(a slight side-story diversion: Margaret and I are friends because we were on the same flight(s) from DC to Nairobi and both missed our connection in Zurich by about 30 seconds. We spent four delirious hours in the Zurich airport sharing power bars, stale scones, a way-overpriced coffee, and a WiFi passcode. One re-route through Istanbul and two flights later, we arrived in Nairobi the type of friends that only mis-guided international travel can make).
The drive out to Kitengela is stunning; the day was fresh from the morning rains, the skies were a clear blue with puffed-up clouds, the wide and rolling hills were dotted with flat-topped acacia trees. After a bumpy ride across a muddy field we pulled up to what can only be described as the glass-and-craft version of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Plus the dense foliage of a tropical paradise and the wide expanse of the savannah. I thought I knew 'hippy', growing up in Northern California and familiar with the eclectic collection of craft and expression up the Russian River and northern coast. Kitengela Glass brought it to a whole new level, with iron-and-clay sculptures dotting the landscape and larger-than-life creations of glass and wire. Broken bottles mixed with the stone in the laneway walls, glass beads hung from tree limbs, stained glass windows peered from the rounded mud huts. It's like Alice went mad in art class or the witch from Hansel and Gretl created a less-aggressive venue for Burning Man or Dr. Seuss thought he'd try his hand at architecture. (Gee, Ellie, any photos to share? Apologies, none because I was blinded by my joy at getting some non-city air and adventure in my day as I was leaving the house and didn't grab my camera).
Bewildered and wide-eyed, we watched the artists blow glass in a giant, over-sized kiln. I don't think I've ever seen glass being blown before, and it was nothing less than jaw-dropping. The molten glass, composite of recycled glass bottles which have been melted down by heat from used engine oil, is like honey. It's either poured into a brick-like form for later use or gathered on a long metal pole by an artist who then turns and twists and blows it into some stunning thing. The artists produce beautiful glasses, mugs, vases, beads, bowls, sculptures etc. that are sold worldwide. The discarded pieces are used to mosaic the entire property and for the art around the property. We checked out the metalworks studio where the glass is used to make tables, chairs, chandeliers, and large-scale art installation pieces and then headed to the art collective next door.
How to explain the art collective? Part tree-house, part gallery, part art workshop, part deck-overlooking-a-koi-pond-and-the-national-park, this was one of the strangest and most beautiful places I've been. There were glass ornaments, wizard hats made of cut-up beer cans, glass-bead wind chimes, wire bird cages, jewelry, and swings off the back deck. We wandered into the office of the founder and owner, Nani, who was the sweetest, most direct-questions-asking, eccentric woman I've met. A resident of East Africa since the 1960s, Nani is at once at ease in her environment and electric with curiosity. As she says, Kitengela is where broken and discarded things end up (it reminded me of this Beatles' song a little bit). In her home/family compound she has the most wonderfully ragtag collection of animals that follow her devotedly. There's a stunning (yes, also mosaic-ed) pool overlooking the national park and beehives throughout the property that yield gallons of golden honey each year. Nani and her family were warm and welcoming, and I felt privileged to spend an afternoon with them. I look forward to returning and learning more about Kitengela.
I loved the Secret Garden as a child; too much, my mother would say, as I wore down the DVD and role-played the spoiled Mary all too often. I think I found in Kitengela the same sense of adventure, discovery, and nostalgia that I felt as a child and encountered something totally different from my experience thus far in Kenya. It was a stark and refreshing alternate to my desk/office life, one that drew from and inspired creativity. I was fortunate to grow up in schools and in homes that valued art and working with your hands and expression through multiple media, and I couldn't help but feel at home in this strangest of oases.
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