Serenity Defined

Song, song of the South…
If you listen in silence,
You may just hear the song
The song of the Whistling Thorns

It is quiet common for my creative genius to take leave these days. Perhaps it is the stress of work and the monotony of the Nairobi life. I have total faith in the great outdoors and its ability to rejuvenate my sluggish grey matter.  So on this Saturday afternoon, I took a drive to the Whistling Thorns, to experience Serenity and hopefully restore some of that good old creative genius. Hopefully!



 The Whistling Thorns is tacked away in the Kiserian area, 42 kms South of Nairobi on the Kiserian – Isenya road (off Magadi road). There is decent tarmac road all the way to the resort except for some jolly big craters on the Ongata Rongai – Kiserian stretch. A regular City car should get you there. Watch out for the road repairs and the occasional donkey.


Most folk Nairobi know the more popular Ole Pollos for is signature nyama choma. If you are not big on roast meat, then you may want to pop in at the Whistling Thorns. The resort has ample grounds for great corporate lunches and team building activities, weddings or just those surprise shindigs. They also have pony rides, a camp site and a modest pool. Oh, and they even have a golf course, not the real thing, just a tiny golf driving range, so don’t ask me where they tucked away the real golf course.   Music is not allowed at the Whistling Thorns, so if you want to show off your pimped-up-ghetto ride, you may want to drive further up Magadi road for some nyama choma and a cacophonous accompaniment.


The ponies and carelessly parked farm machinery welcome you to the Whistling Thorns resort. The place has a very authentic farm feel down to the smell and sounds of animals. The restaurant is designed in the style of a regular (too regular if you asked me) ranch-house with some subtle American overtones. The ambience is fine & homely, except for a big zebra skin on the wall that looks like a giant stripped lizard crawling up the wall. There are several umbrellas by the pool that would make a great afternoon drinking spot.


There is a great bar in the ranch house done in the style of the Wild Wild West less the swinging double saloon doors. It feels like I just stepped into one of those old TCM movies sets. I was fully expecting John Wayne in cowboy in boots and stetson with a guitar yodeling away the afternoon. No such luck today but I am not completely disappointed, there is a middle-aged man with a deep Southern drawl sprawled on the couch with a dog snuggling next to him watching the movie “The gods must be crazy”. Howdy cowboy, where can I find the kid called Billy? Billy is not at Buffalo Bills today, just some squat mongrel called Suzzy and a huge tailless Doberman that reminds me of some mercenaries; resident of Kenya a few years ago. Just that you know; you are not allowed to bring your dogs here. The brochure clearly states that “No dogs please, we have dogs who live here”. Snobbish, don’t you think?

The Whistling Thorns has 3 luxury tents and some rooms. They are charged about 3000/- a room/tent a day. But on the same menu is the “day room” going for 2000/-. You must vacate it by 1900HRS. By the number of “not-so-married-looking couples” swarming around here, the day room must be a popular attraction to the site.


Anyway, we came here to eat and eat we shall. My digestive juices are bubbling up and my mouth is watering at the thought of a huge chunk of steak. There is a sparse menu - soups, pizza, meats… Roast chicken seems to be a great option and so roast chicken it is. We ask for drinks as we wait for lunch to roast. Nothing like a cold Guinness on a hot Texan afternoon; we are in Texas, no? The chicken (kuku choma) can pass, nothing to inspire poetry but the huge portions certainly make up for any inadequacy. Unless you like your chicken rare, please remind the chef to do you an extra crispy. Lunch for two will cost you a modest 1500/- shillings. Not bad given the ambience and the great view of the plains south of Kiserian.

wouldn't do me the injustice of sitting indoors when there is a great view of the outdoors from the veranda.  From our perch on the veranda, we quietly observe the gathering of city folk by the pool and the gardens. There is a company hosting some of its own for lunch at a tent in the garden and they didn't carry music but they surely brought the city noises with them. The crowd is young, not to uptight and quite noisy for a serious corporate lot. Surely they must be management trainees of maybe just some robust drab regular loan-hawkers. You know, the aggressive young people who are always asking you to take up a loan or some credit card you don’t need? Yeah, those ones!

