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February 5th – 8th, 2022

To Lake Turkana

Today was the day we’d see the Jade Sea, as Lake Turkana is sometimes known. The road north from Ngurunit is scenic, looping around the top hat peak of Mount Poi and between the crags of other Ndoto mountains. Eventually we joined the road to South Horr. Not long after we saw a turnoff that Tony, Lasamu Camp manager, had told us about. This road is not marked on any map we have, nor Google. It’s a new road directly to Loyangalani built by the Lake Turkana Wind Project.

The old road goes via South Horr. It worried me to drive off into the desert on an unmapped road, and I wanted to experience driving through South Horr like so many travelers before us. We kept to the original route.

It was a dusty dirt road on the edge of the desert, swooping up and over hills and across dry luggas, most of those with paved fords. We saw a Somali ostrich and dik diks, who always come in pairs, patrolling the scrubland.

Our road finally merged with the Maralal – South Horr road. Turning north we saw the enormous power transmission lines paralleling this road, about a half kilometer to the west, carrying power from the new wind project. The road dropped into in a valley that was surprisingly green in a dry desert sort of way. 

Stands of acacias abounded, including that favorite that typifies East Africa, the flat top acacia. The flat top acacia’s limbs reach aspiringly aloft, branching evenly apart like capillaries, the tips ending in a perfect plateau, nature’s imitation of a martini glass.

We drove through South Horr and to our surprise found it has cell coverage. I’ve been promising Jenny we’re going to get way Out There, off the grid, and here even on this long dusty road to remote Turkana cell signal is present. I guess we’ll have to keep going. 

South Horr turned out to be more attractive than the sandy backwater I imagined. Located at the bottom of a valley, almost the entire village is shaded by trees. Going down the the main street of shops I am almost tempted to use the words “leafy boulevard” except that it is not quite a boulevard and the leaves are the small acacia leaves amongst long thorns, still letting through some of the hot sun. Still, the occasional bougainvillea, shade, and friendly waves made it more appealing than I had imagined. 

It is still something of a sleepy outpost. Camels sat under trees next to circles of residents chatting away the hot hours of the afternoon. A goat wandered out the door of duka (small shop), I guess they didn’t stock what he needed. We bypassed the traditional stopover campsite in South Horr, the “Samburu Sports Club” and continued toward the lake. 

North of town there are actually brief sections of tar road, though in such poor condition that anyone would rather it be gravel. Mostly it is a wide gravel road that hasn’t seen the attentions of a grader in a long time.

As we push north out of the valley the acacias give way to shrubs and the shrubs give way to rocks. A lot of rocks, dotted with green bushes here and there and it all became quite desolate. Of course that is what Turkana is known for, desolation, being the largest permanent desert lake in the world. 

Then we saw the first tips of the wind turbines. Wind turbines of course denote the presence of wind, and this causes some trepidation in the Land Cruiser. Jenny is particularly not fond of camping in the wind. I mean, it’s no one’s favorite, but I was concerned that I might be pushing the boundaries a little bit too far. 

At least the turbine blades weren’t whipping around too fast, no gale as of yet. I started to count them, but there was a lot. A group here, maybe 25. Another on the far ridge, another 25. They were all over the place (It turns out there are 365 turbines generating 310 MW of power). At a security gate for the Wind Project they asked us our destination. We said Loyangalani and they waved us along. Where else could we be going?

Another gate at the end of the wind project checked our registration plate. Before opening the barrier they asked if we would give two guys a ride to Loyangalani. This was all in Swahili, but it was pretty clear what the proposal was. 

Here was another conundrum of Africa. We were going to Loyangalani and if we reorganized our luggage we could find room to take them. We see vehicles loaded to two, three, four times their capacity. People on the roof, people riding on the rear bumper, whatever. Really there is no way to say to an African with a straight face, “we don’t have room.” Instead to this request we simply replied, “no”.

We get asked for rides often on our travels and every time it pains us to say no. Jenny and I empathize with those asking for a ride, but have stuck to our guns, saying no with rare exceptions. 

