CHAPTER
26 - KENYA, PART II
Exchange
rate 73 Kenyan Shillings to US$1
Th
9/2/99 - Nairobi
I
hobbled around Nairobi for errands, the muscles in top of my ass hurt from my
minds insistence of my unsure body on the mountain. I hit email and ran around
for other errands. I passed my beggars laying in the sidewalks against
buildings, one without feet or fingers.
On my
return to Planet Safari along Kenyatta a tall Kenyan matched my quick pace and
said hello. I looked at him strangely and he remarked that I didn't recognize
him, he was a Planet Safari's doorman, and gave a grin half of disappointment
and resignation. Of course I wanted to be friendly and felt a bit guilty for
not remembering the man. He told me he had things for the Planet and an appointment
afterward to keep and his car was stopped. Would I give him a push? That
sounded like a fun sidetracked, agreed, we turned direction, and I struggled to
keep pace with him. What was actually happening was that he had just hooked a
tall goofy mazungu into his practiced scam, one of many around Nairobi. He then
said he needed gas, so what happened to a push I wondered? Well, these
conversation with bad English allows involve misunderstandings so I didn't
worry too much. As he explained himself and my understanding as he reported
wavered, he turned back and forth toward Planet Safari and I eagerly leaped
along to help. Can I gave him money for petrol? "How much?" "800
shillings." "No." I offered a hundred and the damn guy refused,
said it wouldn't get him anywhere. The thought of a scam did cross my mind, I
thought I would compromise by only subjecting a small amount, and left with 200
shillings. So, I was duped for $2.66. The worse was yet to come. When I started
to explain what happened to Robyn, her eyes opened wide and with an astonished
looked asked if I ever listened to her. She described the man and reminded me
that he tried a similar story with her and she laughed him off. Now she had a
nice piece of ammunition to use when I deserved it.
There were
two other popular scams we heard people falling into around Nairobi. Near the
bombed embassy building a man will talk to a tourist and once he leaves, three
"police" with identification bring the tourist to a "police
booth" and interrogate him about connections with known criminals. The
other is a fund raiser for a local college complete with a thick filled
donation book.
Errands
are chores and one of the worse aspects of travelling. Conversely, I always
look forward to eating and since I am now in colonial British East Africa the
idea of afternoon tea was appealing. The other obvious tea spot was just around
the corner at the New Stanley. It's a ritzy hotel with a similar reputation for
tea, but lacks the colonial charm and ambiance of the old Norfolk buildings.
At the
corner of Moi Avenue and Mama Ngina Street is a few disgusting fast food places
bundled under one roof. They're South African owned and mimic the wonders of
America such as McDonald's and Kentucky Fried Chicken. Of the offerings we chose
Licken Chicken and followed it with the movie, "The Mummy".
Fr
9/3/99 - Nairobi
A great
thing happened today - we changed breakfast location to Burgerland, on Moi near
Kenyatta. Burgerland was closer to an American diner with more options included
baked goods and I was "drinking through a straw" (from Joseph the Mt.
Kenya guide, translates to "life couldn't have been better")..
Another
day in Nairobi, more chores. I shipped home a package of gifts and picked up
Blacky photographs from a Kodak house near Central Market. I developed two
rolls that covered the trip as far back as Java. There were a couple of good
ones - Blacky at a Java volcano, at the largest water fountain in the world
(Singapore), in the mouth of a grouper aboard Hi Velocity sailing the Indian
Ocean, and Blacky with a zebu (humpy cow) in Madagascar.
Something
rang in my brain when I noted that today was Friday ... ah, happy hour! We
found a great social spot at Saleen's opposite the 680 Hotel. It has a large
patio area and was packed with mostly Kenyans doing the social thing - talking
ad drinking. They were the better off Kenyans of the city and ig it wasn't for
skin color, the scene could have come straight from New England.
Sa
9/4/99 - Train Nairobi to Mombasa
Robyn
and I would leave Nairobi today aboard the night train, so I was eager to
finish chores and enjoy what we could, and that meant starting the day with a
leisurely breakfast at Burgerland.
After
chores I brought Robyn to the Burma Market for lunch, to the same seedy spot
called Susan's that Harry showed me. We were the only whites on the bus number
36 there, the only in the market. And so we had many long looks. Big and round
Susan remembered me, I sat us in the same spot with backs against the white tile
wall facing to the alley, and ate the wonderful fish and stew with ugali. Robyn
was very impressed with this local local event, enjoyed it, and remarked with
wonder that she wouldn't have done these types of Nairobi things, like walking
at night, bussing about, and eating in a dirty old market without me, and I
felt good for it.
Another
bus dropped us near the Nairobi National Museum. We spent a couple of hours
browsing through exhibits. The Leakey's work on pre-history was represented
well, there was an interesting and large collections of cultural artifacts, and
a huge collection of birds. Particularly interesting was a colored drawing
collection by Joy Adamson sponsored by the government in the fifties. The goal
was to capture traditional dress of the various tribes before it vanished.
