By Claudette Oduor
One of the last things you expect to find in this desert town is a Giraffe Conservatory. I’ve been planning a trip to the sanctuary for weeks now, but I only just managed it. I’d heard lots said about the place. In fact, from what the locals of Garissa told me, I half expected to find a desert beach where giraffes sprawled their legs, lay on colourful towels and flipped through the pages of The Giraffe Playboy. I’d love to confirm these reports. I’d love to say I saw these colossal creatures roll in the oceanless beaches, dizzy after masticating inordinate amounts of marula fruits. I’d love to say I saw animal paparazzi eager to plaster the suntanned giraffe faces on the covers of animal tabloids. Far from it, the trip left me turbid in the mouth. Yes, we saw giraffes. Three of them. One even batted its eyelashes and –I swear-winked at one of my vertically blessed friends. My friend and the pretty lady giraffe had a special bond; the bond of those who chew pieces of cloud as they walk in the torrid noonday sun. What we found was that the centre is unregulated. People drive in and out at leisure. What’s to stop me from strapping one of those goddess giraffes to the back of a pick-up truck and taking it to my own backyard? OK, maybe there are lots to stop me, but one must admit that there is a lot left to be desired of the manner in which the place is run (or is not run). The place is godforsaken!On our way out of the centre, we were beleaguered by an angry nomad.
He claimed that the land was his, that we had to pay him for looking at the giraffes. Suffice to say that sand was thrown in our eyes for pointing out the ridiculous nature of such claims. Later, I did an online search on the centre. One of the sites I found said that the centre is a community-based conservation and natural resource management initiative. I don’t know about that; all I know is that the place is in shambles and it’s a pity as it’s a very beautiful place out of which so much could be made.
