One day Layla, a little girl in northern Kenya, will wonder how she got her name. Her mother can tell her that back in November 2012, a woman from very far away gave it to her while on a medical mission.

Beverly Orthwein, a board member of Medical and Educational Aid to Kenya (MEAK), brought Layla’s mother a pair of crutches donated by the local hospital in Greenwich, Conn., Beverly’s hometown. Layla’s mother had lost her leg and was getting around with the help of an old pipe topped with rags for padding.

As she tried out her new crutches, Layla’s grateful mother asked Beverly to name the baby. Beverly, who has three sons, chose the name reserved for the daughter she never had.

When people hear you’ve been to Africa, they want to know what animals you’ve seen, but for me this particular adventure is also about bearing witness to the kindness of strangers like Beverly and the volunteers who bring medical aid to the people like Layla’s mother. MEAK’s activities span all of Kenya, but this particular region, known as Samburuland, borders Ethiopia and Sudan and is largely ignored by the government and other non-governmental organizations.

Beverly is returning home after the mission, but Dee Belliere, who with her husband Mike, founded MEAK, remains behind with seven of us—Gerry Boyle, Mike Fels, Pascal Luse from the U.K., and Isabel Wilcox, Alexandria Skouras, Celeste Rault, and myself from the U.S. We arrive at the end of this medical mission to begin a fundraising trek we hope will benefit this mission as well as MEAK’s future endeavors.

The 70 mile journey will take us from the eye mission campsite outside the town of South Horr, through the Seren Valley and the Ndoto Mountains to end at the Milgis where the Parsaloi and Seiya Luggas come together.

Of course the animals and birds–the mysterious tracks testifying to the teaming life of this beautiful terrain–inspire the humbling awareness that out here, we are just more animals in the mix. For the next six days, we’ll make our own tracks south through the steep and rocky Ndikir Laurie pass and through dry riverbeds called luggas.

When they’re not filled with water, the luggas appear to be a sort of superhighway for the local herds and herders. Based on the number of animal prints visible in the soft sand, it also seems to be a fast lane for porcupines, hyenas, leopards, tiny deer called dik dik—and every sort of critter that cavorts or crawls.

Our guides, Helen Douglas-Dufresne and her partner, Peter Ilsley, are native-born Kenyans who have been taking groups through this part of the world for 25 years. Emma Hedges, owner of the Desert Rose Lodge, also accompanies us. Together the three of them know every bird, plant, animal track and burrow on the ground and every constellation in the sky, though Pete acknowledges that their Samburu team has a special expertise that comes only from a lifetime spent here.

On our first night at a campsite near South Horr, as the eye mission there draws to a close, dozens of Samburu elders and warriors come together to express their thanks through song and dance. The songs, passed down for generations, seem timeless and free of outside influence, and it is deeply moving to witness a performance so few outsiders have seen.

I know their gratitude is heartfelt and can’t help feeling it myself. We have watched the bandages come off the patients as they smile with delight at their first glimpse of loved ones. They look around in wonder at the world, seeing it clearly for perhaps the first time in their lives.

Despite heavy rains and tribal tensions between the Samburu and Turkana, in four days a medical team of three nurses, one anesthetist and one surgeon have restored sight to 214 people suffering from cataracts and other eye diseases.

The women can return to creating their intricate beadwork, and the men and children can go back to taking care of their livestock. Most of all, they don’t have to rely on a relative or anyone else to guide them.

In the eighteen years since the Bellieres started MEAK, more than seven thousand people—including many children suffering from congenital cataracts and other eye diseases—have been treated. All this has been done with virtually 100% of the contributions. MEAK has no paid employees or administrative overhead, and Dee and Mike donate their personal expenses, as well as their time and expertise.

As usual at the end of a mission, Dee sorts out plane rides to Nairobi for still more patients with conditions requiring treatment at a hospital. Meanwhile Mike is at home in Surrey, UK, planning the heart mission he’ll oversee in a few weeks.

