Through Swamp, River, and Sea: Bunyala District - Even Further South of the River Nzoia

This post on performing my community needs assessment is going to take a different form from the others. In short, it necessitates it. Our journey to Bulwani in many ways overshadowed the information we gathered during our discussions with the villagers. So below is a narrative of how the trip transpired…

A view from our boat as we circumnavigated the Ndekwe River within the Yala Swamp, just outside of Mabinju Beach.

A Foiled Attempt 

On Wednesday, Lawrence and I biked from Budalang'i, crossed the River Nzoia by ferry boat, and continued onto Mabinju Beach. There, we met a man who had helped to arrange a private boat for us to take through the Yala Swamp along the Ndekwe River, across Lake Victoria, and finally through a small waterway leading to the village of Bulwani.

We had told him to be ready for us at 7AM, despite knowing that we wouldn't arrive until thirty minutes later. Naturally, when we arrived, they still weren’t ready for us. The boat which was supposed to be there for us, a boat owned by the government, never arrived. Instead, they ended up raising the price on us severely to rent a different boat and engine.

It wasn’t until 8:30AM that we finally headed out onto the River Ndekwe, but the engine had problems right from the start. Our driver would pull the crank of the engine, and it either wouldn’t catch, or would hold an idle for a few seconds before dying out. As he kept trying, we ended up further into the swamp. But eventually, he couldn’t get any power from it, and had to use a single paddle to bring us back to shore.

The arranger asked a local mechanic to try and fix it, but when they attempted to put it back in the water at 10AM and it still didn’t work, we told them we’d return on Friday. The day was lost. I tried to make sure they understood the need to have everything ready promptly for us.

The Journey to Bulwani

Thursday night, it rained steadily from about 8PM to 3AM. The roads, most leading to Sigiri being under construction or undeveloped, were sure to be muddy and difficult to bike. Lawrence and I decided to still give it a try. But just as I was about to leave the house, at 6:30AM, it began drizzling, and the rain soon intensified. After about twenty minutes, with the rain seemingly ready to taper off, we  met in town and began biking to Sigiri.

The skies looked rather ominous, with lots of low, lingering clouds and fog. But rain, for the most part, stopped on our way. After crossing the River Nzoia at Sigiri, the rain began again, but the skies began to show some promise of clearing.

We arrived at Mabinju Beach around 8AM. We found the arranger working with a couple other men to unload a different engine from a ‘piki piki’ (motorcycle). Mercifully, the government boat actually made it this time, and we were assessed the original cost.

After loading our bikes onto the boat, we boarded and were on our way, the two of us with Justice, the driver, at about 8:45AM. The engine this time seemed to be running fairly well, and was able to idle. The skies were still cloudly, but conditions weren’t bad.

A local man fishing within the River Ndekwe.

We followed the Ndekwe River as it snaked its way along the coast through the Yala Swamp. The river was fairly wide, lined with local, indigenous wetlands vegetation. We passed many boats of fishermen, and also ferries carrying people from isolated villages, most returning to Mabinju Beach.

In about twenty minutes, the channel opened up wide. We had reached Lake Victoria. Just past the mouth of the Ndekwe was a fairly calm body of water, but ahead of us was the interface where the waters got rougher; Lake Victoria.

A view from the River Ndekwe as we approached the entrance to Lake Victoria.

I was surprised at how rough the seas actually were. It was more similar to an ocean, but then again, it is the largest lake in Africa, and the largest tropical lake in the world.

Justice, for the most part, aimed the boat into the waves. The ride was choppy; we got splashed by waves as we hit several at an angle, but no major issues. But very shortly after hitting the rough seas, the engine died. Justice struggled to crank the engine, he found he had to remove the engine cover and tweek some components. As he worked, the boat precariously drifted parallel to the waves, and we were rocked and splashed mightily until he righted us again with the paddle, before tending again to the engine.

Lawrence was given the task of using a small plastic container to scoop up the water that was steadily leaking into the bottom of the boat, a job which Justice had been steadily doing while manning the boat through the Ndekwe. But his attention was now demanded fully by the engine.

Justice finally got the motor going again after about five more minutes, then we moved fairly well across the lake, travelling maybe 500 yards off the coastline. We continued along the lake before making a near perpendicular turn towards the coast.

It now began to rain again. The waves were getting stronger, and unfortunately, the engine began to stall again as well.

I asked Justice if the engine was just waterlogged from the waves. 'No,' he said, 'the engine is a problem.' It was lacking a spark plug!