There are a myriad of reasons for our policy. In some areas security is an issue. Not being locals we’re not always aware of where this is an unwarranted concern. Covid is a worry as well, though this excuse seems very thin when you talk to locals who could care less about such first world problems. Another is what would become the constant need to reorganize our gear. We use the rear seats to store our clothes and those things that don’t like dust, computers and cameras and so forth.

Shallowly I will confess the last reason, which is a lot of African hitchhikers do not have an opportunity to bathe frequently and are quite fragrant. Once in a while giving a ride to a pungent passenger for a few kilometers is no big deal. But we’re frequently asked for rides that are a whole or half a day and we’ve no interest in becoming a daily taxi service on this trip.

In a way the Land Cruiser is our haven, a place to retreat from the sometimes exhausting sounds, smells, temperatures, dustiness and occasional awkwardness of Africa. This makes it uncomfortable when strangers invite themselves into our home and sanctuary by asking for a ride.

Part of why we travel is to encourage self reflection and all this makes me feel superficial and callous. We witness plenty of local vehicles pass up hitchhikers as well, so I don’t think we are too alone and perhaps I am over thinking this. I mention it to give an honest account of our travels; this is something I haven’t much read about before but I know others must contend with the same requests.

After exiting the Wind Project the road weaves around hills and you can tell the lake is tantalizingly close to coming into view. The hills are made from chunks of porous red volcanic rocks, piled haphazardly in long slopes towards the lake. There are a few green shrubs growing here and there and it looks vaguely similar to the basalt fields of Palmwag in Namibia that we visited a couple years ago. 

The road drops down in elevation and around one corner the lake comes into view. It’s a wonderful view. The heat shimmer is rising above the rocks in every direction and the lake just appears to sleep lazily in the distance. It is huge. I know it’s huge from the map, but we can’t see the opposite shore and it’s bigness impresses.

After following the road for a few more hills and turns we can see the lake it properly. It’s an incredible sight. Maybe it’s because it is so far out here, away from anything. We drove for two days through desert scrubland and rocks, and to arrive at this enormous lake gives a lasting impression.

South Island, a national park and part of what forms Turkana’s UNESCO world heritage site status, sits in the lake serenely, housing huge nile crocodile breeding grounds. We stopped for a snack and to absorb the view. 

The road drops down to the lakeshore and the whole time we feel like we are exploring deep into the hinterland. This is unvarnished remote Africa and it’s a privilege to see it. We see a few fishermen with modest craft working by the shore, some just rafts of logs, and pastoral huts built from reeds and sticks. These tiny settlements have no shade, just plopped on the rocks were a few Turkana families somehow eking out a living. 

This rocky road wanders along the very scenic lakeshore, right down to the edge of the water, or sometimes swooping inland over a point or rise. In far too short a time we rolled into Loyangalani, the only real town on the remote eastern shore of Lake Turkana. 

The outskirts of this dusty outpost are formed by dozens, maybe hundreds, of reed and stick huts. As we entered town we get a lot of stares, smiles and waves. There are traditionally dressed old Turkana, younger people usually are wearing western clothes with maybe a beaded necklace or bracelet as a nod to their traditions. 

We took a quick look at the lake before heading for our camp for the night, Palm Shade Campsite, one of only a couple accommodation options in town. Palm Shade has a few simple bandas, a restaurant serving a simple set menu, and a couple places to camp. 

It was surprisingly full here. A Kenyan NGO focused on drought relief had a few Land Cruisers of staff here, getting ready to make the rounds on their local projects. The NGO staff were, I presume, Kenyan locals, wearing sarong wraps and they chewed mirrah, a mild narcotic (also known as khat in Somalia and Yemen)late into the night.

We found a spot in the small lawn and settled in. Palm Shade camp is a nice little oasis. Speaking of oases, the other place to stay in town is the slightly more upmarket Oasis lodge, though from what I hear “upmarket” is not really a thing in Loyangalani. I regret we didn’t check it out. 

In Aberdare I started reading The Constant Gardener, by John Le Carre. This novel is set in Kenya, a murder mystery where the scene of the crime is on this same eastern shore of Lake Turkana. Among the typical Le Carre international intrigue is also the Oasis Lodge, and its famously irascible owner. It felt somehow imprudent to read about a grisly murder while we were setting out to visit the very same remote and inhospitable destination. For what it’s worth the book is much better than the movie. 

