Ngong Hills Kenya
As I leave the house every morning,I could always take a short cut to my destination. However, I choose the more scenic route. It gives me great pleasure. It offers me the view of the Ngong Hills.
The lore that the hills were like giant knuckles turned to the sky was always present in the sighting of the Ngong Hills.
All my familiar sights have a story. I like that very much.
This morning the mist is low over the Ngong Hills. Like a bridal veil, the beauty is covered. Covered for a while only to lift up and reveal its fresh beauty. There is a kind of throbbing expectation to the sight.
Some clear days the hills stand there vibrant in the sun shine,the trees dense from a distance. A variety of greens deep and visible from afar.
Sometimes the hills entertained me and give me a view that is clear and sometimes,shrouded over in parts.
It is as thought the hills and I have a dialogue set up. Every day is a surprise. We have a bond those hills and I.
Wherever I travelled I look out for the hills.
Returning from the game park, at dusk, the hills are bathed in the last light of the day. Brilliant sun setting over the hills lending the hills such colour. As soon as the sun had set,there they are, dark silhouettes.
From the sky the Ngong hills are a mark of where I am. What am I looking down upon. The Wilson Airport. The game park near by. They are familiar indications of my beautiful city in the sun. To which,I come home from a holiday abroad. The sight of the Ngong Hills is a welcome back. A greeting of welcoming me home. A special thrill, a warmth that spreads all over me in seeing my version of the Ngong Hills.
For when I drive into Karen and am close to the hills and can hardly see them, the words of Karen Blixen came to mind
‘ I had a farm in Africa,at the foot of the Ngong Hills’
Hers is yet another story indelibly etched in the mind by Karen Blixen and by the popular movie, ‘ Out Of Africa.’ The words spoken by Meryl Streep.
Often I have climbed up to the top of the hills. On one such occasion,I climbed with my son Irfan. It was very early morning. The misty chill nipped us in the bud. Exhilarating. When all at once as we ascended, the deseness deepened. We could not see. The unknown made us pause. In silent wisdom we stopped.so did time We sat down for movement was not a choice.
Engulfed in the silence of the mist. Another dimension.
A vista unfolded before me. A time lapse.
I am climbing through the mist. At The top of the hill, a figure awaits. A monk, his cowl low over the head. I see it is Irfan. He is in the herbarium. I visit often for special potions, herbs, and some wisdom.
It is a bond that spans over time. A connection of sharing some special gnosis, not barred by time.
Timeless as are the Ngong Hills.