We drifted parallel to the waves again, us rolling up and down with each wave, tilting the boat ominously and splashing us with mounds of water each time. Then came a big one, Justice still working on the motor frantically. We were ill-positioned. The boat climbed up the near-side of the wave, tilting the boat away, and as we climbed to the top of the wave, the boat tipped.

It all happened very fast. All I could do, having been tossed from my seat, was to stand on the high side of the boat, now the floor beneath my feet. I leaned and pushed with all my might against the high side of the boat, and we luckily became upright again.

The boat had tipped past 90 degrees, seemingly well past. We very nearly capsized. I let out an ‘ehhh, Bwana!’ to Justice, as everyone nervously laughed. It was a really close call.

After using the oar to reorient the boat perpendicular to the waves, Justice was now uncapping the fuel tank and putting a tube directly into it. He soon, mercifully, got the engine going again. We briefly fought through more waves, taking them at more of an angle.

Finally, the waters calmed as we reached the mouth of a small channel, leading to Bulwani. We were soaked from head to toe. None of us were prepared for such a dramatic journey. I, for one, expected a nice relaxing ride across a gentle lake.

Justice manning the motor as we enter calmer waters after passing through Lake Victoria.

There were many other boats in this area, again many fishermen, but also some boats ferrying passengers into Bulwani. The wide mouth entering the channel was filled with lilly pads, again lined with wetland vegetation.

Passing local villagers on our way through the channel leading to the beach at Bulwani.

As we approached a much-narrowed channel, only about twenty feet wide, the engine died. This time for good. Another boat passed Justice a large bamboo rod, which he used to push us the rest of the way to shore.

Passing through the narrow channel through wetlands leading to Bulwani. Unfortunately, this was the last picture I could take as all the water ruined my camera. I did not expect a rough journey.

We soon made it to the beach. It was not really a beach, but just a narrow landing point, where boats stopped one behind the other, a good distance from dry land. Everyone had to wade through water ankle to knee deep.

Justice told me to take off my shoes. I was already soaked, but still kept hope that if I didn’t make contact with the ground, I wouldn’t get schistosomiasis, or any of the other diseases possible when people defecate by open water.

I followed Lawrence as we climbed from our boat, to another, to another, approaching land. We then stepped into the muddy waters, and continued on, following a good crowd of people down a path filled with mud and standing water. In about 100 yards, we reached the village of Bulwani. First order of business, find a ‘duka’ (shop) to buy a pair of flip-flops, several sizes too small. But it at least allowed me to get out of my swamped shoes.

Despite all our struggles, I was in a great mood. Our time at sea was unsettling, but rather fun and adrenaline filled. I enjoyed greeting and speaking with the villagers, and given the seclusion of the village, they especially enjoyed meeting me. I really do enjoy my work in the Peace Corps.

Community Needs Assessment

We carried on with our plan of work, meeting with representatives of the BMU (Beach Management Unit), the head-teacher at Bulwani AC Primary School, a worker at the local dispensary, before making several home visits across the village.

The head-teacher expressed great satisfaction to see me come. He told me that people, especially the government, generally stay away from their community. He spoke of programs being rolled out at schools by government ministries generally helping only schools easily reachable. They leave out schools such as theirs, which he says have the biggest problems.

Unlike the other beaches in the district, the BMU has no ‘banda’ (market/fish weighing/cleaning area) or office, not even a temporary one. Whenever they have built a ‘banda’ in the past, floodwaters have always destroyed it. I asked, ‘why can’t you just build the structure further inland?’ They responded that they simply don’t have the land.

The flooding which affects Bulwani is actually caused by rising water levels of the lake, unlike other parts of the district I had visited which are primarily affected by flooding from the river. The flood waters often reach roads on the periphery of the community, but never directly affect homes. The water does, however, adversely affect their farmland, as many families complained of waters damaging their crops. The floods are irregular, and can affect the community as little as once every other year, or as often as twice in a year.

‘Vyoo’, or latrines, are also a major problem. The water table is only one meter deep in the dry season, and the soil is sandy. After construction, a 'choo' normally cannot last past one month.

When speaking with the school head-teacher, he described how they built the school's ‘vyoo’. They actually dug 10 meters using a machine to pump water out of the hole as they dig. I explained how bad this is – if water can get in and out, so can sewage, contaminating the drinking water.

Transportation, as I found out first-hand, is a major problem. There are only two ways to access the village. The preferred route is the one we took, taking a boat through the lake. There is only one land-route, if it can be called that. A road leads to Bulwani from the village of Runyu. But this road is very bad, three to five kilometers of wading through mud and water, often waist deep.

This affects not only the movement of people, but also the transport of fish to neighboring markets for sale, and the importation of foodstuffs from other markets to sell within Bulwani. Middlemen are often able to take advantage of fishermen, paying below-market rate.