At Palm Shade there is a restaurant onsite serving a fixed menu for only 500 KSH per person. At this bargain price we thought we’d give it a try. Dinner turned out to be amazing, a massive pile of nile perch fillets, sautéed vegetables, potatoes and ugali, all served family style. It was way more than we could possibly eat and I imagine the kitchen staff took care of the excess.

The other guests were interesting. We met two Israelis, friends traveling together who had come on public transport. It had taken them days, with matatus that broke down, cars that used all their spare tires, and finally a boda boda all the way from South Horr. I can’t even imagine how uncomfortable ridding two-up on a boda all that way must have been.

Another guest was a Czech women who was on her weekly break from living in the village of the El Molo. The El Molo are one of the smallest tribes in Africa, with only 200 members remaining. She was a researcher, living there for a month studying sexuality in their tribe. She told tales of the living conditions and of the sexual and gender norms of this tiny tribe.  

It was hot here and when we turned in for the night we were very happy for our little 12v fan. At night the famous Lake Turkana wind blew up for a few hours, causing fitful sleep. In the morning the wind died and instead the flies were out. It is a difficult trade off, the flies or the wind, but at least they weren’t tsetses. 

There is a Kenya Wildlife Services station here in Loyangalani that can organize trips out to South Island. It was very hazy, I suppose a product of the wind from the night before, and a day on the water didn’t seem that attractive. Instead we resolved to push north.

At Palm Shade we topped up on water, which is from a borehole here. We treated the water regardless. We also discussed the security situation with the camp manager, a local safari guide and the KWS rangers. We did not see any police, but everyone was adamant that for the time being things were quiet and perfectly safe.

In addition to mobile signal Loyangalani also has a new tiny fuel station. Before hitting the road we again took the opportunity to top up on fuel. Just a few kilometers north of town is a museum, sited with an amazing ocean view. Or it would be amazing if it hadn’t been so hazy. We paid our 500 shillings and toured the modest museum. 

From here we continued north to the village of the El Molo. This is marked on T4A. We had heard that you can pay a fixed price and they’ll give you a tour of the village and allow you to take photos. Normally we shy away from this sort of thing, but at least this was a real village and not a “living museum,” which make me a little uncomfortable. This seemed like a good way to talk to some locals and the researcher last night had stressed how hard the living is for the El Molo is, and that every dollar helps.

We pulled into the village and were immediately surrounded by kids. Not long after a guy came up to us, introducing himself as the tour guide. We established the price (1500 KSH per person), which was cheaper than what we’d been told in Loyangalani. 

The tour around the village was really nice. The guide was friendly and most of the villagers were welcoming. A few old men were sitting around playing something resembling mancala, and some women were building a new hut. Our guide went to great lengths to explain how hard the men worked, braving the lake to fish and so forth, while the women “just stayed home with the kids and cooked.” And built the houses. It wasn’t a very convincing balance of labor, but we didn’t argue.

He offered to take us in a boat across to a small island close offshore. There is a second part of the village there that also has their sacred shrines. We passed, we were worried about the time and we wanted to make some progress north towards Sibiloi National Park.

Our plan was to take the less traveled lake shore road. Not that the “main road” is much traveled either. We had chatted with all the drivers at Palm Shade and they had confirmed that the lake shore road was safe and passable, just that it was slower.

At the tiny junction we turned off onto our lesser route, just a rocky two spoor track wandering off into the desert. Much of the road isn’t’ actually on the lake shore, but paralleling it a little inland.

Like other Kenyan lakes, Turkana’s lake level has risensome meters and swamped some of the original road. This meant we had to divert from the GPS and Tracks4Africa’s instructions several times, but each time we were able to pick up the scent and return to the mapped road. 

We were really out in the back of beyond now and I started to ponder mechanical break down. We drove gently. The scenery was unworldly, empty and forbidding. There were at least relatively fresh tire tracks ahead, a sign that this wasn’t totally foolhardy, but otherwise we were very alone. 

At one point the road follows a dry riverbed and T4A had it coming out of the riverbed and up onto the bank. We probed and searched and could not find the road. Eventually we just decided to fully off-road it, blindly following the track on the GPS.