Our
packs were full, a large one on our backs, daypack on our front and we waddled
across Moi to a beat old red and yellow taxi for the train station. Even though
Nairobi is an ugly city, I'd enjoyed my return trip an would miss it in some
ways. Robyn and I had booked second class (four passengers per cabin versus two
for first) and even though policy has a strict separation between males and
females we asked to be placed with another muzungu couple. In our cabin were an
Israeli couple who requested a cabin with an English speaking couple and were
embarrassed that a train person told us this.
I was
looking forward to this train ride to Mombasa, I had enjoyed it both ways those
dozen years ago. It was a good, similar experience. Sleeping would be easy, the
train would be hours late, and the morning scenery would be gorgeous. The
dining experience was still unique but not as colonial as before. The waiters
and the serving of food (boney lamb) was less formal. I searched hard to
replace a silver plated Uganda Railways fork Steve had nicked for me that I
subsequently lost. It was large and worn and ugly, with "UR"
imprinted on it.
Su
9/5/99 - Mombasa
We woke
to an early dawn and the fun jostling and clacking of the train. There was
breakfast and the rest of the morning was spent leaning on and hanging out the
window and watching the countryside, villages, and people pass by.
We
arrived Mombasa, the Swahili city of the coast, at 930am and booked into the
Lucky Hotel, an okay dump not too far from the train station. Nearby, on Haile
Selassie we hit an all-you-can Indian vegetarian named New Chetna for 210
shillings each.
It was
Sunday and the city was very quiet with most businesses closed. We wandered and
I searched for a marvellous landmark that I enjoyed here twelve years ago. My
anticipation was flattened when I saw the colonial Castle Hotel closed and
dilapidated. I searched for another meeting spot Steve and I had gone to and
think (I should have brought my journal from 1987) I found it at the Casablanca
which was only interesting for my observations of Robyn observing the
unattractive prostitutes. We walked to the 14th century Fort Jesus on the
Indian Ocean and sat near the water's edge for a peaceful rest. Old town
Mombasa is a maze of roads amongst plastered buildings and we popped out at
Mohammed's Ice Cream shop where our wills wouldn't behave.
I raved
about a great dinner place in Old Town, Recodas, a Swahili restaurant and Robyn
was impressed. We had passed it earlier and I missed it for reading graffiti on
the wall opposite. We enjoyed fish and meat and rice dishes and then a
conversation with our waiter. When I was here in '87 with Steve the waiter,
maybe the same man tortured by quantity and brought dish after dish until we
had screamed mercy. It was humorous. The waiter nodded respect and approval to
Steve for he outlasted myself. Robyn and I weren't stuffed similarly but were
treated well at our sidewalk table in the old Arabic streets of coastal East
Africa.
Swahili,
the culture, developed through a mixing of Muslim Arab influence through sea
traders on the African coast. A culture emerged and is seen in religion,
architecture, and customs. Swahili, the language, is a mix of African bantu and
Arabic and is an official language of Kenya and Tanzania.
Tomorrow
we would head to the island of Lamu in the north, not far from Somalia.
Mo
9/6/99 - Lamu, Kenya
We rose
early and were out by 7am. We hadn't arranged a bus earlier for the long trip
to Lamu and I feared they left early. At the TSS office we were told the bus
was full and after an argument with a crazed man in the street, one of the two
daily TSS buses stopped and the conductor let us on after explaining there were
no seats left (KS400).
The bus
ride took the estimated seven to eight hours and standings wasn't fun. The bus
was packed and simply moving ones feet for comfort was difficult. We drove over
the new Japanese built Kilifi bridge (in '87 we took a ferry). Before reaching
Malindi in an hour and a half we told the conductor if Robyn couldn't have a
seat we would get off. He moved a young girl who sat between an old woman's
legs and sat Robyn. I would stand for six hours, but it wasn't too bad, I
hadn't expected to have a seat for the last two hours, and was delighted then
to sit. There were two men who spoke often to us which helped kill the time.
One was an old man named Hussein, a government councillor who beside Robyn (on
her other side was another pongy man), and I spoke to a middle aged man
returning to his home in Lamu after a five year absence. He was travelled and a
little rough around the edges, he worked for a French company diving an fishing
the Indian Ocean with clients.
We were
not allowed to leave the bus and in Malindi we made a major blunder. Before
boarding we hadn't eaten or drank and so when the bus stopped in Malindi, Robyn
hung from the window and asked for water and some food. There was plenty of
food but no bottled water. Robyn bought a small orange flavored drink. We were
moving and noise emanated around the bus. Robyn passed the opened drink and I
gulped it down. I didn't hear her asked if iodine was handy. I thought she
broke a seal. Figuring I was more knowledgeable and worried more about disease
she then drank from the bottle.
