Schlagwort: kids

Kenya; Ngong Hills

Just out of the city of Nairobi are the Ngong Hills covered with windmills, satellite antennas and communication towers. Can’t cost anything to hike there around, i thought. In the village on the way to the hills were children playing. Some hide shyly, other ones showed up curiously about the stranger passing trough. Just a few adults were around, as curious as the young ones. A father peeks over the fence and ask me to take a photo from him with the kids. Over the village circling the blades of the massive windmills, making a sonorous, deep sound. You get used on it, the villager told me.

Despite the forest is almost gone, replaced by a wide access road and the wind generators, it’s called still a conservation park and a fee is to pay. With Ruth, a new friend and model, i entered the park and hiked around the huge generators. Some women and children followed along a trickling creek. Near the source of it they scooped water into buckets and carried them back to the huts.Three siblings got curious about the white/black couple doing a photo shooting. The youngest got scared, start to cry out loud, but got then overwhelmed by his own curiosity. With the support of the older sister he dared to get closer and play with the cam and the looked at the photos i made of him. At the end we all had a laughter about funny pictures.

Tføº­44UÕ=¦sò@7E0–á£1Ç+tŒkç𮓋ãöQÉ_ÑóZƒòF#¼œ.pêqêËZ’º—“3•‰¬® ÕXÛ ŠÑ²Ó‚$gÀô*GûßçÔÓ´ãö¥Ïw,óæ-±‚V8Ÿ¹eã’é])ڊ^Dú֟%¼®eŠ9f5(“·}¿x–ÛVñLv6è»tµ1¼ês¹ßÂ¸¯GÒF£ù%™=®q’ l‰‡7eöÞ¤˜q›XeÀ½Etúe¼ /KOa‘ôÍRÉ8èzó4És-¸n^™#>»O8§RÑ’eegq2ÛÚǐ * äž;б¸†MÀZžÊÒjvo…HÅ<Y9Äè?d!×OÔ-Ôÿ$ŸÕvŠúuÙ¦‹Z“O†A"–ûàèÀà£O#Ò¦¢š-΍·þ6»þŒãH‹§xî¬Í"’Ïó•*t˸ÞÐU¶«¤Vso!