When we zoomed way in on the GPS, to follow the route carefully and hopefully pick up some faint tire tracks we noticed T4A had labeled the road on the map as “not visible.” What the heck, then it isn’t a road, right?

The longer we pushed on this bushwhacking route the less comfortable we were. We resolved to double back if we didn’t find the road soon, but much to my relief (Jenny being less concerned than I) we finally picked up the original track.

The rest of the day progressed slowly as we made our way up the lake shore. Occasionally we’d pass a small collection of huts, sometimes getting and odd wave and a smile. Out here most were dressed traditionally, old grandmothers wrinkled and bare chested, heavily adorned with beads and a wrap. Men universally have a long straight stick, for assisting with herding and hiking, a wrap, sandals made from old tires and one nod to western clothing, a short brimmed hat. 

Most Africans seem to shun a hat for shade. Sometimes we see a wool hat to keep warm, even on days that are quite warm enough for us, but almost never a hat to protect from the sun. Except men in Turkana seem to have embraced the idea. 

The track ambles north and we ambled with it. True to form we were indeed stuck-in-low-gear. The road crosses the grain of the land. We imagined we were driving on old lakebed, from when the lake was deeper, wide swaths of black and grey volcanic sand. It must rain a lot on occasion as there were hundreds of tiny dry ravines, just too deep to drive across without slowing and downshifting, making for slow going. 

Our progress was slow and we planned to wild camp tonight. We’d asked about this in Loyangalani and the only concern was that there weren’t many people around up here should we have any problems. This is sort of the opposite of our concern, that there’d be too many people around.

In the late afternoon we were scouting spots and settled on a stretch where we hadn’t seen many huts for a while and the shoreline was thick with palm trees. We tucked in behind a few palms about 50 meters up the lakeshore and declared this a charming spot for the night. 

As should not surprise you, in about half an hour two young guys materialized. They didn’t speak any English and our Swahili didn’t get us very far. We busted out the phrase booked and asked if it was okay to camp. They responded that it was. A while later they made a shy and oblique attempt at asking us for 3000 shillings to camp, a little more than $25 USD. We feigned ignorance to see what would happen. After a few more mutual attempts at communication they seemed satisfied and wandered away. 

We figured it was good they knew we were here. If it was a problem, someone more senior would show up soon but nobody did. It was hot and we had the luxury of a bush shower. In keeping with our usual wild camping program, we didn’t have a fire and stuck with our easiest meal for bush camping, pasta. The wind had abated mostly and the flies weren’t too bad a menace. 

After a beautiful sunset night fell swiftly. The moon was bright, the stars out, and it felt like we were a million miles from anywhere. This feeling is invigorating in a way, but also alarming. I don’t think there are a whole lot of places, on land, that feel this isolated and I was embracing the novelty of it. 

I suppose in a certain way Turkana isn’t so remote. There are Turkana pastoralists scattered about and I’m sure they would surprise us with their ability to help if we were stranded. But when you find more aid workers than tourists, when vehicles are few, when maps are incomplete and when information on the route is rare, that is what makes it feel like a far off place. 

In the morning we didn’t feel any need to stick around. The road continued to be slow going, a lot of second gear. Eventually the track dives inland, pulling us off the lakeshore. We went across a wide flat plain with fresh shoots of green grass from recent rain. There were also dried mud holes along the route, signs of previous vehicles struggling in the mud. I shuddered to think how that would feel, stuck in the mud all the way out here. 

At the north end of the plain was an incredible field of orange and red wildflowers, all part of the wonderfully varied scenery to which we were being treated. The road improved, almost to the quality of a small gravel road, and for a minute it was actually corrugated, a sign of regular traffic. I briefly reached all the way to third gear.

Another relatively large road joined this track from our righthand side, also not on any map. If we stayed on our current track we would end up in the village of Moite, but we were looking to turn off, northeast, to join up with the usual road to Sibiloi. 

We saw a boda boda and driver at the side of the road, and after passing him we missed the turn, driving past its faint ruts. As we were stopped, consulting our GPS, he came up to check on us. Incredibly he was wearing a white down jacket. How he kept it white out here is one mystery, and that he was wearing a down jacket in the building heat of the day is another. 

