Upon this salty pan, I shall raise a people…

A month or two ago, an invitation came through my employer, to join like-minded companies at a Corporate Social Responsibility outreach down in Magadi. I pestered my colleagues and bosses at the office and pretty soon, there was a mountain of goodies to be distributed to the needy girl child in the neighborhood of Magadi Township. Saturday the 15^th of September was the date chosen to play Santa Claus. So, my crew and I saddled up our reindeer and off we went... Ho! Ho! Ho! For the kids of Ol Kejuado County, Christmas comes early!

There are two ways to get to Magadi. One, take the train - those old rusty last century wagons that we inherited from the colonial era;  The only other approach to Magadi is a thin tarmac road with frightening hairpins that winds its way down the self of the rift valley escarpment. So thin you will get a heart attack when you see an approaching truck. If I had a choice, I wouldn't ever go anywhere past Olepolos. However, my eyes (and my mouth) water every time the thought of all the gout-causing goat meat of Olepolos crosses my mind. Just waiting for me or some equally starved Nairobi folk to do it justice.

Ole Polos - on the road to Magadi 

The Magadi Township is a small town of about 8,000 people located in the County of Kajiado (Ol Kejuado) on the floor of the Rift Valley 120kms south of Nairobi. The Magadi Soda Company (MSC) is the lifeline of the town. The company was has changed hands some since it began operations way back in 1924 and is now run by Tata. These guys have built a town all by themselves for themselves. Everyone works for them. They own the water, the houses, the hospital, schools, roads, the air… everything!

 The factory town of  Magadi

It gets quite hot around here and temperatures can easily hit the 40 degrees Celsius mark. Your car tyres better be good and at the pressure right. At 40 degrees, they are bound to get as soft as Christmas balloons and you are only a puncture away from becoming as extinct as Julie Ward. (I wonder what happened to the girl? His father grew old and no longer has the energy to fight.) There is not much rainfall here and Magadi is mostly thorny scrubland. The Lake Magadi is saline and drinking water has to be pumped from the Ngaramani escarpment, almost 100 km away.

I hail from the land a little North of Lake Sango. Back in my village, the folks love chicken, so much so, that the chickens are practically family.  Not wanting to decapitate family, once too often, the tribe would rather survive on a staple diet of maize meal (ugali) and murenda. Murenda is this nice slimy vegetable - kind of like the okra or terere (amaranth) that is mixed with cowpeas leaves (kunde) to make the most wonderful skating surface to an otherwise tough meal of ugali.   

The Author

When I was young, my mama would send me to the market to buy a spoonful or two of a precious commodity called Magadi. My mama didn't need Magadi to make glass or perfume, oh no, she needed Magadi to soften her tough cowpeas leaves (kunde) that we would use as a perfect accompaniment to her equally tough ugali that must have had the same density as lead. A handful or two of the dreaded ugali and you would be full for the next 24 hours, not to mention the hard time you would encounter on its way out. So this place is giving me nice vibes - this white mass of soda ash is responsible for many happy mealtime memories.

The factory is easily the most noticeable structure in the town - huge, haggard, and ugly; belching out smoke into the clear Magadi morning. The saline waters of Lake Magadi are pumped from the lake into evaporation pans. The whole Magadi basin is extensive acres of these evaporation pans – white and shimmering in the morning sun. When the pans dry up, they have these huge extractors that excavate the trona (that’s what they call the white stuff) and carry it to the factory where it is washed to produce the Magadi (sodium bicarbonate/soda ash). Soda ash is used as a vital constituent in a wide range of manufacturing processes including those for glass, detergents, and other products such as pharmaceuticals, bakery products, and personal care products such as toothpaste and deodorants.

The dredger

Perhaps the only wildlife worth noting in the area is the tiny number of flamingos on the lake. I can’t imagine this harsh climate supporting much life. How do you survive on a diet of salt and hot water and are still expected to raise your kids on that? The flamingos must have gotten tired of eating salt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and took off for Lake Natron. Having nothing much to lay our eyes on, we headed for the site of the CSR activity, a tiny school called Ilparuko nestled in the bushes on a hill overlooking the lake.

