I remember our first year in Nakuru, 1963. It was rainy season and we wanted to go to Narok. We were advised only Land Rovers could get through but, young and stupid, we intrepidly embarked on the trip. Hank and I and David, who was about three years old, were in our Morris station wagon and another couple (also from TEA as I remember) in a VW Bug. I drove so Hank could drink his Tusker beer and smoke and navigate, which was standard procedure in our family. It was a lark. We would descend into increasing deep and deceptive puddles or lakes in the road and slewing out mud would emerge on the other side. Sometimes the car would go sideways. We'd just hold our breath and gun it. Somewhere, about half way in, the Morris got stuck in the mud so we left it behind and in it my shoes.

     About three miles out of Narok, the VW got stuck. We spent the night in the forest in the VW, four adults upright in the seats, and little Dave in the back. He slept after eating the only morsel of food we had. I don't think any of the adults slept. I remember hearing strange sounds coming out of the forest at night: a funny loud door creaking noise that I later learned was the rock hyrax and a strange plaintive haunting cry between that of a baby and some strange clawed night beast. We afterwards thought it might have been a leopard. When it was light we walked the three miles into Narok. I was barefoot but quickly built up a red mud pack on the bottom of my feet that acted like the sole of a shoe.

     Hours later we dragged into the house of the TEA couple teaching there. I just remember a tomato vine that climbed all over the side of the house and was as big as a tree. The men gathered some Maasai morani and went back and dragged the two cars out of the mud. That's all I remember except seeing red-ochred morani for the first time up in the forest and a group of three girls who had recently been circumcised and as I remember wore dark leather skins and white triangular masks over their faces.