To
amuse myself I counted how many people were standing on the bus - 25. In the
seat nearby a mother sat across two places and faced the window. Her young
daughter had a doll and large white but dirty teddy bear, two unusual toys for
a Kenyan kid. A mother fed an infant girl cracker crushed in her hand. A
protruding butt behind me had my attention - it pushed from underneath and I
could have sat on it without problem. We stopped before the Tana River Bridge
(in '87 it was also a ferry crossing, the bus unloaded and we helped pull on a
rope to propel the ferry across). There, willowy Bajum and 'Ottama' women in
beautifully colorful lasos sold snacks and drinks. One young and pretty girl
roughly held up a chicken up to the bus windows.
The
buses running in this remote area have been plagued by shiftas (bandits) for
years. The government blames the bus raids on Somalian marauders, probably it's
a combination of people from both countries, and they run vehicles in convey
and place armed soldiers on each. The last incident was in July when a shifta
was shot. So, this was something to think about - where would they be (where a
bus has to slow for bad road), and how would they treat muzungus, and
especially female muzugus?
Two armed
soldiers joined the bus.
We
stopped briefly in the village of Witu and here more people boarded. I craned
my neck around to see the highest seat number painted above me, 59, and guessed
that for every three or four people there was an extra squeezed in, that would
make the count about seventy-six. With a rough head count of those standing, at
least thirty now, the grand total was over one hundred. A large coach in the
States seats 46.
The bus
stopped on the shore at Molowe and the hundred people slowly poured off.
Hussein warned us of the thieves and touts outside, they weren't locals, they
were from Malindi and Somalia, and I assumed then less trustworthy. So, I was
even more worried about my small pack halfway and fifty people down the bus, stuck
in the overhead rack, and my big pack in a compartment underneath. The packs
were not an issue except for the inordinate amount of road dust on the big one
that finished off my white Harpoon Breweries T-shirt for the current round.
What
was especially intense was the screaming and word fighting by the ferrymen for
our 30 shillings for passage on their very overburdened wooden boats. A handful
of men screamed in our faces and at one another as I searched from the mound I
stood for one of the familiar faces from the bus. One man was overly obnoxious,
short, podgy, wearing a loose white shirt and thin beard, Arabic in descent,
"Come, 30 shillings, we are leaving now", and with more force and in
contradiction to is competition, "Don't listen to him, that boat doesn't
leave until 6:30!" This man and the others yelled the same lines over and
over again. The shouting around us made for confusion and I balked at a
decision. I was half laughing and half-shocked and finally yelled,
"Shutup!" Silence. The fat short man asked, "What did you
say?", and I thought, "Oh, oh, maybe I made a foobar", and so I
replied half in question, "Shhhh?!". And right from a Hollywood
action comedy like "Indiana Jones", he replied, "Oh.",
hesitated a moment, then the silence was broken and they all were back at their
ranting and screaming as before.
Figuring
it would leave first, we chose the more full boat, sitting low and filled way
beyond capacity with people and belongings, not the boat that the loud short
fat man worked, and we were let free from the throng without torment and I was
surprised for it. Robyn later pointed out that the ferrymen were making fun of
the situation and the men were probably friendly competitors and friends. The
comically rude gestures that fat man made from his perch at the back of his
ferry to our crew supported Robyn's suspicions.
At the
first tempting cafe we spotted from the dock, the Hapa Hapa Guest House and
Paradise Papaya Garden, we sat for a banana chocolate shake, and toasted
cheese, tomato, and onion sandwich. We especially wanted to relax and let the
touts who wished to profit via our accommodation choice to settle out.
At our
leisure we finished our rest and were then assisted by Mohammed to look across
Lamu for comfortable lodging for a period. I described and asked about the
rooftop I stayed at with Steve, it had a nice, good sized hut atop with views
across the town. Next door was a mosque that rudely woke us each morning with
the call to prayer at 5am. Mohammed and another figured my puzzle out, the
place was near the Pole Pole (POLE-E) but was occupied for a year by two white
women. We then looked at four hotels and settled on the Kishuna, beyond Pole
Pole and on the left at the gradual hilltop. The Kishuna has about ten rooms,
the rooms on the top floor are labelled "Honeymoon" with a number and
we took the a corner room above the office, the largest and most outrageously
decorated with Lamu wooden furniture and funky lamps. There were two double
beds with same sized wooden frames above for mosquito nets, a large dresser,
large and long bureau, large wooden living room style chairs and a table
between. There was also a large bath and log balcony. We were high on top of
the slope from the water through Lamu and at the top on the third floor of the
building, so views were good. I could plainly see the rooftop hut from twelve
years ago, the sea, and hundreds of rooftops. In western terms the room was
large and furnished in quantity, but quality and maintenance was relative to an
African scale.
We
bartered hard and agreed to pay in advance for five days at 5000 shillings, a
high price for Lamu at $12.50 a day including breakfast for two. A large room
above the Hapa Hapa Guest House and Paradise Papaya Garden would have cost us
400 shillings a night.
We were
settled in for a nice long stay, at least five nights in a great room, and
didn't have to worry about moving our heavy bags or tired selves again for
awhile. We were in the old and picturesque village of Lamu, far from any major
cities, and without cars or motorcycles, only intriguing ancient narrow
walkways and an interesting Muslim population..
