Friday, 16 March 2012


Yet after weeks of consideration into the trip I began to warm to the idea again, with the idea in mind that Kenya thrives on it’s tourist industry, it’s main economical factor, as well as being promised that we’d go to some form of community to work and chat with the children. I was therefore very up for the idea of two weeks in Kenya! Along with Paul, who holds a special place in his heart for the spellbinding country after living there in his early twenties.  All were excited for the trip, counting down the months until we set off. Well apart from Remi that is, who was adamant (and I think still is) that she will not enjoy any summer holiday except those that involve theme parks and huge roller coasters. In other words, Disney world.

Upon reaching Kenya, after a mucky flight disaster that left us stranded in Mumbai airport for a good few hours, we were wisped off on a tiny plane to the centre of the Masai Mara. Landing in the bush land, surrounded by zebras and wilder beast that migrate through Tanzania and Kenya during the months of June and July.

After being in the resort for a matter of hours we were promptly handed over to a driver and usured to the safari van that would be just ours for the next seven days. Safaris commenced three times daily, six am, 2pm and 6 pm for the night expedition. I was adamant that we’d be on all three.

It is simply difficult to put words to paper when it comes to describing the safari scene in the illustrious Masai Mara, yet we managed to see the big five during our first ever morning safari. Africa’s big five include the elephant, the buffalo, the lion, the leopard and my personal favourite – the rhino.  

i said this wouldn’t be a blog primarily about photos and holiday pictures but I feel like these are worth showing, and they are my own. 

‘the dumbo due'
A resting female lion, woken up by our safari jeep.

The dominant lion of the pack, with his two 4 month old cubs

Paul, Remi and me in the hot air balloon safari, breathtaking 


Following plans for an already, tiringly hectic summer before heading of to Uni in Lincoln, mum approached me with the idea of a two week holiday of a lifetime in Kenya- with just the family. To me, this idea sounded out of this world. And after spending a month in Kenya the summer prior on a school project, under the company ‘camps international’ the desire go back to Africa had been prominent in my mind since the day I returned from the trip.

Yet as I thought more into the trip the four of us were going to take together, me, my 14 year old sister Remi, my mum Keeley and my step dad Paul, I realised the trip was most likely to be the complete opposite of the events I underwent with school mates the year before. From two to ten man tents, to a luxurious hotel, from working with children and building orphanages – to countless days of safari and picnics in the Masai Mara, and the appeal of this trip slowly started to deteriorate to me. Was this really Kenya? No, just the Kenya that the tourists would like to see

To me, this was not ‘real Kenya’ or indeed the Kenya that I had experienced on the months expedition. After witnessing countless accounts of poverty and hardships and working with the local communities – the poor, to help better there standard of living, I just didn’t see how going there to enjoy Kenya’s luxuries; the beaches of the coast of Mombasa and the beautiful wildlife in the Masai Mara was going to settle with me. It just didn’t feel right.

I decided to approach the mother with this mind set and tried to make her understand that this wasn’t the type of Kenya I wanted to visit and that I didn’t want another trip there to replace the beautiful memories that I had from my previous expedition, up to now – the most mentally challenging but rewarding period of my life.

(to be continued) 

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Continuation 3 - rant over!

A little off topic here but writing this blog reminds me how badly treated we were during that little incident too. Okay so it was a Friday night, It was around 1 in the morning and they were full to the brim, but still, once the doctor did get over to see Joe, he didn’t even bother to check if he was concussed or even wipe up the open wound on his head. I just got told to give him some head ache tablets and advise him to sleep it off tomorrow. 
So I, being the good girlfriend I am, cleaned him up and put him to bed, awaiting the splitting headache he was about to wake up with in the morning.
Irony, he still has a scar on his head, and he still gets massive headaches (he doesn’t believe in migraines) “migraines are for people who can’t handle headaches”, where the scar is. 

Getting back on track now. Due to the ridiculous size of the Lincoln NHS hospital, we couldn’t even find the ward, despite us both being there before (Joe has zero memories of being at A&E for three hours that night) so we ended up going home.

I still feel pretty rough, i can’t get antibiotics and I’m booked in with the uni doctors, for the same illness, with an appointment for next tuesday....NEXT TUESDAY.

I think the reason that the crap medical care really does get to me here is because of living in Malaysia. It fascinates me that an uneconomically developed nation where almost half the population are living below the poverty line can provide medical care that tops the UK by miles. If you’re ill, you see a doctor within the next few hours, If you have a blood test, you get the results within the next two days, If you have an enquiry, phone lines are all ears to help. 
Although you can get antibiotics over the counter (without subscription), slightly worrying. 

So when I go back for Easter in a couple of weeks I plan on stocking up with every type of medicine you can ever think of, getting myself some antib’s for every type of illness known to man and relying on one nurse and one nurse only, the best of the best - my mummy! 

Continuation from previous ramble...

Let me just tell you this, the walk from town up to the hospital is an absolute trek!
The not so kind lady at the ‘Walk in clinic’ had suggested cutting through the arbatorim (or something like that)  so I did, Joe was being dragged along with me this entire time just letting you know.

I legitimately needed three rests up the hill to the hospital and when we got up there we still had no idea where to go, so we proceeded to ask two rambling drunks who were picking up speed behind us. They politely told us to just keep walking up, so it was quite a good move thinking back at it.