You should see them in the casual. Probably just out of college but with heads full of heady college drama. They still got a long way to go, a long way indeed. There is this good-looking girl, perhaps with some ample attitude to her name (you can tell by the way she holds up her long nose!). How do you come for a company lunch in buck-me-boots? Those knee-high-six-inch leather boots with tight jeans tucked into them. She must have taken the wrong turn and ended up here. Either that or that she just didn't want to go home and change after the lunch, so she came here all dressed up for clubbing later that evening.

But my gem for the afternoon is this mismatched couple that came waltzing in like they own the place. See, I am a social scientist, I observe people; analyze people, body language, heck, everything about human behavior! I think I belong on CSI – Nairobi when it comes around. The man is short, pot-bellied and balding. Thick glasses, checked shirt and tired pair of jeans perhaps from the era of MC Hammer and Vanilla ice. Very like those bulging German pants in the Hitler movies. He looks like he is six months pregnant and the girl, well, she looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. I wonder what she sees in him, either he is her uncle or she has a nose for his money.

They say ill luck comes in multiples and today Mr. Pathetic must be having a run at Murphy’s Law number 48. Fifteen minutes after settling down for a quite drink and hopefully some romance, competition checks in. Competition is a sharper dresser, taller, younger, more athletic and definitely more macho. Competition excuses himself from his friends and heads straight for Mr. Pathetic’s girl and proceeds to hug her and do the whole ceremonial kiss thing. “I have missed you mmm, muaah muuuah, haven’t seen you in years… you are still looking great… muaah muaaah”. Mr. Pathetic, lost of words is fidgeting and doesn't know what to make of it. He is green alright and annoyance (maybe envy) is showing at the seams. My, my, Mr. Competition must be ruffling his insecure feathers, big time.

The girl is not helping the situation either, told you I don’t trust her! She has turned her attention and is staring into Mr. Competition’s eyes. Her body language is a complete give-away. She is leaning in and stoking her neck, playing with her hair and giving him way too much attention. These two must have been college sweethearts or something. I am hoping Mr. Pathetic picks up his game but I am too ambitious. Rigour mortis must have set in, he just sits there stiff, as Mr. Competition walks all over him. Mr. Competition drones on and on about college (I’m eavesdropping), staring into her eyes and trying to invoke passions of a time-gone-by. He is not in a hurry to leave and the girl is not letting him go just yet. What is she thinking? That Mr. Pathetic brought her all the way so that he can share her with some macho guy? He is surely not one for a threesome and it is showing. He must be feeling unloved, unappreciated and used. Mr. Pathetic, having nothing else going for him, flushes out his expensive phone, my word, it’s a Blackberry, and proceeds to speak loudly about some business deal; or maybe he is just bluffing.

I am beginning to feel sorry for Mr. Pathetic. Thirty minutes later, Mr. Competition is still seated at their table. The food arrives, Mr. Pathetic and his girl wash their hands and Mr. Competition just sits there talking about God-knows-what. Mr. Competition either has a misplaced sense of etiquette or he is just plain dumb. Clearly, this is a case of stupid gone wild. Maybe I gave him way too much rank, he should be renamed Stupid! Even the girl has surely realized that her date is not amused by her open flirting with the competition and she is giving him some attention now. It must have been an hour later before Mr. Stupid finally got the point and went back to his friends who were seated a table or so away. Someone should give him a sharp kick in the posterior. Even his accomplices are not excited about his absence from their table and seem to be giving him lessons in etiquette.   

Nonetheless, I came here to enjoy the great outdoor and I had me a ball. Its getting late and its time to head back home. This time I decided to take the Kiserian- Matasia-Ngong-Karen road. The road much better although much too narrower in places. There is a club called the Pimple Club somewhere past Kiserian. How do you ever call your business ‘a pimple’? You can imagine, people calling up their friends “Lets go burst up some pints, at the Pimple!” Well, well wonders will never cease. I get back to Nairobi sufficiently rejuvenated to face another week of drudgery! 

The social scientist in me loves to watch people. This time was really awkward.... Loved the breeze up there though!

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