I
scanned the guidebooks to quickly orient myself and find the choice points of
Lamu. Recommended was the cafe at the old fort called Muzdalifa, but it we were
the sole customers and I was curious why that was. Dinner wasn't notable or
wonderful.
Tu
9/7/99 - Lamu
Lamu is
a remote Swahili town dating back to the 1300's and was governed through the
centuries by different sultans based on the East African coast and also the
Portuguese. The town with it's many narrow and picturesque alleyways and open
sewerage has survived intact. In the last decades it has been effected good and
bad by tourism and has recently had an increase in local population as well.
The draw is this - the remote laid back atmosphere in a centuries old Swahili
coastal town with plenty of history, good beaches, and a budget infrastructure
for tourists.
Lamu
town is on a gentle hill, we were lodged at top. The waterfront is a straight
line of stone wall for a kilometer and lined with big old buildings mixed with
smaller shops and restaurants. It's an active and colorful area with many men
milling about and dhows tied along the wall.
Urgh!
That Malindi orange drink from yesterday - we both started a bout against
bacteria, we were at times hit hard and suffered nausea, malaise, and bad
output. This would last for days.
On Lamu
island is the Arabic town where we lodged, a village named Shela known for it's
beach just beyond, and a fishing village on the far side. We walked to Shela
and my mind kept tagging the thoughts of how Lamu has developed and I was
annoyed for we now couldn't walk along the shore but instead zigzagged around
property and the shore. But I must have forgotten that only at low tide can one
walk from Lamu to Shela along the shore. We were feeling under the weather ad
ragged under the hot sun. The heat was especially difficult away from the sea.
The big
and remote beach at Shela was too windy in the open to enjoy so we sought
shelter behind a scraggly bush and there we simple relaxed and didn't ever
think of swimming. The view east toward the open ocean was pleasant, one to
look at and gaze. A young man with large smile came to our stomach's rescue to
sell us sodas and samosas from a straw basket. Bottles are re-used so we were
asked to stick them in the sand afterward.
We hit
the Hapa Hapa Guest House and Paradise Papaya Garden on the waterfront for
shakes and toasted sandwiches again, simple and to the point, what bodies and
minds tired from bad food needed.
We
9/8/99 - Lamu
I woke
early by the loud noises of Lamu, in order of appearance: roosters, donkeys,
and wailing babies followed by a crashing rain storm.
While
in our hotel room, strange donkey noises emanated from the alleyways below and
were interesting for the wide variety and range, and not just the bay or
'hee-haw' like sound this city boy expected. I would have found the strange
animals much cuter if they were less loud, but at least we were able to match
the donkey sounds to famous cinema parts which had us laughing including a
horrendous roar like Godzilla from a Japanesse creature feature or the
"eek eek" shriek from Hitchcock's "Pyscho".
After a
late morning start, we walked into the town center through the narrow alleys,
passed many donkeys and their feces, emaciated cats, Muslims, mosques, and a
constant 'jambo'. We were both definitely sick and I wondered as we sipped
shakes at Muzdalifa Cafe what we were drinking.
On the
waterfront a very round and colorful character approached us and asked if we
stayed at Kishuna. I was surprised and asked how he could know this. The famous
Ali Belly Hippy replied, "Let's just say, it is my business to know".
He spoke in a funny blend of accent between Indian and fluttering gay and I had
to laugh at him. He's famous because of the meal he offers travellers at his
home and he sucked us in. He boasted that he is noted in the Lonely Planet but
neglected to include that the write up wasn't all good. Yes, a businessman. He
promised more than we could eat, "You'll say, 'Oh, Ali, your killing
me'" and claimed a motto of "Ali Hippy good for tummy". We
arranged for tomorrow night and paid half up front (250/pp).
The New
Star is noted for cheap local food and we enjoyed coconut and curry fish with
chips, a favorite of mine, for 150sh each ($2).
Th
9/9/99 - Lamu
We were
up and out at 630pm to catch the early sun on waterfront. Our room looks toward
the waterfront, east where the sun rises. The many buildings in shades of white
glow nicely when the sun peaked beyond the horizon clouds. The wood of the
dhows is also warmed nicely and boats are thus quite photogenic, especially
with their old cotton sails up.
We were
back to breakfast at 8am, another feast of pau pau, two eggs, toast, juice, and
tea. We then rested most of the day in our room and later wandered the great
quaint town, walking through wood working shops that use primarily African
mahogany, heavy but a little rougher than Caribbean. Lamu is well known for
wood carving, books have been published on the doors of Lamu alone. They also
model all sorts of furniture - beds, chests, wardrobes, and so forth. The
tourist may buy a safari chair (simple two piece wooden plank chair, sometimes
ornate) or the ancient board game called bao, found played often in the lanes.
I
believe we'll hit every dining spot in Lamu before we leave, we've taking in
the variety and tonight was Bush Garden on the waterfront.
Since
our illness wasn't retreating, I started popping some Cipro yesterday I bought
in Nepal for bacterial infection last night. Today I felt better but Robyn was
a holdout, she wanted her body to recover on it's own, and antibiotics have bad
side effects for her. But she relented and started them tonight.