He was friendly and even with the language barrier we managed to communicate that we were looking for the road to Sibiloi. He smiled and showed us, we were very close, and then wished us well on our way.

We bumped our way along this track for a while. When crossing one of the many dry riverbeds of deep sand we again lost the track. This time the brush was too thick for bushwhacking and we drove around in circles for a while looking for the road. Two lanky Turkana fellows popped out of the bushes and smiled, they could tell we were lost. Without even asking they directed us to the road. It was wonderful, though I suppose not surprising, that all the way out here, when two mzungus without a clue show up they know what we need. We stopped and thanked them and they were all smiles.

Sibiloi National Park

Finally our little track intersected with the main road to Sibiloi. By “main road” I mean a small gravel road that has at some point at least seen a road grader. The vistas were beautiful in their starkness. We saw signs of rain in the tiny wildflowers that persisted and we enjoyed the drive.

The Karsa gate to Sibiloi National Park hove into view. The rangers were nowhere to be seen at first, but eventually they appeared. I had finally achieved my promise to Jenny, finding a place with no cell signal. This means no payment by Mpesa or credit card, so we paid our park fees in cash. 

Sibiloi is the site of, among other things, the Koobi Fora museum and research camp. Koobi Fora is run by the National Museum, and curiously you can camp there within the park, for far less than KWS charges to camp at their sites. We paid for two days in the park, telling them we’d camp at Koobi Fora. We figured if we didn’t like it there we could always pay to camp at the KWS site later.

Sibiloi National Park was gazetted in 1973, to protect wildlife, paleontological and fossils sites. It is, collectively with the other Turkana National Parks, a UNESCO world heritage site and has the byline, “The Cradle of Mankind” though I expect a number of other places make the same claim.

One of our guidebooks, The Safari Companion, advises that it is a good place to see rhinos, but thanks to poacher’s efficiency those days are unfortunately long past. KWS claims wildlife includes zebras, Grant gazelles, lions, leopards, stripped hyenas, Beisa Oryx, greater kudu, cheetahs and northern topi. That said, Sibiloi is not a place one comes for game viewing. It’s a place for wildness, remoteness, desolation and fossilized history. There is the Koobi Fora museum and some fossil sites we can visit. 

Fitting the moment we put Sapiens back on the stereo, where we were told about the social structure of early hunter gatherers as we wandered through the narrow tracks of the cradle of mankind. 

There is also a petrified forest not far from the gate. We took the spur to go have lunch and investigate. We’ve seen a number of petrified forests in our travels, and this one surpassed all those. We meandered through cleanly fractured rounds of huge trees, we could count the rings of the trees. New pieces of long petrified trees can ben seen emerging from the silica sand, being slowly revealed by Turkana’s persistent wind. This was all punctuated with wildflowers, the scene was very satisfying. On top of that we felt like we were the only people in the world, but in this case were probably just the only tourists in the park. 

From here we made our way to Koobi Fora. The track is slow going, driving across dried lakebeds, long dormant volcanic flows and through deep sand in dry rivers. In one spot baboons scattered in front of us and we thought that was all the wildlife we’d see. Instead, on one sandy track flanked by dense scrub we got our first ever sighting of a caracal. After considering us for a moment he dashed into the bushes, so there wasn’t enough time for a photo. Before he left we could see through the binoculars the caracal’s signature ear tufts. 

We later reported this to Danson, the manager at Koobi Fora, and he said we were very lucky. He had never seen one and a zoologist had once come specifically to find caracal and had only found tracks. 

Koobi Fora is situated on a sandy point that juts into the lake. The research station is a collection of similar buildings, most in the rectangular banda shape that is common throughout KWS parks.

I don’t think they get a lot of visitors. At the sound of our engine the manager came out to greet us. He introduced himself as Danson and guided us to what he thought was the best place to camp. There aren’t designated campsites at Koobi Fora, just find a place that works for you. 

His suggestion was perfect though, just past the last banda, with only the tip of the sandy point between us and the lake. He offered up the use of the banda’s toilet and shower and water was provided from a tank of rainwater. We thought this impromptu campsite was very nice.