`ÈÄóœ“È^ØÍiÚÓIvft?íüd¶77 e°¯ÂÜ#6ÒËÃÏolÑɨØØålës$q$ .ùÈqêGzÏÆöøºdn¤äeS„#EàÕ1^‹£»»œd¾‰äì]~å-ãn`qšYv<åÍÚyÞ2X¹c•Öº)ô3HÿÐuö„%‡ÆZtVNc’þՔ0]Á%ߝ漌M#ӓ´›4ñéóÉk ÍÌÏ3X¢« S÷„à¹óJ¯5°j›Em%ØßUкܘ$|²¦xOÐúñù©§I§Bc¶ªÀ"ßlë¼;ët©‚»0ƒ†ÆpsF2iÒ_¸.)«oöž%ªHˆ/¥ÂMàÚ¡›²cvÓòÓV¶ß´.å6¤ñFÒDŒU€7º’Î)fö¾A¦¼Õa³iÕç“ͤ„ò€îôÛYò¥Ù£¥ÐiÉýÓPRK°+1!p@'#Øö©ÉjÊ©íÄc:éBÙ¤RVâ6UnŽwä`•F§uZ%w¾˜±§.¡ 0Il­Óø‚ÅNW)‘ß+š0}'Ugåϵ/&“¯]6š­.–ò‚zmݑ?ª·âZô°ÏEdÿR+ûŒ–ärFG¨­*F˜’’AEíøÓ4–s`)Ò¢Xn—ËNqŸcL¤/oì¹»˜ªCL¨Fƒ‘,t” Có1îhJCF&ŸÃ±C¨ã…ÓAØ&¨ÄøæÊ8/`ÀõÅØ+F‡ìˆªi7òc?xsû(Ågõ¢˜:uaÓ-ys $cåOR}¨] Õ³p°GeP¬[@Â÷Ç­ckÉ­KÀTtçpç£QJöƒ[<ð­ÔRjŒ˜mË!fR=lWeŽ“ð˵äéöHU¤F$yƒßšL(–g¤zI0ût2¶³1)‰W`ÎwI­aɹr1„Ç$Ԛ0)d A?ÔSa¡æضí̶“í’ŒEše1±“Û#[œyX~oނ)’GÿÑÕx¶Scâ}“GDôï=ùåƒ+ßòšò#nMI8«ØêzMÕ¨7ÒOa*Ê.È́öÅPŒ‰s¶¡9^ŠF-mWÁö‘w>¥­^Ioq*é÷)ÁÉU”È;T‘øjñ‚jÉÍÕ/œ³;H’,’,6Êý|…mÄìsŸÅå¤S½ÿh)W÷Ø5´‘$֟} ü¯3Dm·‚¡Ç½T ]ìŠßH. ’BúzFâéA‘äÁ#hò€Nê)]ø+ÁWä¶OñÄÜí’ÖXJ™Èažž;gËR¯žŠrU¯Ü,¼·’¶·a·Û8çÈ=ÂãÚ§.ËAêÃQÖáÙm€Kˆ‚,ŽÃV88ÆjʟD%q[é„M¦Ú›eF€ôË4îÌÜ+ýp}sTPDžF÷fKRÑ´/ì+‰å±Ö¯–Ý’XJ6€}+š2íZ2¹eÔ×Éa8íŠ6u®.w] ¦É…O’½€ØÞÏÆÖv[O8.»dÝî=¨ítr”_b wÄP$¹ËæŠMö,¦’ѱû-t@¿rÀ’PœŸ¢ŠŽÜ6Žöz«x8·]ê͉Ë{Ö|‘¦YI4¨ÈñÝË+&S$!’Ž8¤LjøµÖ£øž¤ Øì8äۓK(ëCÇìÖxoL¶Bn-MÎ[n ý*9òjÑål ¸ÈDŽO$cëëýh¶Ød’ÐÌ!öú⹓D.Ù>Sßö©Ë²°_lH³ø—Ÿz1lÏꚨXR8ÆwrséA£D“*áÎó»9oò®Z«?ÿÒoöÚÍfš]Þ0¥îavßñaÇzñ^^/Üÿ Ÿ·üŽ¾Î®æÖü1o-âÇ°-Ä2),dP„ÛŸ§z‹‹ ìcáËk¦™ À··TcÚ[„M͓´ŠZì¬ÖÖ¬-Zâ^Øtc¼µ[˜Ç&,«»}dòbŠêÄ{]ô;Û²[ßMérBÅ »1Û¼®q…%>››ÿ¹ÊªÇ…ÛEº9†£²žß¡;ƒ?LÊ nŀ=©cIS%·É2“B×1Áq,²Aâ$M¥|ÄÜìq¹yÛùk<8ה·@i$Wæk}®ânœ‹Ë0UN$§ë‡‹Mé7M2Am+íf-ÊTïfǗ ô÷£†O4k܆/kZÜÚ§’HˆFrëŽÊØî2;S­Z²7m:ìËI )c‚‰up‘¿M|¼Ä°ôÈsÿb¦6HR¿€ocNðMñތéå€vʗü hƺFg+vq-cÀ­¨éñ_éåZòU-=°áXò|¿•¶ÕT՛a—ÛRÙÎÙe´¸x%VŽHÎ×F ŠÐŒ9=-/ʍ¾†• E–›çýk’9°Ûe€ÄÂLxÁªÅlªçI°’ÞHäRœÐðIúã·ïNMˆ5:Uo¼:ç8ýÅp7ŸfŽ±éÑ£•è¼ÒUÆsŒ Åê;5zuí;G„¬¡³³’á"sp]¢Lííãô¬ò•¢µ²6«:Æ*sƒÇ—#–5'"Ñ^E¿¾UH¶¢—ΟZ.t†Š¶k,–›mÄ/О/#¼}›ßv;Ô&ìxªt=¶k—v`*ß’=i1ÆÎË4†P:ÅåG`;±îkG-™8Ùu½³'̘(Î9íÞ­J‰Ê[,Y6þ犔¤4c`÷2—¶MI²Ð[]Í#rë“ۏ­t%²Î ýb‚í"äçõªH0b‹xÁƒ,Þg$íý+›ÿÓÓ}¸Y4º~Ÿ#»wLc-sÛ#·zò ªTz0’ã^l÷ìžÑ ð…IJOԆIåc.Qóþu,ò§²°VÒF›ÃñØ[ÙEoûkD_FVº_’’Ü^#[ÝM!