The large buck sort of jumped into vision. It was down at the end, on the side of a tall, green thicket fence. The front yard was sprawling with natural, unruly green grass and acacia trees, native to that part of the unknown world, that spread over and out, right into a Lake beyond. The buck’s legs were tucked under its body, and it looked so relaxed and at home, despite the soaking wet leaves, the cold drizzling air, and the presence of humans a few meters away. Its coat was muddy brown and the antlers were a striking vision even from where we were standing. I don’t remember where it was looking because I wasn’t particularly concerned. You see, I had on these light open sandals that were flat, and not very convenient considering the wet morning weather. My feet were already cold and wet, and the bottom of my dressing robe was starting to get moist.
The previous day, we had travelled for about five hours in this tour bus with about twenty people, out of Nairobi using the A 104 to Naivasha, off it, then approached the town from the lower escarpment road.
It was the start of February and my big brother was marrying. He was holding the event in the heart of the wild, at a very secluded wildlife conservancy, at the end of Moi South Lake road. A lakeside House, rather houses, down round the back of Lake Naivasha. It was lovely, the unapologetic wildness of this place. Rugged hills, the roads to match, wild thickets, air as refreshing as a drink of cold water. And sounds, so many sounds, bumping in the night. This land had not been tamed. The expanse was dotted with the browns of freely roaming giraffes and antelope, the black of zebra and buffalo, and you slept to hippo. It was right at the edge of lake Oloiden, a baby to the greater Naivasha, but just as pretty and replete with birdlife.
The buck was staring at us, unmoving. A breeze teased the air, barely ruffling the acacia trees. I looked around me, from the lake to the tall, thorny thickets, the not-so-distant wild hills, the touch of animal, the two story oak-built house we were guests in, the stretches of well-manicured lawns…all working together to make you feel at home in the middle of nature’s chaos.
I think that’s how love is.
The crazy kind, the one where you have little to no control? It’s all happening around you or to you but you can only watch. Like being in the eye of a storm. You are in the centre, alive and electric. Energized. Connected. Rejoicing in the sheer heaviness of the air that surrounds you. For you feel safe and cherished despite the bedlam around you. But it operates in apparent randomness with no discernible pattern. And you know that when the dust finally settles you won’t be the same. Because every swirl of that hot air changes you. Something is swept away, and another takes it place. And you remain in thoughtful silence, wondering what will be the end of you. Loathe to leave,helpless against the violent currents. By the connecting threads of fate, your heart is tossing within them.