I took
in the 9pm video film alone at the Costa Rica Cinema (KS10=$0.13) nearby
Kishuna, Eddie Murphy in "Metro". Costa Rica is simply two sets of
many rows of wooden benches with backrests inside a stone and mortar building
with ceiling fans. The film was shown on a large television set, a duplicate of
a rental film with an irritating soundtrack whose volume changed louder and
softer and louder again. For that reason the dialog was hard to catch but the
film didn't have much dialog anyway and turned out to be a horrible action film
without any redeeming value. I was the only muzungu present and when I returned
to the Kishuna I found my clothes reeking of disgusting cheap cigarette smoke.
Fr
9/10/99 - Lamu
We
agreed to a dhow trip with Mohammed at 9am. We met our fellow sailors at the
Hapa Hapa Guest House and Paradise Papaya Garden. We were a group of single
travellers, an English woman Justina, Max, exotic Somalian blooded Jacqueline
from London, and Dutchman Joriol.
The
pretty wooden dhow was parked and tied amongst a few other boats and we pushed
off against them to free ourselves into the wind. There was no motor and three
crew were required to man the boat - a tillerman, and two to handle the sails.
I thought of giving a hand but lost the idea because of the language problem
and this strange, funny old style boat. The dhow has a mast, and attached
diagonally is the heavy boom of the heavy cotton main, the only sail. To tack
the main and boom are swapped together to windward.
Part of
our fee included that we catch our own fish for lunch. We fished by line and
had a laugh at our ineptitude. Fortunately, the crew brought a net and we were
later fed on the very pretty Manda Beach on Manda Island across the channel from
Shela village on Lamu. While lunch was being prepared, Justina, Joriol, Robyn,
and I walked to the rough open ocean. Robyn and I walked the sharp coral and
swam there. We laughed at Robyn's effort to cross the coral, I had sandals on,
but she did not, so I aided her.
When we
returned to the lunch spot, there were many people, more crew and more
muzungus. Two Dutch from a second dhow sat and joined our group, and we ate in
happy silence. Mohamed and the crew prepared grilled snapper, coconut rice, mixed
spiced vegetables, pau pau, oranges, and bananas. The lunch was tasty albeit
slightly messy since we ate with our fingers.
We all
strolled nearby to Manda Beach Bar and sat and talked under a beautiful open
building of local design and materials. Particularly interesting were the small
standalone open walled mangrove pole and thatched cabanas with woven platforms
suspended by hemp rope. These 'beds' swung and swayed by a foot on the ground
or against a suspension rope, creating an exotic and lazing swing in the shade
and breeze.
The
return was diagonal across the channel and downwind, very quick. We agreed to
meet the others later on at Petley's.
Our
dinner with the famous Ali Belly Hippy was postponed until tomorrow night, he
gave us a choice of dining alone or joining a group tomorrow. We dined at La
Banda, an upstairs semi-Italian restaurant five minutes from the town center.
Most of the menu items were "finished" and I wasn't impressed
otherwise.
Sa
9/11/99 - Lamu
Breakfast
is becoming a little too common. Each day has been the same - banana, pau pau,
dry green orange, eggs, toast, tea or hot chocolate, but for the first time,
Gilbert placed easy-over eggs in front of me and I was truly excited - my eggs
were cooked as I like them.
We took
our room for another three days, paying in advance again but not successful in
lowering the price. The room price is expensive but does include breakfast and
is one half of their original price for a single night.
I faced
our night with the famous Ali Belly Hippy with curiosity and amusement. The
"Hippy" comes from his start years ago when Lamu was a haven to
hippies and this guy is an artist at sales in only his own eyes, he's actually
really corny but humorous still.
We met
six others at Ali's, including a Dutchman we met at Planet Safari in Nairobi
and had an eye for Robyn. Ali's home was typical for Lamu, dusty and made of
coral stone and mortar and we were stuffed onto the floor of a small square
room. I sat at one end of the guests and leaned against a bed that barely fit
in the room. Ali bills his dinner as a true local experience and so he didn't
provide too many niceties or food for that matter. The meal started with crab
filled mandazis (sweet bread), followed by fish, and then chapati (flat bread)
filled with shrimp. With anticipation I observed him serve from the far end and
watched him run out f shrimp with the person before me. I not only expected
more shrimp to show but also more dishes, so when he passed out round balls of
dough and explained that this was dessert, I had to temper my cravings for the
feast that was promised.
The
night wasn't a loss tough for the atmosphere - the squashed quarters, lantern
light, and eating by finger was fun. And best was last. We pushed even closer
together so his family and others could crowd on the bed and stand and beat
plastic pails and sing. They sang four songs A young girl with a beautiful
voice sat near me. Her face was pretty and intriguing and glowed in the light.
They sang a couple of long songs, then the often heard "Welcome" song
and one described as wishing us a restful night.
Jambo
Song:
Jambo
(hello)
Jambo
bwana (hello mister)
Habari
ngani (how are you?)
