Thank you World

I'm home.

Over this last year the word home has had many different meanings. In Mexico, home was my bunk bed in a little communal hut. In Thailand it was literally a little hut. In Guatemala it was my room in my homestay house. But now, home is Melbourne.

Its been exactly 7 weeks to the day since I landed back here in Australia and looking back its a whirl, of emotions, of events, or ideas, of people. I touched down on a cloudy Melbourne spring morning. Angie, one of my best friends in the whole world was there to meet me at the airport. After getting whisked off and taken horse riding for the day I was dropped at my Dad's house, where I've been living since.

The following day I started work, as a writer for an online natural and organic skincare and beauty product website just down the road (http://www.naturallysafe.com.au/) (Ironically I applied for a cleaning job and got a job as a writer after sending my CV with Journalism Masters student on it- what are the odds, eh?) Since then I am volunteering with Oxfam and am playing hockey again. I've taken a short course in photography, hosted a World Food Day dinner, fallen in love again, planted a garden and entered the 2012 Visualising Human Rights Art Competition, and have been shortlisted.

I'm back.

Some days I wake up and forget where I am, in my comfortable bed, in the comfortable suburbs. Some days I daydream of being under the sea counting coral in the warm waters of the Seychelles, other days I close my eyes and I'm back in Peru with my little 3, 4 and 5 year olds teaching art.

People ask me how I'm coping. If its weird. What do I miss. Well, to be honest. I'm coping well, it is weird. And I miss so much but at the same time I am so content.

I guess I am just filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. This last year has been more than I could have hoped for. I have learnt invaluable lessons. I have seen things that will continue to shape me for years to come. And all of this could not have been possible without a few people.Thank you to anyone and everyone who I met along the way. From GVI volunteer to old happy locals, you have all helped shape this last year into the incredible experience it was.

In particular, thank you to Cooper for being my best friend and most loyal companion on this crazy journey. Thank you for never judging me. Always loving me and for giving me encouragement when I needed it most, coming to London to visit me and for making me smile when I felt like the world was caving in on me. I am so lucky to have you in my life, and may my next adventures include you.

Thank you to GVI for giving me this opportunity. I like to think I left my mark on each project, a inicial curriculum in Peru, a mural in the Seychelles, but really, you and your amazing field staff have left your mark on me. Thank you for letting me see the world as a volunteer.

As the experiences start to settle into my mind and my character, I am finding certain ideas and paths continue to pop into my head. Photography is essential to my happiness, when I have a camera in my hands my worries melt away. Coral fills my thoughts everyday, and I have managed to enrol in a couple of marine biology subjects to test the waters (literally), who knows where that will lead. And writing, my new job, but also my favourite past time continues to help me understand the experiences I have.

I intend to fully pursue all of these. I'll continue to take photos and mark my words, I will hold an exhibit in the next year to share all the fascinating things I saw through the lens of my camera this year. I will find a way to incorporate coral into my life, if its academically or leisurely, I am happiest when I am around coral. And writing. I have been writing about my travels for Gapyear.com: http://www.gapyear.com/features/185430/volunteering-with-elephants-in-thailand with another feature to come next week. And I will continue to blog, if you're interested please do join me on my journey back to 'normal' life. http://thestillnomad.blogspot.com.au/

So from the Kenyan bug eggs I found in my foot two weeks after arriving home, to the allergic reaction I had to being stung by an Australian bee, its never a dull day for me, which I'm grateful for. So as I ready myself for another week at work, I smile. Because, after all that moving around. I'm finally home.

Thank you World

Final Chapter: Kenya

Before I write the last blog of my grand adventure I wanted to share with you the joys of my last weeks in Kenya. I am currently sitting on a very full plane, darting through the skies somewhere over northern Australia. In 3 hours I land in Melbourne, where after 14 months I’ll set foot on Australian soil and return to ‘real’ life.

I’ve been waiting for it to hit me. For the penny to drop. I left the project on Friday morning, farewell hugs to all the volunteers, final high fives to the village kids. And no tears. Not a drop. And as I spent the day in Mombasa running errands with Zeno and Lucy, GVI staff, it still hadn’t hit. One domestic and two international flights later and still... nothing.

Until suddenly in a flash, I felt the warm flood of tears. This is it. I’m going home. Home, such a foreign concept for me. No more new cultures, no more little kids to tickle, no more new languages to stumble over. No more new volunteers, no more new projects. Just home, work, and study. “Real” life.