®àöñ®àۈØĞFÏÅQm®ËF)ÚG¯7wF;’^2ËqfÈH y_­ .L1n*ÿã“fÉeH®Ô 󜅷¡r§ëYZ~M ¯ãðUcuº,󆔳E…L+¸?61»Ò©8>ÐÂÞÆÊWR¹añ1)ÊÚ >Þæž vÉdœŸµtm ¹1…U–SºuS’2J襱dޟÁ„hú:á‡d©lÌ¡€ÛŽÙ-š0T3v„hÍ~žÜZí•.b,2̪¯È(Oe*£ŠÑéû£6TêÆz=„Vö¨Ã­4uÚ3¸—<mNR¹FcÅ_eZV´ïxѹb~ð„®;â©Î?ƒœS8þ·ö{¯é+,х»µ“$_6?ÙïÅj†E"1¸™Å» 1šªD› °MZù¤6‡hÀ<°Û€{ÓÆ$œö sm®ÛÈzð:0<†z47(½$ïCÍu Ó:ÏÙ̚ÁwlZWŠOÁø ¸ïûÖRŸ#g§~ÓµÙÇk%•»ÜBÒìlÂS'kÎN1XùÑ~ —ʐ^À(rà4LG#põýªrñ%Ñíã¼VA‰[ÑIÚ0<ßNô®E ¦²­Ô°mÂ79ì 릴2ùÛY}Øl{p8¡HL‘ð;·e1d›VÌÍl%ò¤Œö”°ʕì=G­$‡‰K:"ìÀ#<š›eTDº‹²ÈØå#œÑƒÙZјÕîË+ï-å'Ÿz»T}XÛ´¨¬06ò¡¸­…ŸÿÔÖý±@/<-b¯ ˆ‹µÜÎpƒÊÃÏü5ãb•´zœjËþË –ßühdÝÅy‰/»žõÙâû:2V6Ôo¬t…k¶–3Ô ÀÙG”þ§š¡ -w'LM¡\ê]jøžê)UVÛåUIÎØöOÇùªŠJ/}Zœ£Ø#:Ú¥ìqu±²KˆcÜ_nÞr@þk:5¸7_‹3qsi×a¸P#a€l‚€üTðm¢RŒ«Áõº;ÜÍ´ÂK&÷ᄛøE2»°:I!-ō­åû•4V*Äv·ª4Š_ý5ô֞]–Í¥½ª­¦r͒{òy¡¢—¸&Ϩ6F›%=¾”éj„rWl0)Tó¶é’Èì¡fÛÃc9¥cÍDœsëIÄxɉïä‘7¹r}…%b“ÞÙ ]¤nwËôÆjóèX=ƒoXm°ÊU˜dT™Z?ÿÕß}¥‹i|0Ñìë2N œ|¹Ü3üëÅôòNi#Ӛ’M‹>ͺ1éwۉaxd—îíµ›ŽNä§È¯^NOvúc W]†yíâxÙC²n1Ëöàö¨A{[.Öè{‰´‹t·yaˆ¨!,ÙG’¦ž»sSŒ[V4–̯ڪÚN,5Kvh®­n#C,|3FÜoqOŠú¡Î“¨E4elÇ°>Ìr8ÿ¥]I“‹Ò®¤º¹ø…d’ÆPÚ`~Ø*ÊqÚ¢¶RQ¤—3O©Hm”Âî gs36}* ¦Í)TWÈÊß­5£g0Aþ“3y•ËÁü j1_äéû‹´»î²H΄Kp¼¹î <f&Luþ@/®¬¦’;§—bC.Ôµ˜Úã‚ëÆâFï}µÑ§³œZ×Ïò¿|°ÕÝVc3#]ÊĆ 9iÚâª|Yß<Jl,%šÞX.$Ëʛb€Â5áO¾}[ø«’ÿ³›§k¢¹Ñ.åprݘÄʪöGÍNõØ"Ûº3z߆ôøa{¶½QäåStÍø½Lñé~ÑLÿcö2È­}X«0 ¶@ÈZ¦§*ʶ£þâWßd>¼ÑáX-þád&[€ßöm•Z[ظí>¬IâéŸR¨A4¶ékt¡Ê.W )¿#«’T5ђ¸ûCÒçŽÚòòÎ[kè³±^3″1S€Ñ¸Ôv¥– .º9Wy|q¬ø®[qi&iµ7¡ôÖüž—‚×T¶¼½}¡FâÁ·°Ófj}§(­-¦µÛH¢/.÷#RN@í¶ž ÇD’RÛì”íE2Ã!VVSÃ)8?­^Iª±N¹,FÖV–Øô„lÍ6pA8|¹oøiÕWGE;ìŒqÏדYCÀé¾4q–VP1ƒíúÕk{½k±U»0ºxç”E4.‹A…S%G‹?)©Ë²ñ^ߦ#½NUi7üDÖøÞ¼±? JØъK`úž˜÷UiJNÎ|ò1Á‚6Ž‡P‡Y¸²šîy$0Ü͵’8Ï|ôPƒ <¼ý)0ÊÈåÂ&]œ÷'LzUˆ°‰ Ì0ݏµ,‡Š²c9aûš”ñ{Þ^Ëg¦A`p§éAºe¡ÅrHZNÎ;JjT7LÊj׈ÑɹŠp$U¨[%̖žsœœ ¿Zƒ[*Ùÿ×Þý«¥ÅτnÚ7”K"ã–U#˟­x1ÜÓû=xRMy¡?