Mzuri
sana (I am very well)
Wageni
(visitors)
Mwakari
bishwa (welcome)
Inchi
yetu (our country)
Hakuna
matata (not problem)
Afterward
we went on to Petley's, perhaps the most popular nightspot for travelers of the
four nightspots available in Lamu. The building is on the waterfront, the
lounge area is on the third floor and very nicely and neatly decorated in a
home-like atmosphere including mattress padded lounge beds.
Su
9/12/99 - Lamu
Each of
the last few mornings we spoke with a nice Dutch couple also staying at the
Kishuna. We agreed to walk across the island with them at 9am to Matondoni
village, best known for it's dhow and basket making. We were also told that
there was wedding happening in the village.
As we
left Lamu town houses became less frequent and the "jambos" from
children faded. We had started off with the Dutch couple but soon left them
behind in the soft and difficult sand track for the women was rather large The
walk was difficult at times for the soft trail but otherwise invigorating and
we enjoyed it for the exercise we longed for. The land was flat with grasses
and bushes and there were large and beautiful trees that I stopped to admire,
ones that could be homes to gnomes. Occasionally we saw cattle grazing.
We
entered Matondoni village and immediately followed the sounds of children at
school but retreated when the Islam teacher looked at me with scorn. So we
returned to the village edge and sat near a family who sat against their mud
home and wove coconut fronds. Once the Dutch couple arrived we succumbed to the
offer for a guide that in the end was the right option.
Three
men guided us quietly about the village. They pointed out that Matondoni was
calmer than the loud Lamu. The village was a sprawl of mangrove and mud, and
coral and mortar buildings. It was pleasant to walk around. We inquired more
than once about the wedding and learned it was the second day of three
pre-wedding phase which is followed by a four day wedding ceremony and then
seven days of seclusion for the couple. Weddings are prearranged, often the
couple had never seen one another, and upon consumption, the sheet is shown to
the women of the family to prove lost virginity. Mind boggling.
We
checked out dhows on the mud at low tide. One was very large and leaned on its
side. It plies the Indian Ocean as far as Zanzibar. We also saw dhows in
various stages of construction. The mahogany can be heated and bent, but
usually the curved pieces (eg, the ribs) are chosen for their natural shape and
only cut to fit. The planks are sealed with cotton and shark oil.
The
Dutch couple was interested in returning early, we would instead hold out as
late as possible to catch the wedding ceremonies, and try to return by
nightfall. The bunch of us walked to the village edge and waited for two
donkeys that would return them to Lamu town. When I first heard their
preference for donkeys I eagerly relished the thought of seeing them on the
long eared, slant eyed beasts. Two donkeys came and when the rotund women slid
up and on we felt for the poor donkey, it's knees shook and almost buckled
(ah.. not really). The locals also looked at the situation with worry and took
the two donkeys away and returned with one big one. The two Dutch on one didn't
add properly and then the locals found a second big one. We watched and laughed
as they bounced away on the short stepping animals with owners walking with the
leads.
While
waiting for the donkeys we were invited into a home with a dozen women
preparing for the wedding ceremony. One girl was the center of attention. She had
been painted with henna (red dye) with intricate patterns and sat with arms and
feet out to dry. I asked if I could take a picture and at once half said
"no" and half said "yes". Then the half that said
"yes" said "no" and vice versa. We laughed at that. Finally
a few warmed for pic but the henna girl couldn't move and buried her face
instead.
Our
favorite part of the day was spent near the mangroves at the waters edge (you
can't see the open water past the mangroves). Four young women sat and wove coconut
fronds We sat with them and soon our broken exchanges turned to laughter for an
hour. I don't know how it happened now except to say our guide interrupted and
the girls liked the fact I was from America. They repeatedly sang an Indian
song with the word "America" in it that required they stand, pull
their hips, and slap each other's hands while saying, "uh uh uh". I
repeatedly prompted them and we all fell about laughing. One girl showed Robyn
how to weave, that was funny also. To match their dexterity and quickness would
take weeks. They asked for a gift and we offered to send them a car from
America, or a spaceship if they wanted. It was all silliness and they were
cute.
Finally,
we were able to witness a piece of the wedding ceremony. A group of the Muslim
women, all dressed it black, led the bride through the village to her home. Two
musicians were amongst them and outside in a courtyard area the group sang and
chanted to the music. One woman walked through the crowd spraying perfume at
the others and caught Robyn by surprise with a plume to the face. I asked and
was forbidden to take a photo here.
We were
nearing an hour left of light, and just before departing the village we were
shown to an area set up for staged sword fights amongst the men, but left
before they were started.
We were
welcomed to spend the night and with forethought would have. There was talk of
a car coming with people from Lamu (there are actually two cars here - the
district commissioner's and his old car), and we could wait for it to arrive
then return with it, but it should have already been here and must have broken
down, we could wait. Ah, no, thank you.