I cried for the experiences I’ve had, I cried for fear, I cried for the loss I felt leaving Kenya, of leaving Africa. My last weeks in Kenya were some of the happiest.

Last I wrote I was living on Wasini island with generator electricity and sea water showers, where we were building water tank stands. Hot under the Kenyan sun, heads covered to adhere to the local Muslim culture. The construction project was a huge success. We fixed the tap at the orphanage (well Andy fixed the tap). We build three stands and put in place three 1000 litre water tanks to harvest rainwater for the local school. 

It only took 250 litres water, 40 buckets of sand, five 50kg bags of cement (which I made a particular point of carrying, raising eyebrows of men, both local and foreign), 25 coral bricks, countless hours smashing rocks and mixing cement. And a dash of blood, blisters and sweat.

I have come to love manual labour and the satisfying feeling of being so present. The feel shovel as you heave cement into a bucket. The weight of the sand on your shoulders as you carry it from the beach. The burn as lactic acid pools in your muscles as you carry yet another 20 litres of water from the sea. But the real highlight of the construction project was not actually building, but the kids that came to watch us build.

The little preschoolers in their little green checkered uniforms would swamp Tegan and I. Climbing us like monkeys in a tree. Singing our names, reaching for a hand, to be picked up or a high five. I’ll never forget standing in the baking sun with one kid sitting on my left foot, wrapped around me like a boot. Another kid on my right foot and a kid on each hip, all smiles and laughter.

The construction project is more than just mixing cement, not only are you building water stands, but you are building a bond with the community- with the kids. And I can say that this kind of construction is more important, for these kids, for their community, for us- the volunteer. It gave me a strong sense of purpose, brought a smile to my lips and reminded me again of the simple pleasure kids find in everything.

And so concluded my time on the island. A two week flash of cement, smiles and sunshine. My final week we live on the mainland in Shimoni, a wonderful village where as you walk children will appear from nowhere shouting “Jambo!” (Hi!) waving enthusiastically. Once you get your bearings, its a magical place of familiar faces and constant high fives.

These last few weeks teachers across Kenya have gone on strike. Its been nearly 4 years since the last election when the would-be government at the time made empty promises of rises and better working conditions. And as election time approaches the teachers collectively put their foot down. This means only the private schools are running.

Now, when I say private school, you think of a fancy almost Hogwarts-esque school, with pretty green grounds, peppered with privileged kids with nice matching uniforms. Now add a Kenyan village twist. Base Academy, a private school in Shimoni, where I did all my volunteer teaching this last week, is tidy. A coral brick building with 8 classrooms, 5m by 5m, roofed by corrugated iron. The children wear uniforms and wide smiles. The windows have no glass and the blackboard is a black-painted rendered wall that eats chalk.

And the children are amazing. I had the pleasure of teaching standard 5 (9-10 year olds) maths. We made multiplication flash cards, practicing our times table and learning to take pride in our work. In a 2 hour 20 minute lesson (please note, they had an hour of maths before this class and another hour after! AND maths is not my forte) these 6 kids sat on their wooden school desks, attentive, eager to learn and play. I also made flashcards with standard 4 (8-9 year olds) as we started to learn our times tables. This class was particularly interesting, as I had to juggle the range of ability and engage a mentally disabled boy.

Before I left Australia I used to work in disability services, often taking kids on weekend camps. Kids with physical or mental (or both) disabilities. And I found it so interesting to see how he was managed by the other kids in this class. They really looked after him, trying in earnest to explain to me that he wasn’t like the rest of them, but always offering him something to do to save the class from being wholly distracted by him.

Between teaching, Lisanne, a lovely, tall, calm Dutch community field staff, Tegan and I would go sit in the village on some old truck tires by the mosque with a pile of books and read to any and every kid in the area. You’d have half a dozen kids climbing on you, clambering for a new book, pointing to the pictures. I found reading didn’t engage the kids as much as just pointing to the pictures and teaching new word and counting things on the page. And in the afternoons I taught computer classes to Swaleh, a sweet natured guy who works at the local dispensary. Each afternoon we’d spend an hour learning new Microsoft Word skills, like how and when to use bullet points, typing out examples, and it never ceased to amaze me how determined he was, and patient. These are tasks that are second nature to me, and yet, this man, my elder, is sitting there under my instruction eagerly looking down at the keyboard for the next letter.

And so that was my final chapter in Kenya. I already, only a day after leaving, have a deep seeded eagerness to return.

