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Escape from the Jungle (Part One)

© Jane Stewart-Williams

Most people, when arriving by taxi in a secluded destination with no telephone and nothing resembling a public transport system, may start to wonder how they are going to get out. But not us. We are content to watch the taxi disappear along the forest path, back to the nearest town an hour's drive away. We are content just to relax and enjoy Kenya's last remaining rainforest.

Four hundred years ago, this rainforest was part of the great Congo jungle that stretched right across to the Atlantic. Now, thanks to human cultivation, only 230 square kilometres still remain in Kenya. And even this is under threat. A conservation project has been set up to educate the local populace on the dangers of destroying the forest. And, in an attempt to gain some tourist dollars, a small resthouse welcomes anyone willing to make the journey to this secluded spot in Kenya's west.

We are the only visitors, but this doesn't seem to cause a problem. Nicholas, our guide, leads us on walks through the forest, enlightening us on the medicinal properties of the plants, and painting our fingernails with a natural dye. In the evenings, we sit on the balcony of the resthouse listening to the deafening chorus of a handful of monkeys, and thousands of varieties of birds. And at night, silence cloaks the forest. Even the mosquitoes seem to respect the peace of darkness, saving their attack for the half-light of dawn.

However, even a retreat as peaceful as this one must come to an end. When our food supplies are running short, and our bodies are no longer content with the erratic water supply, we decide it is time to leave.

"How do we get back to town?" I ask one of the guides.

"It's a two hour walk to the nearest village. From there you should get a matatu back to Kakamega." Not just a simple telephone call to the nearest taxi company then.

It is still early, and we head off straight away, to get most of the walking out of the way before the heat from the equatorial sun becomes too intense. A few kids, with schoolbags over their shoulders, start following us. "What is your name?" says one, which it seems is the only English sentence they know. Slowly, as word gets out that there are people willing to repeatedly answer the same question, the group starts to grow. Soon, almost all the local school are chanting our names.