Bird Time

“What time is it?”

I’m buried under covers, very much in the haze of sleep still, with only half an eye open.

“It’s bird time,” answers Britt.

I laugh, because I know exactly what that means.

sunbird by our house

It means the sun has started to rise, and the songbirds are starting their day. It means that it’s not yet 6:30 am, because the birds are in full chorus. In my pre-Nairobi days, it would have meant I’d overslept – thanks to a series of jobs with early start times.

But now, bird time, as Britt calls it, means welcome to the day. It’s the inevitable morning concert outside our windows, and one of the many charming aspects of living and waking in Nairobi.

hornbills by our terrace

There are more than 1,000 different species of birds in Kenya. Some stick around all year, and others pass through on their ways across multiple continents. They come in an incredible variety of sizes, colors, and types – from the giant-size ostrich, Cory bustard, and secretary bird to the tiny and colorful sunbirds and firefinches. There are marine birds, terrestrial ones that rarely fly, raptors that nest in the cliffs and tall buildings, birds that prefer farms or field, nocturnal birds, woodland dwellers, elegant ones like the crowned cranes, and the ones that live in gardens like ours.

harrier hawk on our terrace

I’m not sure how many varieties of birds we have in our yard. But “lots” would be a close guess. We definitely have different weavers, finches, and doves. I’ve seen woodpeckers on half-dead branches and mousebirds on the electrical wires. Sunbirds like the hibiscus flowers and groups of firefinches and something a friend calls LBJs (for little brown jobs) zip around in clusters. We have a regular pair of hadada ibis on our mulch pile, and a pair of prehistoric-looking silver-cheeked hornbills that jump around noisily on the sunroof. There’s a big harrier hawk that visits regularly, too.

And those are just the ones that are easy to identify.

Back in January, I joined an outing with a group called Nature Kenya. They meet up at the National Museum every Wednesday morning for birdwatching, and at least one Sunday per month. In January, they went out almost daily to conduct an annual bird count in different parts of the country.

The day I joined we went to the Thika water treatment area, about 30 minutes northeast of Nairobi. It is in a place with natural marshes and a series of ponds used to filter sewage water. They are open air and not nearly as disgusting as you might expect. Ours was a very large group, with many serious bird specialists there for the count. Most of them are young Kenyans, who have trained as tour guides and specialized in birds as a professional advantage and out of personal passion.

There were also a dozen or more mzungu bird enthusiasts and experts, most of whom seemed to be long-time regulars. They know their birds. And because they are enthusiasts, not competitors, they were only too happy to share their knowledge and remarkable ability to spot and identify birds with novices like me.

Their leader is a woman, who is well known for the warm and welcoming way she shares her extensive bird knowledge. I’d read and heard about her through various venues. And it was a real treat to see her in action, patiently pointing out every bird, repeating its name several times for everyone to hear, and sharing different things about its habits and usual habitat.

We looked just as you would expect. A bunch of people equipped with the requisite binoculars, floppy hats, and sensible shoes. Some also had bird guides in hand or cameras with huge lenses.

There was a time when I might have found this embarrassing.

Now, I find myself investing in better binoculars.