The wind wasn’t strong today and the flies not so menacing either. The last of the wind died in the evening and there was a spectacular sunset, with oranges and pinks and reds filling the sky. Night fell and under a blanket of crisp sparkling stars we cooked over the fire, feeling very far from anywhere at this distant research outpost.

In the morning we chatted with Danson for a while and he told us about the Dassanach tribe. He said their territory is on both sides of the border and they freely travel from Ethiopia to Kenya in the search for better grazing. Ethiopia is some 55km north of here as the crow flies. 

They’re a people that live off their livestock and have a culture of carrying firearms. Danson told us that he is from southern Kenya and firearms are strictly forbidden there, that when he was first stationed here he was horrified to see armed herders with AK-47s. Though they’re not supposed to, they grazed their animals inside the park. He said, “They’re very stubborn people,” and that to avoid conflict KWS allowed them to graze inside the park provided they stayed away from the tourist areas.

Continuing, he said there had been severe drought in the last few years in Northern Kenya and all their livestock had died. This drove them back across the border to Ethiopia, so there are not so many Dassanach here now. 

After our lesson we headed out for the day, but we surprised Danson when we said that we’d stay another night. I guess not a lot of people spend two nights here and he was very happy to have us, I think for someone new to chat with. It was a long haul to drive up here and we’d rather explore the park a bit without rushing off to Kalacha, which is no great destination, just a place to stop.

Unfortunately he said the Koobi Fora Museum, a few kilometers away, was closed and under repair. He said he had written Nairobi several times stating the need to get the museum open again, but for now it was closed. This was a little disappointing, to have come all this way and not get to see the museum but neither Jenny or I are particularly dedicated museum goers, so we recovered from our disappointment rapidly. He did give us instructions on how to drive to the fossil sites further inland, apologizing that he couldn’t guide us there since their Land Rover was broken. 

Off we went, to tour the fossil sites and possibly head down to check out Allia Bay in the south of the park. There is a KWS campsite on the beach in the south that I sort of wanted to see, but at  $40 more per night, and after we’d had such a nice evening here, we thought we’d stick to the bargain priced Koobi Fora.

First we made a pass at the museum, even though closed we thought we’d at least take a look. To our surprise there was quite a few people camped out there, matching green tents pitched at its perimeter and a host of guys hanging around. This did not look all that welcoming and we realized that when Dawson told us the museum was closed and under repair that perhaps this was a euphemism for something else. Or maybe this was the repair crew? It didn’t seem like it. 

We received a casual wave from one of the occupants, but they did not look all that welcoming so we made an about face, back down the track. Not far from here we could see some large abandon bomas, stick huts and thorn fences to corral livestock at night. We assumed these were disusedDassanach bomas.

The fossil sites are located back the way we’d come the day before. It’s still slow going, there is no driving fast in this park. The first site was an ancient enormous tortoise that had been excavated by paleontologists but left in place. The shell remains for us to look at, upside down. The theory is that the tortoise was overturned somehow and unable to right itself, dying upside down. The site itself is protected under a roof and screened off so visitors cannot touch the shell. The shell is very impressive, about six feet in diameter. 

The crocodile site is a few hundred meters from the tortoise, under a similar roof. We found this less impressive, there is not much of the crocodile easily visible. 

The elephant site is the last of the three, some kilometers away. The elephant site isn’t signposted and the track there isn’t on any of our maps, but Danson had given us directions. He said that at 4 kilometers from the tortoise site we’d see tracks from his last visit a month or so ago, heading off into the bush and we should follow those. 

Sure enough we saw his tracks and we turned the Cruiser into the blank space on the GPS. Blindly forging ahead, this “road” was made of serrated rocks, making for slow going and again we remarked to each other how we owe Mr. Cooper a beer. 

We have Cooper tires and it is absolutely astounding how many kilometers of lousy roads and sharp rocks they have hauled us over without complaint. Our tires are a little chipped, with small scuffs and superficial slashes here or there, but they marched over these jagged volcanic rocks without hesitation. We have two full sized spares and often I lament the extra weight we’re carrying. I think of getting rid of one, but then we find ourselves way out here in the godforsaken reaches of Turkana and it feels good to have that extra spare tire.

