Ngurunit: A different world

In a place where life is dictated by the seasons, we discover a clear river, gleaming mountains  and amazing chutes.

Photo/In a place where life is dictated by the seasons, we discover a clear river, gleaming mountains and amazing chutes.

Along the northern scape past Samburu, stunning hills line the horizons.

Past Lolokowe, the iconic bread mountain, we’re through the Mathews Range and finally turn into Laisamis, to Ngurunit, the Samburu village at the base of the Ndoto Mountains.

There’s not a drop of water in the luggas, including the Milgis, which is akin to the Nile for the people of this area.

It’s been a smooth road most of the way, thanks to the new tarmac that ends near Laisamis.

The smart new road signs in green show the number of kilometers. From Archer’s Post to Marsabit is 244 kilometres and to Moyale is 293.

Although Marsabit to Moyale is only an odd 50 kilometres, it took 10 hours to cover the terrain through Kaisut Desert and the desert of stones in a heavily loaded truck I had hitchhiked on a decade ago.

The towering mountains of the Ndoto range cut animated figures. The bare rock pinnacle of one is shaped like an eagle. Torrential rains washed a bridge away months ago and the lugga is impassable.

Everyone scouts for an alternative route through the dry land where thorn acacias hold fort in the searing sun. Eventually a route is found and Michael takes his enormous truck expertly across.

Two young Samburu men materialise from the horizon – they don’t speak a word of Kiswahili but we smile in the same language and maji seems to be the universal word here for water is scarce and watering points far apart.

Hedonistic spot

In the midday heat we find a group of Samburu men resting under the shade of the acacia by a water pan.

They are ill at ease with us around and we move on. The breeze ripples the silver grasses of the savanna.

It seems that the road is never-ending until finally the Ndotos begin to look familiar.

It’s quiet in the village of Ngurunit and we drive past it through a shallow stream flowing from the high mountains and into Salato Women’s Camp.

A few years ago, we spent a week with the Lemunyete enjoying the hills and the deserts plus an unforgivable 15-kilometre camel ride in the searing heat to the Milgis – which runs dry save for a few days in a year.

First things first – it’s the water that we seek and everyone troops to the shallow clear river by the camp.

It’s a hedonistic lifestyle as we find our spots in the water and sip wine with the warm water drifting over our bodies while camels cross the river behind. It’s so timeless.

From my thatched hut I face the sacred Mt Poi, flat-faced and gleaming in the sun, turning different shades of rust gold and red as the sun travels through the day.

The clonk of the wooden bells around the camels’ necks being brought to the homestead drift by. We stroll out to see them and meet the family.

Under the stars, it’s easy to make the path and Nangaya the Samburu woman leads us to her home. She bought some of the camels from the profits of Salato Women’s Group.

Magnetic view

For now, the females are all pregnant and the pastures are rich due to the past rains but there’s not enough milk for ghee or cheese.

It’s a life dictated by the seasons and late into the night the Samburu sing and dance until sleep catches up. The mountains are magnetic.

Brimming with energy, we head for the high chutes with Lawrence, our Samburu guide – the one who had taken me and my family on the epic camel safari on threadbare saddles in temperatures reaching 40 degrees centigrade all those years ago.

It’s a beautiful walk up the mountains through lush trees and grasses until we hear water cascading over granite in the forested glades of the mountains.

We spend the day without a care in the world, sliding down the chutes and being massaged by the force of the water in the water holes.

Finally, when it’s time to leave, the Samburu children on their way down the mountains after a day of herding their camels and goats stop to enjoy the chutes too.

By RUPI MANGAT .