I have previously been to Accident and Emergency three times during the short period I’ve been at the uni.
-  Once during freshers with a drunken house mate who had been accidentally elbowed in the nose just after having surgery.
- The second time was to pick him up from having day surgery.
- Thirdly and probably most memorable was in an ambulance with Joe after he stumbled head first into a brick wall on the way to a night out. (haha) head gushing with blood we still waited there for three hours. He was asleep, only waking up to demand the sick bucket, while I just sat on a chair next to his bed (feeling a little like florence nightingale) watching the drunk and disorderly pile in, in huge numbers.

(To be continued in the next entry once again, SORRY SUE)

The dilemas of needing to see a doctor at uni!

Two days ago was possibly one of the most pointless days of my life and never before have I felt so completely helpless, alone and degraded.

The dramatic opening sentence is totally necessary here everyone, just sayin’.

I felt really ill. Your standard type of ill as in *ill all over* *no medicine will help* *get me a bloody doctor or I am going to die in this bed* but I decided I’d kick the lazy bug in the bottom and go do something about it.

Then the day got a whole lot worse...

I started off by calling the university clinic, the sensible and most straight forward option as we’re all members of the clinic since enrolling at the start of the year. It took two phone calls before the receptionist finally answered then proceeded to tell me, after me rambling on about all my symptoms in the most polite and *I’M SO ILL HELP ME NOW* manner, that there was nothing they could do for me until the next week when the appointment schedule had calmed down.
She then added that for ‘on the day appointments’ you have to call at around 8AM in the morning because they all go really quickly. So, the uni doctors, as they do to everybody that calls, just told me to visit the walk-in clinic.

This brings me to my first question: why does the uni clinic not have more doctors or even nurses available to see students when there are always going to be people needing appointments? The uni should not promise medical care, upon registration, to all students at the uni (all thousands of them) if there isn't going to be appointment availability for weeks. HALF OF US COULD BE DEAD BY THEN? Dramatic but God, this annoys me.

I decided, after disappointment number 1, that I’d phone the ‘walk-in clinic’ prior to my visit to check on the waiting time. This was a wise decision as I once, in the first semester, sat in that clammy waiting room for three hours for a nurse, not even a doctor, to tell me that I should go to boots and get some more paracetamol, baring in mind I had tonsillitis. I then managed to get into a doctor after that who didn’t even hesitate to give me prescription to a weeks worth of antibiotics.

Anyway, I called up and they said the waiting time was three quarters of an hour. I could deal with that.    Of course once I got there, it did only take me twenty minutes so how this happened in such a short period of time I’ll never know, it was up to three hours! THREE HOURS. There’s no wi-fi there so it’s not like I could do some work.

I decided to scrap that and walk to Accident and Emergency. At least there I could slightly exaggerate the symptoms and get something for it. I was feeling really sh*t.

(Continuing in next blog)

Monday, 12 March 2012

Procrastination is a b*t*h

I’ve been sitting here for a while now thinking what to write about for my third blog entry, sat on the top floor of the library to be exact - the ‘quiet floor’.

I find myself somewhat distracted at the moment by the noise of a hoover which can be heard every time someone opens the door to leave. Not very quiet I’m thinking, so I shuffle down a few seats to where there are a lot less people. I get the glare for being inconsiderately noisy as I scoop up all my belongings and ‘plonk’ them down on the next table, who cares - nobody knows me here (I hope).

I cheekily answer a phone call from a flat mate and whisper about four words: “in library can’t talk” before being tragically ‘shushed’ by the three much older looking students closest to me. 

Feeling somewhat uninspired I, almost subconsciously, find myself on the Daily Mail website, scrolling through a load of insufficient celebrity gossip scandals that involve someone from ‘Glee’ having naked photos of them leaked on to the internet. Oh how their life is over!

Why do I feel so annoyingly uninspired today? I think it’s because I’ve let this slip over the past week or so and every time I find something appealing that I fancy a quick blog about, my boyfriend logs the idea and ends up doing it before me. Fair play to him though, at least he’s getting it done, and he’s a lovely little writer. 

So I would chat about Skegness, which was actually a lovely sunny day out, despite my doubts it would be absolute rubbish. Guilty of listening to other people giving me their mostly negative opinions on it, but all in all, fantastic fish and chips, resulting in an extremely full belly. 
I won’t go into much detail though as Joe’s already blogged all about the trip (as always), and he sums up everything I would have said, just in a much more detailed and entertaining manner than I would have managed.

I then had the idea to just make this a blog on new film releases, I’m a massive fan of cinema, new and old, therefore this idea seemed fairly easy to me, but in reality that would just be boring and I’m fairly sure theres not much you could refer to from ‘Project X’ that would be suitable to the eyes of a level one journalism tutor, who inevitably decides if you pass or fail this module. So let’s not offend. 

I’m now scrolling through old Facebook photos which I’ve just been tagged in. From the summer of 2011 to be exact. These are amusing me a lot more than they should be doing, definitely not suitable for fits of giggles on the ‘quiet floor’ of the library. Oh well, I’m going to keep going through them. It’s something to do and I’m really not in any state of mind to work or blog about something of any importance for that matter.....

I’ve found my photos from Kenya! 
I’ll blog about the trip. Just not in this post, it’ll go on forever.
Hakuna Matata I can do this.

Who says procrastination’s the thief of time...? Hmph.