But in two hours the next chapter of my life begins.

I’m not ready to say farewell to this blog just yet, I have to process this all a little more. I’m too sad and sleep deprived right now. But in the same tear I cry because of the sense of loss I feel as this all comes to a close, the same tear is shared with a great sense of purpose, gratitude and excitement for what the future will hold.

So, farewell Kenya. Farewell Africa. Farewell World (for now). Hello Austalia. Hello Home (for now).

Final Chapter: Kenya

Farewell forest, hello construction

Farewell forest, hello island life.

Last week marked the end of my time in the Kenyan forest searching for monkeys. In my last days, as a treat, we headed down to the 'shelf'- the beautiful tidal coral 100m ledge that sits fringing the mangroves. There, at low tide, shore birds of every colour, shape and size can be found, hunting for fish or a mate. I was happy with the sun high in the sky, the tide receding, barefoot as I tip-toed toward egrets, camera poised.

I found myself humbly happy as a Greater Egret lunged for an invisible fish, snapping it up in a flash of white and yellow. And as I dodged the sea urchins and brittle stars I saw birds with odd markings as their feathers mark the change of season, to a time of breeding. It felt almost personal, its a time of change for me too, as I approach the end of my year and as I try and find peace in my return home.

And so on Friday I found myself waving farewell to another batch of lovely volunteers, to spend a quiet weekend with Tegan in Diani (I took her there for her birthday present- something for every letter of her name- G is for a Getaway to Maua lodge).

If you're ever in this part of Kenya, stay here- its lovely!) lazing by the pool reading and spotting birds. It was lovely to have down time to process my time here in Kenya, already 6 weeks have flown by.

And on Sunday we arrived back, feeling fresh and free to cross to Wasini island for two weeks of construction. Wasini is a small island, 6km across and about 2 km wide. There are two villages at either end, and GVI is based just outside of Mikwiro, population 2,500. Life on the island is basic. Salt water bucket showers and generator electricity (once daily). And as we are on an island, water is an issue.

All our drinking water is rain water, collected into huge plastic tanks that hug the sides of the volunteer house. Elsewhere on the island people face the same problem. Old coral brick pits have been sealed with cement and make for perfect reservoirs. At the school there are some plastic water tanks like ours. At the orphanage the gutters feed into a huge cement tank in the centre of the grounds. Everywhere I look I see wise water use and water collecting.

And so that is my job here for the next two weeks. To help with GVI's water construction project. Tegan, Andy (an smart English mechanical engineer), Shaffi (the sweet smiling, local builder man), and I are to put guttering on buildings, fix various water tanks and make platforms for new water tanks. We had our word cut out for us today as the sun beat down on us, both Tegan and I covered head to toe, wrist to ankle, in traditional Muslim dress. We decided Project 1 was to fix the tap on one of the tanks at the orphanage. But to do that we had to empty it first. You know the joke, how many people does it take the change a lightbulb? Well, how many people does it take to empty a 5000 litre water tank?

I'll tell you- four. Tegan, Andy, Shaffi and I! And that is what we did today, we let the tap run free as we filled 10 litre bucket after bucket with fresh, rain water and moved it 20m into the giant cement reservoir. We kept a strict tally and by evening we had moved 2330 litres of water. And made dozens of kids laugh as we tickled them as they came to say hi in their school recess.

It was a tough day of back bending work, but to walk away and hear the kids chant "Madame Tina! Madame Tina!" makes it all worth while. (I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank my parents for naming me Tina, its the EASIEST name to pronounce in EVERY language- to all would-be parents out there, I encourage you to take this into consideration before naming you future child- find an accent friendly name, I implore you!).

Its moments like those that made me realise I want a simpler life. To do this I took a plunge. All of you will have heard of Facebook, and I made the decision to ditch it. No more was I to post my blogs on it, no more was I to share photos of my adventures. And so I closed my account, and although I know the visits to this blog will suffer, and ironically it was GVI's competition on Facebook that won me this year of volunteering, I couldn't get it to sit in the image of my life after this year, so I kicked it to the curb, and already I feel better, and lighter for it.

In the meantime, the forecast for tomorrow is sunshine and moving water. And sure I'll sit and daydream of diving while my bucket fills, and I'll search the horizon for a bird I don't know, but I can't imagine anywhere better to be, than on an island, in the heat, moving water from here to there, knowing in less than 3 weeks I'll be home, on the mainland, in spring's chill, using a tap.