Standing water is another problem, as water entering the village from rising waters has no channel to leave.

There are three boreholes in the village, but during times of drought, they do not produce water. During these times, people are driven to drinking river water. Some people also claimed that the water is brown and has lots of particulate matter visible in it.

The most common illnesses in the village are malaria and diarrhea. Unlike other areas of the district which appear to have many mosquito nets, Bulwani has a shortage. Many families have only enough nets for half of their family to sleep under, even with sharing, or the nets are old and untreated. School children are also heavily affected by jiggers.

The Return Trip to Mabinju
As we worked our way through the home visits, drizzle, being omnipresent since arrival, again became a steady rain. We had planned on stopping at Nandehe Beach, which is located halfway back along the lake, but given the weather and our struggles at sea, we decided against it.

Around 1:30PM, skies were still cloudy with on-and-off drizzle. One of the local men was kind enough to let us borrow one of his spark plugs for the return journey. So we trudged back along the path to the beach, now in my flip-flops, which left me barefoot several times as they got caught in the mud.

Once at the beach, we climbed back across a couple boats, and into our own. This time, Justice asked us to both sit in the back of the boat, next to each other, and this did seem to help with stability.

But as we got situated, the skies opened up again and it began to absolutely downpour. Justice backed the boat out by oar, and leaned us up against some tall wetlands plants to shield us, to some degree, from the rain. Lawrence asked me if he thought we should wait in town. I told him that’s fine with me, I am in no rush.

But Justice insisted on heading back now. So instead, about ten minutes later, the engine now in working order, we started out into the channel. But once the narrow channel began to open up, approaching the lake, the rains intensified even more. I joked, did we just reach Hurricane Sandy?

We decided to wait out the heavy rains by docking against a small island of wetland plants just before the entrance into the lake. This did very little to shield us from the rain. We might as well have just dived into the lake, we were drenched. And Lawrence was shivering to no end. I felt for the guy, but he was a good sport all day.

We waited for about ten more minutes. It was now 2:40PM, and conditions were not improving. I asked Justice if he could tell whether the surf was stronger than during the morning. Yes.

Lawrence asked me about returning to Bulwani to wait out the storm. I told him, if there’s danger, there is no reason to rush. I have no pressing reason to get back. But as Justice began steering us back towards Bulwani, he argued that it will be impossible for us to find a place to sleep, because if we turn back now, the surf will only worsen. He insisted that we make the return journey now.

Lawrence was obviously nervous about it, but finally caved. So Justice turned us back towards the lake, and we proceeded.

We looked to the clouds. Justice told us the clouds to our north, the direction we were heading, was all heavy rain. Only looking to the south showed promise of improved weather.

We pushed on into the lake, again getting pelted by strong waves, but we were beyond soaked to care. As long as we stay upright…

But during the return trip, with a now-cooperating engine, Justice did good. We generally stayed perpendicular to the waves, going airborne at times with the force, but never rocking too much to the side. Lawrence continued to empty the water from the bottom of the boat.

While far out into the lake, the rains decreased, but did not yet stop. Some tension relieved, Laurence and I began talking. I joked, ‘when you offered to accompany me, you expected this to be easy right, not to cause you pain!’ He laughed, said there was nothing that could be done. But he told me, ‘you know, I was really scared at one point back there. I didn’t know if we’d make it, I thought we’d capsize.’

I asked him if he could swim. He told me no. Many people in the area are used to the water, spend their lives fishing, but no one in his family is. So his fear was understandable. For me, even if we capsized, I never contemplated that I could possibly drown.

There was one final moment of anxiety as we pushed forward towards the Ndekwe River, more parallel to the waves, rocking from side to side. We finally made it into the smooth waters of the Ndekwe, freezing and soaked, but as they would say in ‘kiswahili,' 'mzima', or whole. And only now did the rains stop, for the rest of the day at that.

As we circumnavigated the Ndekwe, moving through the swamp, the guys spotted an alligator. I didn’t realize they were in the waters near us. A final surprise for me from the day.

Once back on shore, Laurence and I enjoyed a good, warm meal and coffee at a nearby ‘hoteli’, then biked back home, including the final river crossing at Sigiri.

The day had been intense. I was soaked from head-to-toe, and may now have a little more ‘schisto’, but I really enjoyed the experience. It was new, different. If you had told me a year ago I’d be crossing a large body of water at risk of capsizing, no way I could have believed it. My two Peace Corps experiences – in a small village in arid Mali, then here in a diverse community in Kenya along Lake Victoria – continue to be completely different. And I am thankful for that.