Karen

Another day, another campsite, another course of antibiotics. Honestly, this must be some sort of record; three different types on one holiday. Karen's a distant suburb of Nairobi and is, according to Rob, 'where the white people live'. It's definitely more affluent. It's, apparently, named after Karen Blixen (of 'Out of Africa' fame), who lived round the corner. My ear's improved a bit, but I thought best to nail it once and for all. As Rob predicted, the shopping centre we went to yesterday was a cut above, and the pharmacist not only spoke good English, but actually sounded like she knew what she was talking about. She told me the drug I'd been on – Metranidazole – is an 'antiprotazoa' (so presumably it's taken care of all my 'excessive protazoa' issues). She told me that while it cleared up the immediate infection, they should have given me something else much broader to take care of any secondary infections. This diagnosis fitted well with my symptoms, and I now have some 'Augmentin' – which is amoxycillin plus clavulanate potassium. Like Stella Artois, they’re reassuringly expensive, too. I'm on them for seven days, and I'm not allowed to drink. Of course, I currently have a bit of a hangover...

(I read somewhere once that the 'no alcohol with antibiotics' isn't actually true. When they first started using penicillin on civilians after the war, it was often to treat STDs. They told people they weren't allowed to drink because, bluntly, they didn't want them going out, getting smashed and having random sex while they were still infectious. I may have to check this, but it does sound very 'fifties British'.)

The pharmacist's English idioms only let her down on one occasion, when she said, 'These antibiotics will make you very proud'. I thought, 'Listen, love. If I wanted viagra...'

So I'm sitting on a table outside the bar, trying to sort out all my various electrical bits and bobs. It's like a branch of Curry's has cleared out a storeroom and dumped all the spare bits in a pile – camera batteries, little laptop, iPod, adapters.... I've already had one bloke ask me about the laptop today. I'm thinking of producing an A4 sheet I can just give to people – or maybe a small plinth with an information sheet on it I can stand in front of me when I'm typing away. Rob's just mooched past with a 'morning'. As usual, I have a load of questions for him, but I think it's important to pick my moments and give him a break occasionally.

We rolled into camp yesterday lunchtime. It's technically known as 'Karen Camp', but everyone calls it 'Dougie's'. There are eight overland trucks parked here, all from different companies. I guess Nairobi must be a pick-up point for tours, since only a couple of the trucks actually have passengers on board. Rob and Boyo have been enjoying some well-earned 'crew time' with the other trucks, after the stresses of the previous segment. The 'elephant' debacle was finally resolved, as we reached the giraffe sanctuary and most of the group jumped in waiting taxis. Four of us stayed, not being too bothered about the elephants.

I really wasn't that fussed about giraffes, but I was very pleasantly surprised. The giraffes are very tame. They have a two-storey rotunda with a fenced balcony running around it at giraffe-head height. When you walk in, they give you a handful of food, and let you feed, hug and even kiss the giraffes. Giraffes, because they're so tall, look thin and gangling from a distance. Up close, though, they're truly enormous (a bit like John Eales, really). David, one of the guys working there, adopted us, showing us how to feed and pose with two of the giraffes – 'Daisy' and 'Betty', then showing us around and giving us a talk. Apparently, giraffe saliva is antiseptic, since they're always cutting their mouths on acacia trees. I felt mildly reassured by this, as I pulled my hand away from Betty's mouth, leaving a two-foot length of drool hanging between my fingers and her tongue.

At Karen, we pitched tents, I mopped all the red mud out of my tent, then headed into Karen to do 'admin' stuff. I have to pay for the extended part of my trip in dollars, and getting money in this part of the world is a bit of a faff. There was a forex office there, but they didn't take cards. There was also a Barclay's, but they only had 'old' dollars (pre-2001 dollars with the 'small head' pictures aren't widely accepted due to counterfeiting.) So, to get dollars, I had to find a cash machine, withdraw Kenyan Schillings, then take them back to the Forex and change for dollars. This entailed walking back and forth past the same taxi drivers, hawkers and peddlers four times. I was getting to know them quite well by the end, but still didn't need, variously, a wicker giraffe, strawberries, dvds or a taxi. It was with great relief that I was able to present Rob with full payment in dollars. Only he'd quoted in pounds, so in fact I only had roughly half the required payment. Bugger…

Gah, far too many words. I need a good editor, don't I? Anyway, lots of beers last night, and I have a mild hangover. It was the last night for just over half the group, so we gave them a good send off. I attempted to show everyone Sarejevo Olympics, but they only had red sambucca, with the result that my hand is now stained red and looks like I've stabbed someone. Two girls arrived last night who are, apparently, joining us on the truck. Rob had gone to bed but they met Boyo (testicles, thankfully, squared away), who introduced them to Derek. I wouldn't be surprised if they've already headed to the airport.

This morning, there’s a more relaxed vibe in the air. It’s nice to have gotten rid of a few people. Dave is on his way to England, so I think I’m free. Rob’s had his third cup of coffee, and is now sitting, ready for conversation, banter, questions and debate. So I’d best get to it.