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