So we
set off for a quick walk back across the soft sand trails, through open grassy
land, over a couple of fences, and passed the gnome trees. We heard a car
approaching in the distance and saw the most beat old Land Rover packed with
revelers and they asked if we wanted to go to the wedding. They were a smiling
lot and happy and slowly ground passed us in the soft sand.
We
walked into Lamu town in the dark and took a few peoples suggestions for garlic
crab at the Seafront restaurant. Joriol from Holland coincidentally ate there
also, and then with Max from England we all checked out the local haunt called
the Civil Servants, a ten-minute walk toward Shela. Okay for a change but not
too exciting.
Mo
9/13/99 - Lamu
This
was our eighth lazy day in Lamu and I'm not sure what we did besides the same -
eating, wandering. I looked for a used bao board game to buy and did, for
KS1000.
Tomorrow
we head back to Mombasa on the long and magical African bus trip.
Tu
9/14/99 - Mombasa
With
our full packs on our backs, first time in eight days, we met the first dhows
for crossing in the morning at 630am. The dhow was uneventful and the special
bus looked comfortable enough. It was medium sized and no people stood. What I
hadn't thought out was that on the really rough roads, bigger is better and we
were banged around more than last time.
The
banging was bad and it had rained some each of the last few days and we found
ourselves stuck where the large buses didn't. It was all right though, this was
Africa and most such experiences are taken just as that. Except when I thought
the engine blew up. We were stuck for an hour and in an awkward position, at an
angle on a second track paralleling the main road that had very large holes of
mud. The bus made it along the second lower track but was stuck trying to
return to the main track and was at an angle. Part of the problem was that a
blue truck had broken down where we were to re-enter the main track and our
driver had slowed to avoid barrelling across the main track and into the blue
truck. We couldn't go forward or backward and everyone was taken off the bus.
The Africans liked asking me to help push, probably because of my size, and
when that didn't work they placed branches under the front wheels. Eventually I
was becoming a little annoyed at their lack of sense and waning effort and
instilled my own theories on the situation. One revolutionary idea - let's
place branches under both the wheels that turn. And maybe straighten the front
wheels out. I motioned to the driver that rocking may help, but he didn't
understand. I wanted to throw him to the ground and jumped behind the wheel,
but then, I probably wouldn't fit behind the wheel. They weren't listening to
me and they gave up and waited for a tow. I did the branch under the wheel
thing and when they gave it another try, the engine went "bag!" and a
huge cloud of black smoke came from underneath. Oh, oh. I thought we had it. I
looked around again for shiftas. The bus sat for a while wouldn't start, and I
thought cracked exhaust head or something that sounded good like that (I'm no
mechanic). Then they cleared the mud from the exhaust pipe and it was fine
again. Because the blue truck was in the way, a tow was not an option. Pushing
the bus sideways at the rear helped angle it better and then it had room to
reverse and move forward. We were out!
As we
were stopped in Malindi touts asked through the bus window if we needed as
taxi, what sense is that? In Mombasa we hit the rush hour traffic jam and
arrived at the bus station 430pm.
For
lodging, we checked out The Excellent which was too costly at KS1200 and instead
checked into The Glory also on Haile Selassie St. (KS500 with breakfast)
without shower. It was a bit disgusting but okay for the night. We dumped our
bag and went directly to the Old Port to inquire about Zanzibar.
We
stepped out of the taxi and a young man there ask, "Are you looking for a
dwoh?". "Yes." "To Zanzibar?" "Yes"
"Leaving tomorrow?" "Yes!". Strange, but we fell right into
the situation we were hoping for, although we would find in the end something a
bit different. We were psyched, we'd save money travelling to Zanzibar
(KS1500pp) on the MV Leben, a 17 meter motor dwoh, actually a wooden cargo
boat, and would arrive early the next morning, before any of the others
Zanzibar the we met on the Lamu bus. We were to return at 730a the next morning
and the boat would depart at 10am for the 18-hour crossing.
We met
Erik Brenner and Joriol at the Blue Room then walked to Recodas for another
excellent dinner with fish, goat, chaptis, meat stuffed potatoes, and sodas
(KS200pp). I paid for Erik's since he was broke and waiting a money transfer
tomorrow. We then took tea nearby with desert from across the street and then
coffee and more deserts on the house. Erik had lived in the area and knew the
restaurant owner.
Tomorrow,
a eighteen hour dhow trip to the mystical Indian Ocean island of Zanzibar. Not!
We
9/15/99 - At sea between Mombasa and Zanzibar
Bode,
the captains assistant, organized our lengthy preparations before departure. We
arrived a half-hour late and sat for an hour upstairs in the old port authority
building waiting for the port captain. The port captain glanced at our
passports, wrote our names in the port log, then Boda dragged us to the
district commissioner's office amidst the city's government center, a ten
minute walk away where we wrote our own indemnity release form, signed it, and
had it stamped by the commissioner. Back at the port, the port captain eyed our
letter, had us add to it, then jotted more information down. Next was
immigration, a walk further on from the district commissioner, and this time we
were led by another man through a series of state government workers pushing us
off to someone else. Finally, our man ran about the offices and found the
proper stamp and then the ink pad and placed these with our passports and
departure forms in front of an immigration officer who then found the energy to
open and stamp our books. It was all out of our hands and hard not to laugh at.
