Unlike Elspeth Huxley, whose book The Flame Trees of Thika, which I wrote about yesterday, I do not return to Kenya frequently. I was never entirely at ease during the 22 years I lived there and prefer living in England. However I do have some wonderful memories.
On one occasion, when we visited the Nairobi National Park a lion sauntered in front of our car along the narrow, road which was not tarmacked. On either side of the road, the rich red of African soil, was scrubland interspersed here and there with thorn trees like weird sculptures.
Not once did the lion look back, not a breeze ruffled his splendid mane and the sun beating down from a Madonna-blue sky disturbed us but not the king of all he surveyed. Belly full, he ignored the giraffes, z