The land South of Nairobi, what we know as the present-day Kajiado district is inhabited by the Masaai people. A breed of proud timeless pastoralists that are perhaps our only reminder of what Africa was a century or three ago. Once upon a day, the Masaai must have ventured too far south and bumped into Shaka Zulu. Shaka must have paid them handsomely in cattle currency, for they coached him well in the art of war. Please explain the ‘assegai’ – the terrifying stabbing Zulu spear.  That sort of sounds like Ol Donyo Lengai (The Mountain of God, Ngai means God).  Trust me, Shaka learned his fearsome skills from these mercenaries. There is also a tribe called the Ngoni (or Nguni) that live in the expanse between the Masaai and the Zulu. Their warlike deportment, military methods, and love for stealing cattle are a nice blend of the Masaai/Zulu cultures. Ever heard of Mumia Nabongo? He of the Nabongo kingdom? He hired Masaai morans to fight his wars. They called these enforcers the "Akwabis".  Today these proud Masaai tribesmen are our most eminent cultural ambassadors.

The Masaai have stuck to their culture like no other African tribe. However, early marriages and the female cut are a little extreme and the culture should perhaps be abandoned. There is an Iron lady down there, goes by the name of Liberata; she would sooner die than see a Masaai girl sold off for marriage at the age of twelve. Most of the time, it is not those warlike-spear-wielding, lion-slaying morans (young warriors) that are responsible for the premature nuptial escapades, but rather a dandy old generation of randy septuagenarians with bloated egos, way past their functional years. These old men were once young and vibrant, trotting the breadth of the rift valley like they owned it (which they did). They married, made babies, and pretty soon midlife crisis checked in. Not to be outdone by the makers of Viagra, they have some pretty potent herbs down there that will transform an old donkey into a thoroughbred mustang on horsefly. Either that or it’s just the meat, the blood, and lots of exercise they get from their nomadic lifestyle.

We got to the school by about 11 am. Most of the folk were already settled as we took our seats to watch 13-year-olds would-be-morans perform a war dance. At just 13, I must say that they are showing great promise at becoming lion-slayers. I hope they stay in school and get an alternative life. Kenya Wildlife Society (KWS) wouldn't take it too kindly on them preying on their lions. 


There is a group of guys from Serena who did a poem, quite in the style of Drama Festivals, Primary schools category. Kudos for the effort! The Show-stopper was this stunning group, called Fahari Afrika that would certainly give Jabali Africa a run for their money any day. After the speeches and boring introductions, we gave in our donations. Indeed Kenyans still have that Harambee spirit quietly simmering away, waiting for an opportunity. Afterward, we had lunch, nothing less than juicy roasted goat ribs, just like some Oloibon would have loved his a century ago. EABL had brought there suspiciously tasting molasses - Malta. The Malta did a good job running down the nyama choma.

Magadi is half a world away, especially if you got to climb out of the Rift Valley in a not-so-young bus… took us three hours to get to Kiserian. By then we were hungry again and we ventured into the famous Eureka. Goats must hate us by now because we ordered another 20 or so kilograms. As we waited for dinner (it was getting dark by now) we danced to the music of the Matasia Boys Band. The band members have all been recruited from the neighborhood of Mt. Kenya. “L” and “R” are no different but that doesn’t stop them from strumming out some great Tony Nyadundo and Julie Dunia Mbaya tunes like they are from the lakeside. What is the world coming to? We got to Nairobi a little past 9 pm… happy that this day was a day fully lived.

During this trip to Magadi, I met this young boy, quite the sapeur - in his hot plastic shoes! He is the inspiration and hero of my picture story - "THE MEMOIRS OF AN AFRICAN SHOE" - Plastic shoes (The Masaai Boy)  http://odiara.blogspot.com/2014_03_01_archive.html