Story telling from Australia
Robert was our guide during two days at Sabuk, a stone lodge in the hills in central Kenya, 90km north of the Equator.
He’s pictured with Kumbau, an older warrior and therefore the logical keeper of the loaded gun, which thankfully he didn’t have to use during our walk through open bush.
The river was dangerously low, the landscape parched and the November rains were long overdue. A brief shower had only delivered a sprinkling of 2ml the night before and that morning’s oppressive heat had already sucked any precious moisture out of the ground.
Robert pointed at a brittle plant.
‘It looks dead, doesn’t it?’ I nodded. It was as black as if it had been through a bush fire. No doubt about it, whatever it was had breathed its last, and I wasn’t doing much better.
‘Now look over there.’
He pointed beyond the seemingly dead bush at the green leaves of a flourishing plant.
‘That one caught a few drops of rain last night.’
A narrow channel in the rocks had funnelled enough water for the same plant to spring back to life, shedding the brittle outer casing and unfurling its leaves like tiny fans. They smelt of mint and aniseed.
The common name for it is The Resurrection Plant.
From death back to life thanks to a few precious drops of rain.