Farewell forest, hello construction

You want to hear the good news?

In the last week I've spent more time looking at monkey data than actually looking at monkeys. Tegan and I spent 4 out of 5 days cooped up inside sieving through data. I'll be honest, it was mind numbing, physically un-engaging work. But it needed to be done.

On Friday morning we sat down for the final crunch. It was time to put the newly polished data into a neat little software to tell us the population estimates, among other things.

In the data went, there we sat fingers crossed. And that feeling of euphoria didn't come. What came out instead? Gibberish. It took another 4 hours of data grooming before it made sense. And then it came in a flood. (Turns out we'd put the table in the wrong format, and that is why the program was telling us there were over 120 million monkeys in our 177 hectare forest!)

By the end of Friday afternoon we had pretty conclusive numbers for the colobus populations in these forests, comparable by quarter and year. You want to hear the good news? It looks like the colobus numbers here are pretty much stable. Maybe its because we are more likely to see them now with less trees and forest blocking our view, or maybe its because the colobus are adapting, or haven't reached their critical tipping point. Either way, their populations appear stable at a rough 1200 individuals.

Tegan and I shared a small celebration, a high five, but the reality of the numbers still plagues me. That is not that many monkeys. These numbers have been passed onto the Colobus Trust, which will then pass them onto the IUCN, which will change its red-list status. And in the meantime GVI volunteers and staff will continue to trample through the forest, checking canopy cover and human disturbance, with the hope of stumbling across a troop of these thumb-less monkeys.

To celebrate the end of out data days, a good friend and fellow volunteer on the Thailand Elephant project came to visit. Lindsey was in Mombasa visiting "her kids"- two little boys she is paying through school, and took the long bum numbing mutatu drive down to Shimoni. It was lovely to see another fellow traveller. 

On Saturday Tegan, Lindsey and I boarded a tourist dowh (boat) and headed again for the warm waters of Kisite. I sat at the bow of the boat bobbing, feeling the water reach for my ankles as we crested waves. I saw terns fly overhead for the island, yellow beaks telling me they are ready to breed. 

Splash! We were in the water, and as we descended I felt that fancy free feeling wash over me. The first dive was beautiful, we swam along the reef as the tide pulled us. Octopus danced with each other as we kicked past. Toward the end of the dive we came across a beautiful hawksbill turtle. She had a relatively clean shell and a barnacle coated body. As if we weren't there she found a nice part of the reef and started to scratch herself against it, using her fins to push herself this way and that. Her back right fin was half gone, a reminder of the fragility of life in the sea.

We kicked on. Another HUGE female hawkbill was scratching herself too, her shell covered in that green turf algae. We kicked on and ended the dive with the smallest green turtle I've ever seen. He (I have no idea what sex it was) was just beautiful. He was curious but not scared. He circled me as I followed him, sizing me up as friend of foe.

And before I knew it, it was over and I was back in the stratosphere smiling about the turtles we'd seen. The second dive wasn't as eventful, but again the feeling of being surrounded by the sea is enough to quell my worries and calm my soul.

And since then it has rained. And rained. And rained. The rain marked the end of ramadan, the muslim month of fasting, and as you could hear the celebrations over the downpour I learned that its a good omen of starting afresh. Today was the first day back in the forest, and while I stumbled over tree roots looking for birds and colobus, I was happy to be surrounded by trees.

I only have two more days in the forest before returning to Mikwiro island for some construction work, and I intend to soak them up, spot as many birds and count as many monkeys as possible.

The rain didn't wash away my worries, but do you want to hear the good news?

Right now, the monkeys have a home, the birds still sing, the sun still shines and in 4 weeks I'll be home.

You want to hear the good news?

Camping among the baobabs and baboons

Today marks the final count down. In exactly a month from now (to the hour actually) I'll be boarding a plane and starting my final journey... home.

It hit me today as we were trampling through the forest. I was holding the casual observations clip board, where we scribe all birds, monkeys, lizards and snakes we see as we are out and about. I saw the date at the top of the page and yelped. One month and this chapter of my life comes to an end. It was a sobering moment.

But within seconds I had forgotten, as I stood peering through my binoculars at a woodpecker I'd spotted (a Cardinal Woodpecker, less common in these parts- queue high five!).

