14/7/05, Buna, Kenya.

Near Buna

Tribal clashes with hundreds dead along the Marsabit road towards Nairobi, so I'm diverted by a worried-looking Kenyan along the back road. Chief Osman welcomes me to Buna and I'm put up in a comfortable thatched hut for the night.

He takes me by surprise a little by telling me that stocky ex-England player John Barnes once stayed here. If he'd said David Beckham or Bobby Charlton I'd have guessed he was fantasising. But John Barnes? Must be true.

15/7/05, Wajir.

Shite

The only place you can get a beer in Wajir is prison. At 9pm every night the canteen is opened to the public for lager and fried meat. Hot, dusty and knackered though I am, and having fallen off three times on the sandy-rut road that leads here, I'm not thirsty enough to go to prison for it. What if they don't let me out at closing time? What if there's quite literally a lock-in?

Apart from the unusual licensing laws, Wajir is a great town. Only two of the dozens of people who say hello ask me for a hand-out. A guy offers to wash my bike, but he's wearing a Chelsea shirt so I don't allow him to touch it.
"But - but - Chelsea and Gunners friends! From London!" he wails.
"No," I explain, "in fact the opposite is the case."
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