Story highlights
- CNN anchor Brooke Baldwin traveled to Africa twice this year
- She found a deeper understanding of the vast continent and broadened her idea of 'home'
(CNN)"Welcome home."
That's how you're greeted at Sanctuary Olonana
in the Masai Mara, a remote 583-square-mile national reserve in
southeastern Kenya where wildlife and Maasai villagers coexist.
"Welcome
home." Thing is, I'd never visited Kenya before this trip (the Nairobi
airport doesn't count). In fact, until just a few months ago, Africa was
a distant destination, a dream destination, for sure, but a place that
existed for me largely in my mind.
Africa
had never been home, but my understanding of this continent changed
dramatically this year with not just one but two very distinct "pinch
me" experiences.
The first involved
summiting Africa's highest peak, a bucket list trip that altered me in
ways I wasn't expecting. The second involved a different kind of peak --
a career highlight for sure -- and certainly solidified my feelings
toward this once-faraway place.
I
first set foot on African soil just four months ago, when I traveled to
Tanzania. I was 35 years old, had just moved to New York and decided it
was time to stop talking about Africa and finally go.
But I needed to go in a big way -- and to me, that meant attempting to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, all 19,345 feet of it.
By
the time I reached the summit, I was changed, physically and
emotionally. From the moment I started back down the mountain, the
little voice in my head wondered: When would I return to Africa?
Little did I know that answer would be just four months later.
In late spring, the White House announced that President Barack Obama would be traveling to Kenya in July for his Entrepreneurship Summit.
Last summer, he invited all the African leaders to Washington, and he has created a number of U.S.-based African initiatives.
But this trip would be special, because it would be the first time as sitting president that Obama would return to Kenya and revisit his roots.
It was a story I wanted to tell. With hard work and some good help, I eventually landed an exclusive interview with Auma Obama, President Obama's half-sister.
My
producer and I would travel to the Obama family's ancestral village in
western Kenya, visit Sauti Kuu (Swahili for "powerful voices"), Auma's
foundation empowering children and families in that community, and see
how these Kenyans -- half a world away -- feel about Obama's return
"home."
Through our days on the ground,
I discovered that our opportunity with Auma would also provide a rare
window into the Obama family. She is easily the closest sibling to the
President (and as a result, she is fiercely private and protective of
her family).
She shared stories with
me about what it feels like when she returns to her ancestral home of
Nyang'oma Kogelo, where, seven years after her brother arrived in the
White House, many little boys are now named "Barack Obama."
Auma
took us to her family homestead and introduced me to "Mama Sarah," the
93-year-old grandmother to Auma and Barack. Auma even walked me to her
father's grave, where she shared with me in almost a whisper what she
believes her father -- if he were still alive -- would say to his son,
the President of the United States.
I
left West Kenya pensive, the theme of "home" starting to tug at me.
What does "home" really mean? Is it merely geography, where you were
born? Could it include straddling two continents and cultures? Or
perhaps it's a place with a spiritual magnetism -- a feeling toward a
culture or people -- that's tough to put into words?
And
that feeling brings me to the final leg of my Kenyan journey: the Masai
Mara (or the "Mara," as the locals call it), a vast national reserve in
southwestern Kenya.
If you time your
visit just right, you get to witness the Great Migration, the crossing
of hundreds of thousands of gazelles, wildebeests, zebras and impala
from Tanzania's Serengeti into Kenya's Mara, seeking fresh grass, food
and water. Animals seeking a new home ...
Our
guide, Joseph Koyie, took us immediately on our first game drive. Not
two minutes into our adventure, his well-attuned eye spotted a lioness
in the distance.
Only, it was slinking
our way. As in, at one point, this beautiful creature (with mighty
large teeth) was crouched 2 feet from our vehicle. I froze.
Joseph whispered, "Don't move. Shhhhhh."
I
couldn't help it; my hand went for my friend's arm, and I SQUEEZED.
Hard. "Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh ... it's. Right. There!" For the next
30 minutes, we sat absolutely transfixed.
We
watched the lioness creep up on a warthog, which Joseph explained she
had been eyeing from afar for lunch (lions are known for their keen eye
sight and patience).
But the nearby
impalas were on lookout and perhaps sent a signal to this little
warthog, and the next thing we knew, the lioness was left alone and
still hungry.
Over the course of the
next two days, I saw elephants, entire families of them. I also saw many
giraffes -- my other favorite animal on safari -- cutting such a
stunning silhouette in the distance. Their long, regal necks and those
eyelashes!
I watched lions sleeping in
trees. I listened to the calls between wildebeests. At dusk on our
drive back in, I even caught a glimpse of the rarest of all: a black
rhino. Here I was, in their home.
And
the Maasai people? They're known for their beadwork, their colorful
dress (red is their signature color), the men's bent-leg stance, their
strength, endurance and nomadic lifestyle. You never ask a Maasai
warrior how many cattle he has; it's like asking someone how much money
they've got in their bank account.
But
it was the Maasai singing in their own tribal language -- welcome
songs, songs for children, warrior songs -- that I marveled at, as this
tradition has managed to survive centuries, despite the modernization of
Africa even in remote parts like the Mara.
To
hear and see them, and in particular the men, chant and jump was
mesmerizing. But what I really came to appreciate: the modern Maasai who
prioritize education.
They leave
their villages for 21st-century jobs, but they almost always return
home. Just like Joseph, our safari guide, they continue to give back,
never forgetting their roots, their home.
The
Masai Mara may not be my physical home. Nyang'oma Kogelo may not be my
home. Kilimanjaro may not be my home. But home, for me, is not just a
place but a feeling.
The warmth of
Mama Sarah's house, the traditional villages of the Maasai, the
unequaled view from Uhuru Peak: I have discovered, in opening my eyes
and heart to these new experiences, I am always welcomed home.
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