On a bird. On beauty.
The trees are thick with birds when I walk my dog in the morning. They shake and quiver — sometimes silently, and sometimes with song, awakening as the birds slowly unfold their winged splendour to welcome the day.
I am lucky enough to live in lush and beautiful part of Nairobi, Kenya — full of exceptionally tall trees and many animals, and a magical view of the rolling Ngong hills. Hyraxes, various species of monkeys, and warthogs visit our garden regularly. When I first moved here, I laughed at my friend’s insistence that Kenya Wildlife Services was on regular alert for occasional lion sightings, strays from the nearby National Park.
But up until the pandemic and the lockdown, I paid little heed to birds. Yes, I would listen for the birds (and in fact, my boys and I had a few favourites — that shrill little guy at 6am would warble his heart out). But I had never really recognized these birds for the cast of incredible characters that they truly are, in what seems like nature’s spectacular but often overlooked show. Before the pandemic, I’d often take walks or run in the neighbourhood— but with my earphones in and moving swiftly to the sound of a good podcast.
The lockdown forced me to pause, look, and listen. And I discovered a paradise.
Right before my eyes, by hedges and bushes, I had overlooked the low-flying mousebirds, darting across the road with their long tails, disappearing quickly into thickets. I never really noticed the humble red firefinches, the yellow weaver birds, colouring the landscape with their fast-flitting wings. I barely saw the robin chats and thrushes, diligent and dutiful, hopping and chirping as they find food and line their nests. I missed the brilliant sunbirds and bee-eaters, the burnished glow of the morning light gently bouncing off their multi-coloured wings. I missed the piercing cries of the black kite and the goshawk, perched far above the milling crowd below.
The pause of the pandemic also forced me into an early morning routine that I have since held sacred. Now armed with field guides, an app, and binoculars, the family has become obsessed with birding. We put up a bird feeder. We watch the “bird show” over breakfast, as the rank-and-file of our backyard visitors would change in composition over the course of our day. My 5-year-old son has been known to rush into a room, shouting, with urgency, “Bird spotted! Bird spotted! Cordon bleu! Cordon bleu!” And he’s referring to the red-cheeked slender pair that would sneak a snack when no one was looking.
But there was one spectacular bird that I had often heard, and seldom saw, a bird that has so captured my imagination and my heart over these past few months, that my interest in this beautiful creature borders on obsession.
The shy, fruit-eating Turaco, or Mr. Fabulous as we call him in our family, has haunted my garden for years, and yet I have only recently discovered the magic of this spectacular bird.
Just on looks alone, the Turaco is a truly fabulous bird — green and purple, with a striped eyepatch and a red eye. On any given day, he definitely looks like he’s dressed up for a dinner party.
But it is when Mr. Fabulous takes flight that he is truly spectacular — his indigo wings expand to reveal red-tipped feathers, visible only during flight.
When I first saw the Turaco fly across the road, he took my breath away. He moved swiftly but the memory of his red wings against the green trees and the blue sky were seared in my memory and brain. Who was that bird, I thought? And how could I stop that spectacular moment?
From that point on, the stalking began. I listened for his low crow, stalking the trees and their frequent haunts. I would catch glimpses of a lone Turaco, or a pair, but would always fail to capture his exquisite beauty.
I fancied myself somewhat of a wildlife photographer one morning, when I rose extra early to try and catch him in flight. I had visions of my capturing him, his indigo-and-red wingspan inked in silhouette against a clear blue sky. But, try as I might, I couldn’t. Every time I had my camera, he would not cooperate — shyly refusing to take flight. Even boda-boda drivers on Milima road knew to alert me when the “ndege mwenye mabawa red” was around — and I would skulk at the foot of lofty trees, waiting for the moment.
But it never came. I waited and waited, and Mr. Fabulous would stubbornly resist to my attempts to photograph him.
And then, in the middle of a work day filled with incessant zoom calls, the Turaco decided to grace my backyard with his presence. He arrived unannounced, without fanfare, and he took it upon himself to hang out behind my kitchen, next to the clotheslines — how inconsiderate. My boys spotted him first, and hurried me to the backyard. I would have to crane my neck to take any kind of photo, but of course he didn’t care.
Instead of taking to flight into the bright blue sky, red wings aloft, an aria playing in the background like I had imagined, he instead appeared to launch himself repeatedly into my bathroom window, possibly believing that he was looking at another bird in the reflection. Awkward.
I was expecting a National Geographic photograph, his red-tinged wings spread across the sky. And instead, I had to create stills from a video of Mr Fabulous lunging into my bathroom window.
And yet. Perhaps this was my lesson — on beauty, on life.
We expect life to give us unparalleled beauty — curated, unspoiled, and spectacular. At the right moment. At the right time. We expect perfectly curated stills, instead of an awkward video reel, with flashes of beauty.
Instead, life gives us the opportunity to continually witness the ungracious crash of beauty into a bathroom window. It is unplanned, awkward, but often spectacular. If we blink, we miss it.
If we don’t recognize it for what it is — it could even pass us by. And yet, awkwardness notwithstanding, the moment is still beautiful and profound, and could shake us to the core.
The lockdown has taught me to take this lesson to heart, to really live in the moment and appreciate the little slivers of beauty, wonder, and awe that life grants us, in whatever form they come.
Watching birds has taught me not to lie in wait for that perfect curated moment of beauty or happiness. Instead, I’ve learnt the importance of appreciating everyday beauty — the unexpected, every day wonder — that arrives in so many forms.
It is in the surprise hug or grasp of a hand from a child. It is the unplanned, deep conversation with a friend who called when you were least expecting it. It is the smell of the fresh earth after the rain, or the flash of a stranger’s smile.
Beauty is not a perfect picture in the future tense. Beauty just is. An awkward video reel. All around us. It’s up to us to look and up, listen, and breathe it all in.
As the pandemic rages on, and our certainty about the world around us crumbles, here’s hoping for a little bit more unplanned and unexpected beauty in your life. Here’s to more beauty in the present tense.
You never know when Mr. Fabulous may crash into your bathroom window, saying: “Stop. Listen. Look up! See how fabulous I am.”