‡mRkMAn¯nÍ«ÁÞûÐo+œ~…SÔw¥Ð0ô­‡êQD4IÖâßmº«–H,½6ùùÀþ&æ© ’”N3¤é×Þ$“â%tQ¤‚Žˆ¸P˜Eòîµy=*gZð旧Á•ã‚ÝÆPMåAå9ä7«z֏ät¯¡ä6Í*5»Ü´s™Úæ<øȘdƒå™"÷ænµh–5„¼NBËåó¨É ðAÈÿ¾Á䮃VÈÜÛYÁ4­a¡…Ùâ<+ÒIùyüU7+4‚¼9¬ßêšlo<? 9+ՍˆuۏÀþi’Ý'dä’Û Ÿx¾–Fc%±F0›Ô¿¿¥©Û^JŒS]Àe3±´e%" ó‚ ?6EZ ×Ѿ.«b½BW¼Ùe¡€Ç֖fÀ;IÚc`{ey®”ÔªŠB<m°h4ò´dŠÕ#TRÞRåG˜·<íùid¶R/_’«Wµ‚îæV‘Ð[96›¤œ÷Í4­ªFpÆÚ)c•$‘zˆ6•+Œqü5ÊD䩄WO„ßÐPF¼yõ4ösZ[ý§«p»da¶x£fÙ³¨åÿk5F©[¸’+viˆ¿ ÞnÀžÃ”¡Ôo_J EÆq‘‡ã÷©µ¢Š[ÊÆ!,7¸vò¤H‹ØÏíMj›l­êpE5ÕźYÄT¨s1 ³qœ·¯ K:ì­| oE½Êƈ òN;väú×MÞÙÕJ€Û†!œ“œzf›ŒùöÂ2‘™ìöi1zæ•Ø/˜gØ •”âwJ„‘n{W4<%Fvvx‘”!*=G©¢^¬Ëj¶ÒËØÌêNïÔU£%V,£à&æAoÒVL¨ËëPl¢VÿÐÛxâÎá|-O©høD,aéÇ̸¯ž¦¿Áí©';}™ßÇy¦Gk2²H-<lF:`”çžõ«3MўiY£º‚ ´{«¤Q)‰Á…Îõlü¹?3ã5Ò –{×ø§’8{åYŽyÛǟ,mì´%KC5hÖ[›]?¦z/]ƒ9Ëü%[ugãMÑk´œŠÒ7Ši¢’B—r˝±ƒ´·oŸ4í3›Zh³q%ä2 zȊ7p¥AËãùғÒL¿I]‘Ås´RãŔÇèÊù¿)¢K’Àf™qÌÛÎéäfá·Tþ¼ÓAoò&^·üIXÆékq7X|Ëtâ<xÛºŸ”‰äí6¶-–-çŸ=¼Ð…ŽÛ*!N;îõ¢îM´¼•Ø[¤’Ík*¶€DQ €¤¯c¸wä|´(-êþKVÎicròt¥glôðz.sô¥hnH­mä·r×7í£Nîw߀(í4ô»$p6¢ÐOq¹¤bXÆÒPÁxþT¶^šVka·-»dŽÝtٕÀ_ÍE&erW®ÉÊ£©+¤¥••d1·Œ~´Ë»¿m$.-a»p-`ÎùÑG?7½é½ŽšM¥Ù y$’ÒèˆÎDãÙ<çµl*ó_6§t{±…6#û2:Eæ‚QÔ4ïFB ½EÎ0Fk~xÅõٓåx6à<öñ¬X*QL’‘•)‚<¬Ì¢µ-úضm:"3CµwùËúœ¨åsﶪ’íy;—‡àªÊö$ƒªw,Š'À̅˜œl¾b)£.)¡’TþAŠOs´ÏÅ8R%SÎòBàþaÓÔ[E? eYŸ0È2q܌“ºhèÊ¿“ðVIÂ0k™ ™åv1éÌp{R6[¤ wâñK+u#C2+3aãS“¿ŽüÒ´è¤Z@vw^^ÈÉ*FÀ)ˆn?–+š(ú5″Üt‘çF™¡%$$Œc ñÏ­ÖÌ·½h%¡xí¶ $®qäx{ h¦JRWÐ4:„&(„ŒzE[{•Âùh¹jƒÁÙ G2Ã3@à’»’+ïœPm>‚•Uéö‘ÇAÕS†Ú{d‘®ŠÑҕ°e³Xe¸™Yº’ØåPçšN&…;DLö{¥ØÁä™v³©Ír˜™“´¯®#@@’Ú»ÉÒZ4Ú<a"¸Èlþ¹«Aó1ÊHÛHÆ 3d$ï€=«›"‰g·j”‘TÁnbÓ'‡9¡Äx³?uY{’qÜÑ·E£ØªùvL‡oø‡?®)äª( ÛbRÎI­Ã'–@KqþU4:{?ÿÒÛkˆTÊz¨e—åI;Cgy÷,Êkç¸{mOKFOÀö5°¹·KY„¬¸ÚÓ M¸Ç9^;V¼«Z3CºgKµh¾ám¢hͺíå<§*ȹóc·ûUTÚðv¹yëÊWK’õ whÕdhSŠcÛ°+Ÿ–ŸèçÙN‹iNڌ„¤aòŽ@¿¯ýás
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Visiting Daressalam