Finally the road wrapped around a final hill and brought us to the last fossil site, a 200 million year old elephant. It’s impressive, and in all the heaps of basalt, lava and sand around you can’t help but wonder how many more tortoises and elephants remain to be discovered.

The paleontologists must have found other better specimens, because no scientist I’ve met would let a sample sit under a roof for tourists to see when they could be studying it in a lab. 

All this wandering around took longer than we thought and now the infamous Turkana wind was picking up. Allia bay was quite a ways away and it would mean many more hours driving to get there and back, so instead we retreated back to Koobi Fora.

Danson came by to check on how we’d made out. When we asked him about the abandon bomas we’d seen, he confirmed that those were old Dassanach settlements. He also said that after he got to know them he learned they were reasonable people, but if an armed Dassanach waved you down on the road you should give him some food or water. We could tell he still harboredapprehension about them. We didn’t ask about the men at the museum, we sensed it was a sensitive subject and doubted we’d get the full story anyway. 

The wind had picked up and we hid in the lee of the bandas for the remainder of the afternoon, reading and lounging around. Towards sunset the wind eased off and we repeated our nice evening from the day before. Tomorrow we’d head out across the Chalbi desert.

Nitty Gritty

The Wind Farm road turnoff from the D371 is located at roughly N1° 57.266′ E37° 05.052′, you can find it on mapcarta.com

Loyangalani 

Palm Shade camp was 500 KHS pppn. There is room really only for one vehicle with a roof top tent to have their own space. That was taken when we arrived and we camped kind of in the middle of everything, but it worked out fine. The Ablutions here were simple but pretty decent, ample cold water showers and both flushing and squat toilets. 

The museum also has bandas with an ocean view (1500 KSH), though I did not ask if they had en-suit showers or toilets. We also read on iOverlander about people organizing to camp here. The view is great but there is no shade or protection from the wind.

The fuel station in Loyangalani looks very new, meaning at least that an old rusty tank shouldn’t contaminate the fuel. Fuel was priced 15 or 20% higher than elsewhere and the fuel quality didn’t give us any issues.

The Lakeshore Road (Palm Shade Camp to wild camp 88km, 6h 55m with much stopping, the Museum, El Molo village, lunch, getting a bit lost, etc.).

Opinion at Loyangalani was that the lakeshore road was fine, just slower. When pressed how much slower they said, “an hour,” which I’m sure is not true. Since we didn’t drive the other route I can’t say, but my guess is it’s twice as long. You could drive the lakeshore route from Loyangalani to Sibiloi in one day if you left early and didn’t dally. 

As I said in the blog, the track departs from the mapped road numerous times, but only two of those times did we actually get lost. Getting lost in the wilds of Turkana is nothing to sneeze at, but our GPS (the Garmin 276cx) has a trackback feature, to turn your past track into a route, and more simply we could have just followed our own tire tracks back if needed. We sent our tracks to T4A.

Koobi Fora

(Wild camp to Karsa Gate, 79 km, 4h 52m with some stopping. Karsa Gate to Koobi Fora 60km, 3h 8m moving time)

Camping was 500 shillings pppn, with an additional charge (800 KSH?) for visiting the fossil sights and the museum. Danson apologized for charging us for this, but he said that the museum and fossil sites were all a single entry, and that his books would not tally if he didn’t charge us this, even though we didn’t get to see the museum. We didn’t argue and received a receipt for this.

Camp Kalacha

(Koobi Fora to the Kalacha Oasis, 223km 8h 47m)

Camping here is really just adjacent to the facilities, you receive only the use of the pool. It was 500 pppn, but also 500 pppn for “security.” A bit pricy for what you get, but we empathize with any place trying to make it all the way out here. We received a hand written receipt.

There was also fuel in North Horr, from a fuel station that looked similar to Loyangalani’s, a sort of modular station that fits in a shipping container. So it seems that any concerns about running out of fuel on this route are now no longer an issue. Who knows if it’s any good, but it’s good enough that you won’t be stranded. 

There was mobile signal (for Safaricom at least) in South Horr, Loyangalani, North Horr and Kalacha.