Rift Valley—it is early...5:30am and complete darkness reigns outside...my house is on a precipice overlooking the valley...lights flicker and move in the deep center stretched out like a string of torches filing towards ancient volcanic rites...
eye can see three mountain ranges...the old volcano is covered halfway in thick pure cotton cloud...the moon is still high above and visible through a small hole in the clouds...and people call it 'little lune'
i wonder where the lines of headlights are moving—are they all on the same great expedition?
i can sense no wakeful person from where i sit in kijabe...“the place of the wind” in the masai language...
light is coming up all over the place—the sky behind the mountains is green, light green and blue-grey like a pigeon—but no pollution...real clouds...everywhere
the birds have been calling for hours heralding this very event...they are the only pulse in the veins of this long deep and lonely plain...
villages, homes, farms, square plots of land are now visible below me...as if someone was scratching off the dark surface to reveal the colours hidden underneath...
the people who live down there are dying of one of the most horrifying strains of the HIV virus...i will meet them today...
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