Soon as i found a nice camp on southern beach of Daressalam i met new interesting people too. Some travelers i met before on my trip trough Africa or i made new acquaintances, with whom i went to city of Daressalam. There are some touristic spots with art and handicrafts, a national museum with old presidential vehicles and streets with shopping centers, hotels and good Indian restaurants.

Most impressive was the new build „Human Dreams Children Village“ south of the city. The people taking disabled kids to give them not only a home but also treatment for their difficulties. Among many projects in Africa, with this one, at least a few human beings with no chance for future got a place to survive and experience a worthy life.

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Tanzanian Maasailand (part 1)

It’s a little while since, but i don’t want hold back the pictures from my last Tanzania trip any longer. After the safari tour to Serengeti and Ngorogoro crater with – a rather disappointing – safari tour operator. I was happy to continue traveling with my own car and pace. On the safari tour i met two young tourist girls, who wanted to go to Daressalam too. I offered them to join me trough Maasailand instead of a boring, long bus ride direct to Dar. They agreed for sharing fuel and food.

The day before departure, the three of us went to local market to buy food. It’s hard bargaining if one goes with typically dressed tourist girls to the food stalls. Somehow we managed to get our supplies, as the girls told me about their appointment with the owner of the safari company we went days before. The same guy who cheated me and gave false informations to me, was inviting those young girls for pizzas and swimming pool at the most expensive hotel in Arusha and paid them even their room in a backpacker hostel. I joined the girls for that appointment and got at least a pizza myself and some relaxing hours with wifi at the pool at „Mt Meru Hotel“. The pizza was tasty, the pool refreshing and the view of Mount Meru splendid.

