under enthusiastic agent in the Ethiopian Embassy for a week now (despite their next day turn around claim), rendering us stationary and waiting it out in Kenya for an extra couple of weeks.  Her sister in Washington made a couple calls and within minutes, we were receiving emails from DC saying that a guy is heading over to the Ethiopian Embassy (thank you O. H.) to “see what he can do.” It is a little nerve wracking to post your passports half way around the world with 4+ countries left on your itinerary, so you can imagine our relief when we learned that not only had the visas been acquired, but our passports were being posted directly from Washington DC back to us in Nairobi! B. M. S. you are the best; we are indebted to you. Thank you for helping us out, your generosity is so appreciated. Three cheers for you and your DC team! You’ve been instrumental in our continuing north and we can’t thank you enough.

So here you have it, just when I was beginning to wallow around in sadness, generosity, love and kindness dried up the muddy bog in my head.

These three examples are just a fraction of the love that has helped sustain us on our long journey. There are so many of you who have joyfully taken up the responsibilities we left behind. Michelle and Trent, I can hardly wait to see your beautiful, shining faces and soak in your love. Thank you for taking care of our house and running our cars, and charging batteries and everything else… and Trent, thank you so much for fixing the dishwasher. Holy smokes, what a blessing you have been and we haven’t even met yet. You love one of the most incredible women I know, for that I already love you and I so look forward to the day I get to thank you in person.  Jeff and Lisa, thank you for sorting through the endless supply of campaign fliers and junk mail, turning off the water so our pipes don’t freeze and jumping to our rescue at a moment’s notice.  Wow. You’re always there to help, we so appreciate you.

My girlfriend Mendy is responsible for keeping my garden alive, paying the bills I forgot about (oops) and keeping me abreast with pictures of the kiddos and updates from home. Your emails are always cherished. Thank you for blurring the distance between us. And to my dear childhood friend Jenny, you’ve been my recharge for months now. I would have never imagined reconnecting after almost 28 years, in Africa no less, but we did. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your letters, they were much needed. I can’t wait to hug your neck, slug down those bottles we’ve been writing about and meet your darling family. You are a delight.

Denise, my chicken savior, not only cared lovingly for my lady-birds - driving across town to do so - but moved them into a newly built Coop Mahal at her house and shepherded a new batch of chicks to boot! Under your watchful eye I have not worried about them one bit, thank you. Wow. I only hope to be able to repay you  with a regular supply of homemade bagels, preserves and weed pulling, because I know you are going to have you hands full come summer. I can't wait to see your farm. 

Aleeta and Dayl you are the best chicken rustlers I know…sorry about the poison oak.

Jessica, thank you for relaying all of my emails to Nana and Granddad. My Nana hasn’t been feeling well so knowing that my Granddad, Mom, niece Maria and Jess are stopping by and helping out while I am away has been such a comfort. Thank you all for your love and updates from home.

I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface when it comes to expressing our gratitude for the love and kindness that we’ve received while here in Africa. Toni and Lee, you guys warmed our hearts, setting the tone for the rest of our trip, thank you. We love you and hope that we’ll be reunited one of these days. Megan, Ryan, Nicholas, Molly, Vince, Wayne, Jennifer, Russell, Georges, Chris, Lyn, Stan, The Frenchies, Craig, Nelson, Sophia, Greer we are so glad to have met each one of you. Not to mention the countless Africans from South Africa on up through Kenya, who have made us laugh, think and question our way of being in this world. You have had a tremendous impact on us, changing how we’ve approached this beautiful continent and I can’t imagine a more varied and colorful experience. Thank you. We’ve heeded your advice and you’ve pretty much dictated our entire path. We’ve felt your love and hospitality every step of the way…thank you.

And to our Aussies, the two devilishly handsome young men who made our year, we love you. We had so much fun with you and we can’t wait to continue the adventure, summer 2012: Burning Man!?! Our door is always open for you and we better get invites to your weddings. I know, I know, I am jumping the gun, especially for Steve-o (given you are single and all...ladies!?!), but I am just saying that we don’t want the distance between us to matter anymore than a plane ride.  Besides, we give good wedding presents.

And for the many, many kind letters, comments and messages from home. You know who you are but special thanks to: C. J., C. W., K. W., D. P., M. M., M. G., L. P., D. P., D. L., J. C., C. C., J. C., S. B., S.T., M. J., S. W., L. D., A. C., G. W., J. H., M. M., E. E., N. E., J. DM., R MG. and J. G. you’ve really touched our hearts.  Your enthusiasm for following along on our journey has made all of the failed internet connections, uploads and technological mishaps somehow worthwhile.

Louise and Bill, you’re always up for a challenge. We certainly put you to the test more than once but we really appreciate you jumping to our rescue immediately after arriving home from a cross Americas flight. We appreciate you so much. And thank you for sending our favorite toothpaste all the way around the world (among other Christmas goodies). I couldn’t imagine being married into a better family.

And to my Mom, thank you for your candid letters, you have no idea how much that means to me...you give me hope. I am excited to spend time with you and Dad when we return. Thanks for all of the photos, emails and checking in on our little casa. We really appreciate it. 

So my sadness, loneliness, longing, whatever you want to call it was quickly usurped with a good dose of love, unexpected generosity and goodness. I am extremely grateful for each one of you and don’t want you for a minute to think I have forgotten all that you do for us. You fill our hearts with love.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

C

If you want to see what 1.5 million flamingos look like click here. Here is another album of Lake Bogoria and surroundings.