The piki piki is the main mode of transportation in the villages. The most comparable vehicle in the United States that most closely resembles the piki piki would be a dirt bike/motorcycle. The majority of the time we traveled with three people on the bike; the driver and two passengers. I found myself being the smaller of the travelers, thus volunteered to be the in the middle of the trio. I am typically grasping the bars under the seat for dear life and exclaiming pole pole (slow down) when we barrel down the eroded, pothole-filled dirt roads. On our way back from visiting one of the OVC’s (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) a couple times, Simon, the coordinator of Mbakalo, insisted on driving. These were the times I feared for my life. At one point he stopped abruptly, trying to wedge our way around a wagon and I found myself face to face with a mule, who didn’t seem very amused. I proceeded to get off and refused to get back on until our actual driver resumed.
As of now the two pieces of luggage I should have added to my belongings are more toilet paper and a helmet for the piki piki. Two days ago I had arrived back into Nairobi after an eight hour bus ride from Mbakalo and we had gone to a Nakumatt (resembles a mall). The security guards in the mall all had helmets on, somewhat synonymous to a baseball helmet but without the padding underneath. I thought about trying to negotiate with one of them for his helmet because of the dyer need for a safety precaution on the bike. When I travel to the next village, Mituntu in the Eastern Province, that form of protection would certainly come in handy. In Mbakalo last week Pat and I had arranged to receive driving lessons from what we called Doug’s School of Driving, but the training was postponed, yet never rescheduled because of rain. Doug is the wife of Esther, the ABD supervisor, who insisted that we learn and tell our friends about his flawless training when we return to the states. Unfortunately, I have no stories or positive encouragement to relay to my friends about Doug’s Driving School, but hopefully someone in Mituntu will teach me the art of driving a piki piki.
As of now the two pieces of luggage I should have added to my belongings are more toilet paper and a helmet for the piki piki. Two days ago I had arrived back into Nairobi after an eight hour bus ride from Mbakalo and we had gone to a Nakumatt (resembles a mall). The security guards in the mall all had helmets on, somewhat synonymous to a baseball helmet but without the padding underneath. I thought about trying to negotiate with one of them for his helmet because of the dyer need for a safety precaution on the bike. When I travel to the next village, Mituntu in the Eastern Province, that form of protection would certainly come in handy. In Mbakalo last week Pat and I had arranged to receive driving lessons from what we called Doug’s School of Driving, but the training was postponed, yet never rescheduled because of rain. Doug is the wife of Esther, the ABD supervisor, who insisted that we learn and tell our friends about his flawless training when we return to the states. Unfortunately, I have no stories or positive encouragement to relay to my friends about Doug’s Driving School, but hopefully someone in Mituntu will teach me the art of driving a piki piki.
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