The first day traveling didn’t brought us very far, but to a wonderful oasis i knew from earlier visit. Hot spring and pool with crystal clear water was a delight after a dusty road trip. Since we supposed to travel as friends, the girls had to help with cooking while i pitched their tent for the night. With the highest mountain of Africa – Mt Kilimanjaro – we camped just next to the hot spring.

On the next day, we got deeper in Maasailand, with no specific route, just follow south on dusty roads. We passed some huts and villages which seemed to be abandon. Some kids lead cows somewhere, looking bewildered as we crossed their ways. The rain brought much green food for their cows. For us was it easy to find a quite place to camp in that lush, green bushland and enjoy a peaceful sunset.

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The Himba Village

What’s the fascination of the Himba people? Is it their ancient and traditional lifestyle? Is it the bronze color of your skin? Or is it because they walk almost naked but freely and proud trough life? I hear people joking about the nakedness of Himbas, giggeling about bare breasts. I sense how people are unnaturally ashamed about the shameless nature of the Himba tribe. So were my parents rather shy in beginning of our visit in this Himba village. The locals acted completely natural, looked self confident in my camera and went on with their daily work. Of course, i went with my parents to a village open for tourists. The people are used on curious visitors, showed us how the live and what is important in their life and culture. Their proud and serious look turned into a big smile when i showed them the photos on display or tried to imitate their language. Kids played on the ground, made fun of me when i try to catch them with my Nikon and just stick some sweets in my mouth. Meat hung in front of houses, which are circled around an inner fence for the cattle. In centre is always a holy fire too. Everyone takes care it burns eternal, but the chief  of the village takes highest responsibility of it. A big income are the little handicraft market, displayed on the ground. I couldn’t resist to take a souvenir myself, but the nicest remembering are the feeling how strange but natural in same time it felt to be amongst those peaceful people.

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Ombili Project For San People

San people used to be hunters and gatherers. The movie „the gods must be crazy“ gave a strong impression about their life in the Kalahari bush. However, i got aware of the ‚Ombili Project‘ nearby, which was founded to help the San people, who suffer from losing they’re natural habits. On the way to this ‚cultural village‘ i explained my parents what i know about the life of this tribe. Contrary to my expectations and explanations after arrival we’ve seen neither their nomadic huts, nor hunters with poisoned arrows. Instead we got introduced in the huge garden behind solid brick buildings and explained about their success with cattle. The Ombili project turns out to be rather an agriculture school in purpose to give the upcoming generations of San people a new future. Nevertheless there is still a corner in the village to satisfy the visitors with their images of old traditional huts, fire making with a stick and a group who sings wonderful old, traditional songs.

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home of good hope

Guiding my mom and her husband trough Namibia, i didn’t only want show the touristic spots of the country, but also bring them closer to real life. A soup kitchen project in Katatura/Windhoek supported by my friend Barbara, was a good start.

In the „Home Of Good Hope“ approx. 600 children daily get food, explains Monica, the founder of project. When we arrived groups of children, some in school uniforms, waited in front of the house from corrugated iron sheets. Under the eyes of helpers the kids washed their hands in bucket filled with soapy water before entering the big gloomy room.  Inside wooden banks were provided, sorted in rows like in a church. Monica and her few helpers clapped in their hands and started to sind church songs with the kids, doing little daces with them, cheering them up to praise the lord, although there is no differences made by religions of the kids coming in. The only difference is made by school kids, who gets served first because the have to be in school on time. Four Swedish girls came in to help serving the simple, but  nourishing meal. They’re in Windhoek as exchange from nursing school and volunteering the soup kitchen today. In front of the building was a table with watery juice and apples cut in small pieces.

We brought from children clothes from home. Immediately they were sorted and given to kids attending this morning the soup kitchen. Some wear it with proud when the left the building. Amongst other things i discovered boxes for first aids, and indeed, a boy came with a wound on his leg. One of the helper cleaned the wound, put desinfection fluid on it and covered it. All in completely routine. Still all the laughter in our ears we left that place with good impressions.

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Marangu’s village life

Marangu. There’s not much to say, but only to enjoy that calm, tranquil village on foot of Mt.Kilimanjaro. For a long weekend i could enjoy the hospitality of these friendly people and had a little inside of their daily village life.

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