Finally
we were finished with the formalities and now had an hour before our new
departure time of 11am to hit the bank for cash. The issue was to pay the boat
and gather cash in dollars or worse Kenyan shillings because Zanzibar was a
pain to deal with. There they accept only dollars for ferries, hotels, and
package tours, and take five percent commission on changing travellers checks
into dollars or when using a VISA card. Last night I had tried ten ATM machines
along Moi Avenue without success, and this morning would heed a similar result
although we found the Standard Bank changing shillings into dollars at one
percent commission, not bad except they had only 100 dollar bills and the
remainder we would be stuck with Kenyan shillings.
We were
good passengers and at the boat by 11am. The Leben was still tied off to other
bigger boats slightly away from the shore and had yet to start engines.
The
cargo hold was filled with aluminium kitchenware at the bottom, foam mattresses
at top, and in-between pads of some sort. In an area below and behind the cargo
hold I saw tea and other commodity items.
We
waited until noon, until one, then I went ashore via a dinghy that was powered
by hand along dock lines to grab grilled fish, a chicken leg, deep fried
vegetables, and two sodas from the stall on the concrete pier.
We
waited still longer and sat quietly on a new foam mattress tied doubled over
and still wrapped in clear plastic, placed in the rear port corner of the upper
deck. The rear of the deck was under a raggedy and dirty white tarp. At the
front of the deck area was the pilothouse and behind it a simple four berth
crew quarters with an open doorway facing us. Below our little assigned area
was a very simple kitchen area with an open fire.
This
cargo boat was scummy, every bit of wood surface was covered with grease or
grim and only remnants of various colored paint hinted at a more clean past.
The workers wore very tattered clothes that were even filthier than the boat.
They were friendly though and through the trip I would talk a little to most of
the ten crewmen. Only tomorrow I would find that the Leben wasn't even Kenyan,
but Somalian and that except for Bode who was born in Zanzibar and raised in
Kenya. the crew were all from Somalia, most from Mogadishu. That fact didn't
really matter but caught me by surprise only because I had never thought of
such a thing. I then looked a little closer at the facial features and it was
obvious they weren't Kenyan, but Arabic in nature.
There
was one other passenger, Mika from the Seychelles, who was travelling this part
of the world as an African-like backpacker. He was a cheery fellow, and would
spend the voyage talking a lot with everyone in poor English, smoking dope, not
eating, and teasing Boda about the amount of time the crossing was taking.
Finally,
just before half past two, lines were brought in and the boat was man handled
away from the larger ship and into the port. Things were happening, the motor
was turning, the scene of the port was changing, the sun was out and we were
happy for it all. I figured we were leaving four and a half hours late but that
was alright since we would then arrive port at 830am the next morning.
Through
the trip the crew were nice to us, offering us rice and chapities when they
ate, and sweet strong tea too often. Sharing cups and plates with these men
created the standard questions concerning hygiene, but my own hands were
equally suspect since they were sliding on the grimy wood work.
Becoming
sick from bacteria was half the problem. Since the Leben was a tall boat for
its beam and we were at top, the sea synchronized too nicely to thrash us
about. The sea state wasn't that bad but the combination caused hobby horsing
and even worse, long swinging rolling motions that would send the mattress
sliding around. We were seriously nauseous for much of the trip. The only
sanctuary was sleep.
We
added clothes for the night and crashed out, but in the early morning squalls
came through that soaked our bags and us with rain through the opening forward
of the tarp. I was too lazy to rise and sort out my pack and instead we pulled
a second mattress over ourselves that had been abandoned by an owner who found
cover elsewhere. I eventually gave into common sense and with a flashlight in
my mouth put the soaked packs into plastic garbage bags.
Th
9/16/99 - At sea between Mombasa and Zanzibar
By the
next morning we were sopping and could only sit in the occasional showers and
laugh.
We then
heard that the engine was unhealthy. There was water in the diesel fuel and we
were motoring slower than normal. Everything was okay though, we would just
take longer to arrive.
Whenever
I asked a question to Boda or the captain they would misunderstand and a
totally unexpected reply would be delivered instead. "What do we do about
going to the toilet?" "Yes, we'll sail through the night". So, I
didn't ask too many questions, and besides, it was all out of my hands, we
would arrive when we did, inshallah.
But at
least I had to wonder, "If we passed Pemba Island, then we would be at
least half way to Zanzibar". I asked this of a deckhand named Ali who wore
a Mike Tyson T-shirt and the reply was not good, it sounded like we had
recently only passed it.
Maybe
the crew were also nauseous, most slept the day away in the crude crew cabin.
During the next squall we also took refuge in the crew box and stared off the
back of the boat into the turquoise water while speaking broken English with
the Somalians. One man said he had brothers in Australia and a brother and
sister in Minnesota who he would soon visit. A couple of others made fun by
saying a third was a black American but I couldn't find the humor. