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pale-blue sky utterly devoid of clouds, brown hills marching southward, and the occasional feather-duster
silhouette of an acacia.
None of Nairobi's sophistication here. Hordes of traders and nomads, travelers and squatters raised a
cloud in front of the shops that lined the central street. Others with nothing to do and nowhere to go sat
on wooden steps and porches and stared at the minutes of their lives ticking past. They came to
Namanga because it was a destination, and any destination was a better place to be than the dry, empty
plains. The town was poor, but it was not boring.
It was also a jumping-off place for Amboseli, one of Kenya's smaller but better-known game parks. As
they parked next to the government office Oak watched a police officer in neat tan and khaki uniform
wave a Volkswagen bus crammed with overdressed tourists eastward.
Their own driver was obviously delighted to be rid of them. He seemed genuinely surprised when
Olkeloki favored him with a generous tip, however, and now that he had discharged his obligation a little
of his original good humor returned.
Good luck to you all. Ji hadari, be careful.
We'll be fine. Even as she said it Merry wondered if she believed it herself.
While Olkeloki waited outside, she and Oak entered the government building and were directed to an
office where a man in a dark suit sat behind a desk and stamped papers.
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Amazing, Oak mused, how interchangeable bureaucrats were. He'd seen this man's twin countless times
in Washington. Change the suit to a uniform and he'd have been right at home in the Pentagon. This is the
species thatreally rules the world.Bureaucratis paperpushii internationalis.
Off in one corner two men in Arabic dress and narrow, pointed beards were arguing with a police
officer. One wore a Muslim cap of embroidered white cotton that kept slipping off his head as he spoke.
The officer leaned against the wall and listened patiently, arms folded and eyes half closed. As best Oak
could make out the men were trying to come into Kenya from Tanzania with visas that were something
less than in order.
The official inspecting their own passports noticed Oak's stare. You see, sir, most of our traffic here is
one way. There is nothing to buy in Tanzania, so whenever the people there can accumulate any hard
currency or Kenyan shillings, they try to cross the border so they can shop here in Namanga. First they
have to bribe their own officials to let them out, then they have to bribe them so they can get back in. He
tactfully left off discussing what bribes if any might have to be paid at the Kenyan end of such shopping
excursions, and handed back their passports.
Thank you for visiting Kenya.
We hope to be back in a few days, Merry explained.
You have extended visas. We will be pleased to welcome you back when you have concluded your
safari in Tanzania. Suddenly he glanced sharply up at her companion and Oak was immediately
reminded of some of his colleagues in the Bureau. The man's main job might be the checking and
stamping of passports, but he clearly did a little police work on the side.
You are going just for safari, aren't you?
Among the various guises Oak had perfected over the years to hide his real feelings and intentions was a
vacant smile of surpassing blandness. We're just tourists. We like traveling by ourselves. I think you can
see and learn a lot more when you're not traveling with a group.
The official wasn't finished. But you are not married.
Do couples have to be married to travel in Tanzania?
No, but I advise you to stay as far away from the provincial authorities as possible. They do not usually
harass well-organized groups of tourists traveling with professional guides, but one or two foreigners such
as yourselves traveling by themselves are likely to provoke their interest. They are very suspicious over
there. The Tanzanians think all foreigners are South African spies.
Is there anything to spy on?
The man grinned up at him. Of course not. And should the South Africans want to spy on Tanzania, it
follows that they would choose people who would be inconspicuous and would blend in among the
locals, like a white man and woman with American accents. But that is what Tanzania is like today.
The sarcasm made Oak homesick for the corridors of Washington. He slipped his passport back into his
backpack. At the same time a family of Indians stepped forward and the father dumped a dozen
passports on the official's empty desk. He sighed and opened the one atop the pile.
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Back outside they were momentarily dismayed not to find Olkeloki waiting for them. Merry finally
spotted him standing across the street, poised on one leg and balancing himself with his staff. His ancient
suitcase looked very out of place. He waved and gestured for them to join him. Oak shouldered his
backpack.
As they crossed the street Merry was conscious of many eyes following their progress. They were the
only white people in the town and it was a strange feeling to be the minority for a change. Probably the
tourists who paused here on the way to Amboseli from Nairobi didn't bother to get off their
air-conditioned buses. Certainly they didn't walk down the middle of the main street carrying their own
luggage.
Don't you have to get your passport checked too? she asked Olkeloki.
He smiled at some private joke. Not in Maasailand, Merry Sharrow.
This is still Kenya. She pointed down the street. Over there is Tanzania. Everyone in the office was
having a passport checked.
It is time to go. You will see. He picked up his suitcase and started down the street. Shopkeepers
ceased their haggling to observe the unique passage of two muzungu trailing a laibon with a suitcase.
From time to time they would pass Maasai herders who had come into town to trade. There was
unmistakable reverence in their voices when they spoke to Olkeloki. Seeking his blessings, perhaps, Oak
thought. His opinion of the old man rose another notch. The Bantu did not speak to him, but they gave
him a clear path. This unspoken deference extended to a cluster of half-naked children. They interrupted
their soccer game to watch solemnly as the laibon strode past.
The street here was devoid of vehicular traffic. All cars and matatus were stopped at the barricade back
by the government building. Nothing on wheels was allowed within a hundred yards of the border.
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