This last week has been great. The "Forest Fairies" united to complete a hard transect in the East Shimoni forest, meandering through the rough vegetation accessing canopy. Another day we spent hacking back vegetation, marking a different transect anew. All in all a week of monkeys, bird spotting and forest fun.

And we went camping. Last Wednesday we headed to the forest at sunset. Dusk enveloped us as we set up our mosquito nets and sleeping bags. We ate a pre-cooked dinner by the campfire, listening to scary Kenyan tales of giants and forests. Tegan and I fell asleep, protected from the forest bugs and mosquitoes by a thin layer of mosquito net and woke to the chirp of birds and soft sunshine as it penetrated the trees to warm our faces. It was magical, to wake completely surrounded by nature, on the soft red earth hugged by the smells and sounds of the forest.

Meanwhile, my enthusiasm for birds and photography have been put to the test as Lucy, the lovely British forest coordinator, asked me to help create a database of photos of shore birds. And like all jobs, I've taken it very seriously. Today a group of us wandered down to the shelf, which is essentially a coral ledge that sits just above the crashing waves at low tide. At high tide it is inundated as fish and crab thrive in the sponges and sea grass. It fringes mangroves, buffering it from the harsh turbulent seas on the edge of the peninsula. Its beautiful. We arrived as the tide was coming in, the sky was blue and the horizon was lined with huge soft looking cumulonimbus clouds.

We waded out, stepping delicately over sea grass and dodging urchins. I pointed my camera here and there as little sandpipers fluttered this way and that. Dimorphic egrets stalked fish as yellow billed storks cut across the sky. I was in my element, so much to learn, so much to photograph.

On the way home we spotted more Anglo Black and White Colobus monkeys, counting them as they cumbersomely navigate through the trees. 2, 3 no 7! We shout as the flashes of black and white disappear into the forest green. I have a new fascination and appreciation for their numbers. At the beginning of this week Tegan and I were enlisted to be data monkeys. For a day we went through 6 years of Primate Community data. This is the data we collect every time we see a group of colobus monkeys about the make up of the group: the number of males, females, adults, juveniles, etc.

Zeno, the brainy Dutch base manager, needs to send International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) detailed, accurate numbers of the colobus here in the Shimoni forest. IUCN is seen as the most "comprehensive, objective global approach for evualating the conservation status of plant and animal species." (http://www.iucnredlist.org/about/red-list-overview) The colobus monkey in this area has only recently been rediscovered as a separate species, endemic to these coastal forests, and a new status needs to be declared on exactly how endangered it is.

And Tegan and I helped crunch data so Zeno could put the final numbers together. As we sat in the GVI cottage staring at the data it became scarily clear to me how much this forest is suffering. In the 2007/08 political unrest here in Kenya the forest suffered hugely, and upon investigation this is common worldwide. Political unrest leads to forest degradation, and vice versa: deforestation leads to political unrest, a scary positive feedback loop. And since then, despite the political calm and recovery of tourism, the forest is still being pillaged, as if the unrest set in motion a trend that cannot be stopped.

I found out the road I so happily run on each morning didn't exist 4 years ago. Its hard to imagine that was all dense forest, home to monkeys and suni, where you could only run if you was a squirrel or skink.

And so my time in the forest is filled with emotional highs and lows. Today I looked at the date and realised my time among the baobabs is limited, and yesterday I looked at a spreadsheet and realised the time of the baobabs is limited. But in the same day I'll spot a rare bird, or I'll identify a full, healthy troop of colobus monkeys.

I guess its like everything else I've learnt this year: the world is not black and white (like the Anglo Black and White  Colobus), but many, many shades of grey, (like the Southern Banded Snake-Eagle- which I photographed on my first day here, its "Near Threatened" on the IUCN redlist, which is polite way of saying "its pretty screwed, but not as screwed as the panda").

(This is the photo I took of it, isn't it beautiful! Note the four black lines on the tail feathers, a distinctive feature of the Southern Banded Snake-Eagle)

Many delicate and intricate shades of grey...

Camping among the baobabs and baboons

Forest Fairies

Living in an African village is like being a celebrity. Everywhere I walk children clamber to hold my hand or wave at me enthusiastically shouting "Jambo!" (hi!). One woman even offered me her baby.

I love it here. Shimoni is a bustling place where magic goats eat all the trash and children run and play, a flash of dirty feet and hands as they chase one another. Each morning I wake to the call to prayer at the local mosque. Its soul stirring as I dress, splash my face with water and pack for a day in the forest. Hat, tick, water bottle, tick, camera, tick.

By 8 the sun feels warm on my back as we walk out to the forest. GVI runs surveys on a number of transects, looking at human influence, canopy cover and always, forever, searching for monkeys. The monkeys around here are particular scientific interest. The Anglo Black and White Colobus is a coastal monkey, found in forests that hug the shoreline of eastern Africa. Only recently though was it thought that maybe, just maybe, the monkeys in this area might be a slightly different species, specifically endemic to these forests.

As we walk through the village to get to the forest we high five kids, greet locals and move through the village. The earth here is a rich red with coral rag jetting out, always challenging your balance. Once in the forest the ground changes, roots challenge your balance here as you dodge safari ants and nettle plants. Once we reach a transect we're all business, the scribe is allocated, the surveyor.

We move through the thick undergrowth looking at canopy cover every 10m. 50% shouts Amos, a nice Kenyan student from Niarobi with a smile to melt your heart, as he turns his binoculars the wrong way around and accesses the canopy cover. 75%. 90%. My favourite transect was along T4 to Shimoni's west. It was thick as branches grabbed my hair and tugged my overalls. Our team was efficient and fun, I called us the Forest Fairies. Benja, a young, tall, always happy Masai warrior lead us, followed by Tegan, a super sweet Aussie (my new bestie!), Kopa, a local guy, fasting for Ramadan but forever smiling, and Amos. Between us someone was always giggling, singing of dancing as we trooped through the forest. We emerged smiling into the maize field having completed the transect.

And so my week is spent, looking through binoculars at monkeys as we access the group size and make up. Two male adults (you can tell by the line of white fur that runs over their naughty bits), one juvenile, two adult females. And they are interesting as their round faces eagerly look at us, from high above. But my new passion is birds. I just adore them. I never thought I'd find them so interesting, but I get such a rush from seeing one in the distance, raising my binoculars, declaring for all what it is and then attempting to snap a photo of it in action. My favourite are the birds of prey that roam over the forest and seas.

So between dodging tree roots in the forest, and walking to transects along the tidal beach I am learning so much about nature, about our place in it, and how happy it truly makes me. But just as I was getting comfortable being on land I went diving.

Tegan and I rose early this Saturday to jump aboard Monsoon, a beautifully carved fishing boat come diving vessel. We were the only clients, feeling like princesses for the day. As we glided over the seas to Kisite Island (where we went last week to see the turns with Martin) I couldn't help but smile. I saw turtles coming up for air, herons and black kites in the sky.

Splash! We were in the water. As we descended I got that familiar feeling of leaving all my worries and troubles at the surface. It was just me, the instructor, Tegan and the coral I so love. And it was healthy, the reef looked great, and the coral familiar. There was foliose Echinopora, Faviidae and mushroom Fungia, Fungiidae. Its hard to smile while breathing through a regulator but I did, for the whole 62 minutes we were down.

After a surface interval (time spend above water to let the nitrogen leave your blood) which I spent splashing in the warm sea we were under again for another hour. Schools of fish parted as I paddled through. Rays played tag as I swam past. Garden eels ventured out of their sandy holes to say hello. It was pure magic, and again I was reminded of how happy the sea makes me.

After, still smiling, the boat took us to the island. At low tide the coral island is surrounded by beautiful soft sand. Birds flew overhead as the sun warmed us. On our way back to the mainland Tegan and I sat at the mast, bobbing with the boat. A perfect day.

To rival it, today we set off with three other volunteers to the three sister caves 15 km walk away. We walked along the dusty red road that heads to Mombasa. Dancing, singing and greeting every kid we saw. After 3 hours in the morning Kenyan sun we were there. The caves themselves were impressive, home to a million bats, large enough to rival mansions.

My favourite part was the way the sunshine penetrated through the holes in the coral cavity, a reminder of the outside world with sunshine and trees. The smell of bats (and the feeling of their poo and wee land on you) was enough to make anyone squirm, but the creepy crawlies really got me. Bugs that looked like they belonged in outer space and spiders the size of my face.

But it was an experience. And as we walked back, 15km of red dirt under our feet, children shouting "Muzungu! Jambo!" (foreigner! hi!) we craved the shade and spotted birds.

And so another week in my current Kenyan home. And this week promises more birds, more forest and more monkeys. So I'll keep my eyes peeled for that curious face in the tree tops or the flutter of the wings of a sunbird and smile, celebrity or not, I love living in a African village.

Forest Fairies