Once we start our trek, we will be off the grid—no cellphone, Wi-fi, Internet. We will be “on safari,” but there are no jeeps, game preserves or posh lodges.

This is an area so seldom visited by tourists that some children have never seen a white person, which is why we can’t take it personally when one look at us makes them burst into tears.

Besides, others are delighted to see us. With our hiking boots and safari hats, we create an exotic and amusing diversion for the youngsters charged with watching the family herd of goats, sheep and cattle.

As they smile and greet us with a bemused “Jambo!” Pete confirms my theory: if you dropped us in the middle of the bush and an eight-year-old Samburu child in an even more remote location, the kid would be home before dark while we would be a few links down from our accustomed spot on the food chain.

The Samburu have an understanding of and relationship to nature I could not have imagined or even thought possible. I look at the side of a mountain and see the beautiful striated outcrop of rocks, the varying hues of green vegetation. The Samburu look at the same mountain and spot a tree useful for making a toothbrush, a plant that’s good for soothing a nettle or bug bite. They know every track and how fresh the animal dung is—and whether or not a prospective campsite is safe.

On my first trip here two years ago, I watched in amazed confusion as Lemongas, one of Helen’s trusted elders, had a “conversation” with a honeyguide. The small gray bird lingered long enough to convince me that, yes, he was listening to Lemongas’s whistles. When the bird seemed to fly off in a huff, Helen explained that Lemongas told the bird he didn’t have time to get to the hive the bird had found.

On this trip, however, the honeyguide gets his way. Lemongas gets another visit from a feathered friend, disappears with him into the bush, and emerges 20 minutes later with his share of the dripping honeycomb.

Although the terrain varies a lot over the course of the week—from flat, sandy luggas to steep mountain passes–there’s a kind of rhythm to each day. It begins about 5:30 in the morning, when one of the Samburu team awakens us with his singing and a “good morning.” He pours water in the little canvas washbasin perched outside each of our tents, and we have time to splash water on our faces and come together for delicious Kenyan coffee and biscuits before we hit the trail. We’ll have a huge breakfast about two hours into our hike, consisting of fantastic muesli, homemade bread, and eggs with bright yellow yokes that tell you how fresh they are.

When we arrive at a new campsite at the end of a day’s hike, we have lunch and grab a mat from one of several dozen camels carrying them and the rest of our gear. By early afternoon, it’s hot and most of us are tired. We park ourselves under a tree for a “kip” as Helen and Pete’s team set up the tents, build a fire, dig the loos and create beautiful showers with makeshift “curtains” from brush they’ve collected.

As the sun goes down, we take turns at the showers and, one by one, arrive at the campfire for tea, snacks and cocktails before dinner. This is my favorite time of day. We recall the day’s adventures and tell stories as we watch the sky, undiluted by ambient light, reveal the planets and stars in all their varied sizes, brightnesses and colors.

You can’t help but be awestruck, sitting in the midst of all this natural beauty. However, the subject matter around the campfire covers a wide variety of “philosophical” issues, including how to maximize the staying power of the bucket of water you get to shower under every night—and whether it’s advisable to walk to the loo if you have to go in the middle of the night.

One morning, just before dawn, Dee announces she hears hyenas—reason #182 not to go to the loo in the dark, I tell myself. Besides, it’s much easier to water the land behind the tents.

We never, however, resolve flashlight controversy.

“Do you turn it off or leave it on?” somebody wants to know.

“Turn it OFF! It attracts bugs!” Mike answers.

“Yeah, but then, well, you’re out there alone, in the dark in…a vulnerable position,” I point out.

Any and all topics one doesn’t talk about in polite company move to the top of the list—and all them reduce us to peels of laughter and a level of maturity that would embarrass a four-year-old.

Clearly we are the most wonderfully good-natured mzungu ever to walk through these parts. As far as I’m concerned, that theory gets confirmed the night it starts to rain and we run around laughing in the mud as we struggle to pull our tent flaps closed.

On the trail, if we stop laughing and talking long enough, we can hear the Samburu team singing to pass the time as they guide the camels. One sunny and hot day we stop to rest in the shade and join in the singing. Before you know it, we are dancing, too. In that moment we all get the rhythm of the song, and even the camels seem to get the beat.

Everyday I continue to enjoy the camaraderie but cherish as well my growing ability to read the surroundings and see how they change based on where we are and what is happening overhead. The rain has left a treasure trove of fragrant sage, blooming cadia, yellow cactus blossoms. From atop the acacia trees, the weavers, hornbills, starlings and shrikes return our gaze.  Some of us, myself included, have learned the hard way to duck well beneath the acacias’ savage thorns.

I am also learning to pay attention to the lay of the ground—not just where to walk but what animals have come before us and to admire the work of nature’s architects, including the termites who create giant nests that look like pueblos.

And who knew dung could be so exciting! Less than 50 yards from one of our camps we see fresh elephant spore. Helen can hardly contain her excitement. It’s the first time in decades the elephants have felt safe enough to come to this part of Samburuland. The Milgis Trust, created to preserve the wildlife and fight poaching, seems to be having an impact.

We promise to stay quiet and try as well to tread as silently as Lemongas, who takes the lead. Walking in silence connects us more to what surrounds us and rewards us with a view of seven or eight elephants on the mountainside across from ours.

From our vantage point, we can also see grey sheets of rain, miles away in the mountains, and when we arrive at our next campsite on the Lomolok lugga, the team know this one may not be dry for long.

Then it comes. A rush of water, the runoff from the mountain rains begins to fill the lugga. Sometimes they can fill so quickly that the force of the water can be deadly. This one, however, is a nice peaceful stream, a welcome sight for the animals, four-legged and otherwise.

As the lugga fills, it strikes me as an apt metaphor:  For centuries outsiders have traveled here from far away and wreaked havoc. But maybe one day the little girl named Layla will be able to say that MEAK and its supporters poured a trickle of hope into this place far off the beaten path.

WE ARE BACK! EYE MISSION SUCCESSFUL , TREK AMAZING

We flew into South Horr, just south of Lake Turkana by midday and met up with Dee Belliere, founder of MEAK, and Helen Douglas Dufresne, our walking guide, founder of MILGIS  TRUST and MEAK’s partner on the ground for this mission.

The eye mission was well on its way and despite some very serious hurdles it was turning out to be quite successful. The location had been moved from the original plan. Due to tribal conflicts in the area the mission had to be moved from Waso Rongai to the Horr valley. The Samburu sports center in the town of South Horr had been made available and the community could not have been more welcoming.

The final count was gratifying: 214 eyes operations were done and 4 patients were referred and flown to Nairobi. The medical team (one surgeon, three nurses and one anesthetist) was smaller than usual – one less doctor – and did an amazing job.

However there was clearly a sense of frustration. This mission had been planned for months and one of the goals had been to treat the Samburu and the Turkana people, neighboring tribes. Traditionally these tribes are often warring each other over their livestock. A lot of effort had been put into promoting peace and it seemed like it was working. Many eye cases had been identified among the Turkana people. Sadly shortly before the beginning of the mission the Turkanas had raided the Samburus and stolen 400 head of cattle. As a result no Turkana would risk coming into Samburu land to have their eyes fixed despite the fact that many needed operations. But such is life in the distant lands of Northern Kenya and the MEAK team that worked in partnership with the Milgis Trust team did an amazing job despite the circumstances.  When I am in Africa I always remember a Clint Eastwood line: “Adapt and Improvise.”

There is still much more that needs to be done!
We arrived in time to see some cataract operations being done, and even more gratifying we witnessed the reaction of many of the patients when the eye patches were removed seeing for the first time in years.  The quiet chatter, gentle laughter, and beaming smiles were a sight to behold!

Cataract operations were the majority but a few patients with Trachoma were treated and other eye ailments were also attended to. Trachoma is prevalent in this area and a major cause of blindness. As a result of recurrent infections the eyelids turn into themselves and the eyelashes constantly rub against the eyeball creating constant excruciating pain.  To address this situation, a team has been scouring the region screening for eye ailments and teaching better hygiene.

We took a day and a half to get our bearings. The night before we took off, the Samburu men, many of them dressed in their warrior gear, treated us to an amazing dance and song performance.  It was a gesture of thank you and a very special gift. These dances and songs have existed for centuries and are profoundly moving. We felt very honored.

Most of the Samburu men would be coming along with us on the trek, leading the camels and setting up camps.

We started our trek south towards the Milgis Lugga through the Ndoto mountains. We trekked through a landscape that was breathtaking. We started at the Horr Valley walking across the south end of Ol Donyo Mara into the Seren valley.

We traveled through open plains, and valleys with the bush in full bloom. See the lovely Cadia (Purpurea) flower!

We climbed rocky hills, traversed the Ndikir Laurie mountain pass, reaching heights that allowed us magnificent views of the Ndotos peaks and valleys. We camped near dry river beds or luggas – one, the Lomolok Lugga, turned into a flowing and bubbling stream in 10 minutes – or on mountain tops in Urra that made you want to cry or laugh or just simply sit quietly in awe at the beauty of our planet.

Once the need to talk waned our senses awakened to the bush life surrounding us.  As I walked I would stop to pick the leaves and seeds of the sage bush delighting in its perfume, or loose all sense of time as I followed the movements of the rosy patch bush shrike whose song had caught our attention, or yet again admire the candelabra like sculptural form of the many euphorbia trees in full bloom.

I stood mesmerized by the vibrant yellow blooms along its cactus like limbs creating a halo around the tree.

We encountered young children who are given responsibility at an early age herding the family goats. We were an oddity in this part of Northern Kenya and a great source of amusement and curiosity to these youngsters. We passed by Samburu manyattas or huts clustered together and protected from predators by an enclosure made of twigs and branches.

We did run into the occasional warrior, armed to the teeth and yet very stylish. I was very lucky to get a picture of one of them.

The level of excitement in the group peeked when we ran across very fresh elephant dung! Our chances of running into a big bush animal were seriously improving. Birds, dik diks, herds of goats were great but we wanted the big stuff!  Total silence was requested which I welcomed with great relief and perseverance paid off. Twice we spotted those majestic creatures on the hills feasting on the trees. Some of us who had amazing eyesight could just see them with the naked eye. I, on the other hand, needed my binoculars!

Every morning we woke up at 5:30am to the song of the Samburu man coming to fill our washbasin with hot water. After a cup of tea or coffee, we departed under the rising sun for our day’s journey. Four camels carrying our breakfast, which the Samburu men would set up mid-morning when we needed those extra calories to help us along, accompanied us. Pete and Helen, our guides, made sure we had a full breakfast!  Fruit, eggs , yellow like you have never seen, homemade muesli  we figured that if we marketed it ,we would make a killing it was so good.

Some of us at the end of the day wanted a final challenge before turning in and climbed some pretty steep hills and encountered baboons along the way.

Intermittent rain was mostly refreshing though at times it was unexpected and created quite a stir.  One night we went to sleep under starry skies and rain startled us awake in the middle of the night.  Jumping out of our bedrolls, we rushed out of our tents to undo the flaps of our rain cover with the help of the Samburu team. But by the time we got back into our tents, bedrolls and clothes were wet except for some clever ones who had had the prescience to keep their bags packed and had thought of covering their mattress. I was not one of them!  We did not let that happen again!

Under Helen Douglas Dufresne’s instruction we learned to identify Orion’s Belt at night and Venus and Mercury at sunrise. We fell in love with the dogs that accompanied us. More then once I found myself woken up from my mid-afternoon nap on a mattress laid down on the grass by an over eager dog’s paws on my chest.

The real stars of this walk were our Samburu porters who worked tirelessly to make us comfortable and who on an impulse would break into a song and a dance for their own enjoyment and to our utter delight.

Some of us, unfortunately, fell sick but were amazingly brave. We had to adjust the pace of our walk and did not get to see the Latakwen clinic that is my special project. We all made it to our destination though, which was Helen’s base camp, Lkanto, set at the top of a hill situated at the confluence of the Milgis and Sarya Luggas.

We took in for the last time the awe inspiring, view savoring our accomplishment yet a bit sad because of the upcoming good byes. I confess that there is no place I would rather be then on top of that hill with its 360 degree view of the two large riverbeds with to the south, the mountains of the Matthews and Mt Kenya in the far distance, and to the north the Ndotos hills.

After a quick shower we departed for the airstrip where a final treat was awaiting us. The children from the local school dressed in their Samburu outfits performed a dance celebrating a world where man and nature coexist in harmony.

Still under their spell we climbed into our charter plane after effusive thanks to Helen and Pete Insley who had led us very competently and brought us back safe.

Thank you for an amazing journey.

Dear Friends:

As some of you know, on November 7th, I will be embarking on a 5 day trek in Northern Kenya, raising much needed funds for MEAK’s (Medical and Educational Aid to Kenya) medical missions. MEAK organizes and funds medical and surgical missions in the fields of ophthalmology, orthopedics and pediatric cardiac surgery. A dollar goes a long way with MEAK and 98% of all donations go directly to providing free medical care to the needy. They have carried out over 70 medical missions, providing over 7,000 surgical procedures and hope to do many more in the future. However, it is getting ever more difficult to raise the funds. Therefore, I am posting this notice to ask you to consider giving a donation to help support MEAK’s work in Kenya and in spirit to accompany me on my journey.

My journey begins in Nairobi where I will fly to Waso Ronga, which is on the southern slope of Mount Nyiru in the North of Kenya , just south of Lake Turkana. There I and seven other trekkers will observe an eye mission performed by MEAK’s medical team.  Under Helen Douglas-Dufresne’s lead we will then walk for 5 days through elephant and zebra country meeting both the Samburu and Rendille people and giving aid to those in need. Our trek ends in Ngurnit with a flight back to Nairobi.  We try to avoid the blistering heat so we wake at 5:30 AM and start our walk at 6 AM.  We walk 7 hours a day with an hour break for breakfast covering on average 18 miles at least a day. That will be a total of 90 miles.

If you are interested, you can give one of two ways. If you want a tax deduction write a check to March to The Top and remember to write on the check “FOR MEAK”.  The organization March to The Top, which is a 501©3, has included MEAK on their project platform.  If you are giving anything less than $100 and don’t require a tax deduction then go to www.justgiving.com/Meak and make your donation online. It is quick and easy.

I thank you for your support. I can assure you that your money is going for a worthy cause and will help change people’s lives. I have made a $10,000 donation to MEAK this year and look forward to raising half more at least – $5000- on this walk.

Send checks to March to The Top: 22631 Pacific Coast Highway, Suite 990, Malibu, CA, 90265

Very truly yours,

Isabel Stainow Wilcox

We have arrived at this first campsite after a three-hour walk from a landing strip. Our plane from Nairobi was met by Dee Belliere, who with her husband, Mike, founded Medical Education Aid to Kenya (MEAK) 30 years ago. She has come with Shilpa Mawji, a MEAK volunteer who was born in Kenya but happens to be Dee’s neighbor back in Surrey, UK.

Dee, Shilpa and others are just finishing up the latest of several medical missions done each year by MEAK. With no administrative overhead whatsoever, the charity does approximately a dozen of these a year. The purpose of our trip, a walking safari organized by Isabel Wilcox, is to raise funds and awareness of MEAK’s work.

The four of us traveling with her from the United States—Judi Caron, Isabelle Fay, Jennifer Wright and myself—also have been inspired to join the trip by Isabel’s obvious love for this part of the world. It’s sights, sounds and smells Isabel describes as her own Proustian “madeleine.”

“It is a journey into the African wild but also a journey into oneself,” she writes in her email, inviting us on this adventure.

This, along with the promise of the scent of “vibrant flowers, the unbelievable vistas, the track of animals on the dry or wet earth, the sounds of the animals, some wild, some domesticated, and the villagers in the distance” sounded like something I wanted to experience. But in retrospect, I realize it was something I needed to experience, to learn what a gift it is to be taken out of my comfort zone.

At this first campsite, where Dee, Shilpa and other MEAK volunteers have been staying for a week, we meet the eighth member of our party. Nargis Kasmani, lives in Nairobi and has been instrumental in facilitating MEAK projects through her work with the Kenya Lyons Club.

We spend the first night in our tents getting acquainted with the sounds of the birds and animals, as well as how vivid the stars in the sky appear this far away from the ambient light of a city. In the distance, we also hear an extremely rare serenade by the Samburu women. They are moved to give thanks for the tiny bit of rain these last few days.

Normally the area should be verdant and in bloom but there has been virtually no rainy season this year. Helen can count on one hand the number of times she’s heard the women sing in this fashion.

Helen should know. For more than 20 years, she’s been living among the Samburu—in the Ndoto and Matthews mountains of Kenya—working with a team of about 20 tribesmen and 65 camels. It will take all the men and half of the camels to carry our food and gear on the six-day trek.

The plan on the first full day of the safari includes a walk to Latakwen, but the first excitement comes at breakfast when Ndoto, one of Helen’s dogs, chases down a dik dik and almost catches it. The tiny deer is bleating in terror and running from Ndoto, who is followed by Helen shouting at the dog to stop. The fact that the dik dik comes close to getting run down by the dog shows how water-starved the animals are.

The lack of rain has driven many of the people to more remote areas in search of water for themselves and their livestock. The drought also has added to the substantial challenges Dee and the MEAK workers face to bring medical care to the region.

On this mission, Dee, Nargis and Shilpa, along with a team of doctors from Nairobi, have worked together to perform sight-restoring surgery on 144 people. Overall, the mission has been successful. Dee regrets that the weather conditions made it harder to get to more people. I have the feeling that Dee ALWAYS feels more can be done—and my suspicions are confirmed at the end of the trip, when we see some of the work the MEAK heart team is doing.

The Bellieres have organized more than 40 of these missions, bringing in medical teams to perform pediatric, cardiac, orthopedic and other procedures at virtually no cost. It is fair to say that they are national heroes in this part of Kenya. Shilpa later confides that in the UK, the Queen has wanted to acknowledge Dee’s service–an honor Dee has turned down because she is uncomfortable being recognized separate and apart from Mike.

By the time we arrive at Latakwen, most of the patients have left the village, except for a beautiful 16 year-old Samburu girl who has stayed behind with her mother and brother.  Yesterday, the girl, born with congenital cataracts, was able to see for the first time in her life. As the bandages were removed, Shilpa handed her a mirror. The girl, seeing her beaming reflection in the mirror, began to arrange the beads around her neck. Later, she waved to her brother as his bandages were removed, and he saw his sister for the first time.

So many people—including Helen, Shilpa, Nargis and the medical practitioners who give their time to this mission–come together to make moments like this possible. There are also local team members like Daniel, a Samburu warrior, about age 19, who has spent the last five months riding by camel from village to village, convincing patients to come in. Rita, another local, has been trained as a nurse and now has a year-round position thanks to Isabel’s sponsorship. Today and throughout the mission, Rita is on hand to help with screening and other local health concerns. Often families are reluctant to seek medical help, and it is crucial to have local people like Daniel and Rita make the case that MEAK can be trusted.

As the procession of 30 camels passes by with our gear, we say our goodbyes to Rita, Daniel and the rest of the team.  Our trek to the next campsite covers fairly flat, open and dry territory. The terrain has the classic acacia trees and low-growing shrubs. The hornbills circling above, remind me of “Zazu” from “The Lion King.” Social weaver nests hang like ornaments from the branches of several trees.

Lead by Helen’s right-hand man, Lemongas, the Samburu team set up camp as we arrive at a site next to the Milgis lugga, a shallow river that should be swollen by the rains but instead has only a few feeble puddles. The men dig into the sandy bed, producing enough well water for the makeshift shower, the canvas bag raised on a branch within a carefully selected stand of trees.

As they prepare the campsite, we rest on mats in the shade in what becomes our afternoon routine. That first day, I spot two drongos overhead, chasing after a hawk who has veered too close to their nest. The two little birds are scolding the potential predator, who is beating a hasty retreat. Strike one for the little guys.

In the late afternoon before tea, we usually take a short hike. I love to go birding with Helen, and thanks to her I learn to recognize not only the little drongos, but the franklins, white crested shrikes, guinea fowl, and numerous weavers, warblers and starlings.

We’ve also spotted troops of baboons, hyrax– little badger-like creatures who live in the rocks—and several kind of monkeys including an extremely rare De Brazza’s monkey, which reportedly does not exist in this part of Kenya. Helen is over the moon as she records him, barking at us from his tree.

To avoid the heat, the day starts early, around 6 or 7 a.m.. We awaken to the smell of delicious Kenyan coffee and along the route we have a serious breakfast of eggs, bacon and granola.

Each morning we see signs of nocturnal visitors, including leopard prints and porcupines, which Helen’s night camera has caught on tape, mating. The footage answers our scientific interest in the details of the porcupine’s love life. At night we hear other visitors, including monkeys chattering in the trees over head and hyenas growling in the distance—though Helen’s three dogs can hear the hyenas long before we do and set off warning barks. Nothing gets past Ndoto, Sensamon and Conman.

Nothing gets past Helen, either, when it comes to identifying the other living creatures in this part of the world. She can spot at a glance every animal track and tree on the ground, and every bird and constellation in the sky.

You don’t have to be an expert, however, to recognize an elephant trail. The uprooted trees and terrain that look as if they’ve been hit by a locomotive gives us some idea of just how huge they are. Although we don’t actually spot an elephant until the last day’s trek, their obvious presence shows that the “ellies” are starting to feel safe enough to return to this area after years of poaching.

Helen has a trunk full of books about birds, animals and stars, and I have been reading a book of Samburu proverbs.  Some concepts seem pretty universal and would fit perfectly well back home. For example, the Samburus hold that “words are no use unless followed by action.” They demonstrate a stunning connection to our surroundings, an understanding that shatters my western-urban-dwelling assumptions about our ability to communicate with animals in nature; in the hierarchy of this world away from “civilization,” humans, birds and animals are on a far closer plain.

One day, as I walk behind Lemongas, a tribal elder and our lead guide, he stops for an exchange of whistles with a honey catcher perched so close to us that I could have touched him. As I watch in total confusion and amazement, Lemongas and the honey catcher whistle back-and-forth. Then the bird flies away. Lemongas turns and resumes walking. Helen, no doubt sees my confusion and explains that the honeycatcher has found a hive and wants Lemongas to retrieve the honey in the hive to share.

“Well what did Lemongas say?” I want to know.

“That he’s busy now,” Helen tells me, “but he promised the bird he would come back later.”

Each day brings a new discovery—as well as local news. One day we come across an all-male “beauty parlor” consisting of young warriors braiding their long hair. Cosimo, a Samburu warrior and a key member of Helen’s team, normally ties back his braids but lets them down one day so we can have a better look.

At a particularly beautiful campsite on a rock slab with pools of water fed by a small stream, we have more company. Samburu women pass nearby to water their animals. For the rest of the day, we can hear them singing in the distance, praying for more rain. They are very beautiful people, extremely slim with closely cropped hair and long necks. They wear colorful garments and large necklaces of brightly colored beads that reminds me of something Yves St. Laurent would have designed in the seventies.
Thanks to Helen’s radio, we get news from the village that Rita, the local nurse, has successfully performed her first cataract procedure—a development that brings the hope that in the future more people can get this surgery without having to wait for the next eye mission.

Our Samburu team picks up the most dramatic local report on the trail:  a six year old boy has the gift of prophecy. The child has received visitations—visions—of an old warrior with clouds around his head, who tells the boy things he otherwise could not have known. The child then has confronted an elder and accused him of eating an entire goat when he was warrior age—something no well-meaning member of this tribal culture would ever do. The elder, terrified, admits the boy is right—though the incident happened long before the boy was born.

Each day we witness the growing excitement as Helen translates from Swahili the latest updates about the boy. Whether or not the tales about him are real, it’s exciting to see the Samburu filled with the energy and hope of this prodigy. One night, after supper, the eight of us are sitting around the campfire, watching the stars come out as usual. But on this particular night, on the Saiyer lugga, the Samburu sing in what I call the “call-and-response style,” showing they are aware of their fellows. Yet they seem to be losing themselves in the song, and though I don’t think they care whether we are there or not, I feel very privileged to witness this.

We spend a last, glorious night under the stars at Helen’s open air house atop a hill with a panoramic view of the Ndoto mountains. After a bittersweet farewell breakfast, we return to the airstrip to rejoin our trusty pilots, Hamish and Charlie. They are taking us to Sirikoi, a magnificent tented lodge in Lewa, a game preserve south of here.

We are also traveling with Mariya, a six-year old heart patient and his very tense mother.     Dee swings into action, showing Hamish and Charlie the little boys clubbed fingers (a sign of heart disease) and ordering the pilots to stay at very low altitude. Too much change in air pressure could be fatal, and after her stern warning, they fly so low I think I can hear tree branches brushing the bottom on the plane back.

The next few days are spent luxuriating at Sirikoi. The lodge is owned by Sue and Willie Roberts, who show their appreciation for MEAK by opening their beautiful lodge for us before the season starts. It sits on a magnificent game preserve populated with zebras, lions, giraffes, elephants, black and white rhinos—as well as Sheba, an orphaned cheetah so tame she wanders around the lodge like an overgrown house cat.

As we return to Nairobi, we are privileged to see more of MEAK’s work at Kenyatta Hospital, including an open-heart surgery performed by the medical team from Bristol, UK, which Dee and Mike have organized. The patient, a tiny 12-year-old girl who looks more like age six. It is deeply moving to see first-hand how professional and respectful the team is, how the surgeon pauses for long enough to look every individual member of the surgical team in the eye before they begin. They acknowledge by this sacred moment the life they now have in their hands—and the challenge they face. An overhead lamp has gone out, and the oscillating saw they would normally use to open the child’s chest has broken, forcing the surgeon to use more primitive tools. In the end, the surgery takes seven hours.

Meanwhile, we have the chance to see the smiling faces of Mariya, the little boy who came with us on the plane, and his mother.  His operation has gone extremely well, and they are set to return back to their village in a few days. The gratitude is written on their faces. It’s a familiar expression I see on so many of the patients MEAK has helped, and I feel grateful as well, to have had the chance to bear witness to this work.

There is a Jewish saying that to save one life means to save the world, and as I look at the face of that little boy’s mother, I have no doubt she would agree.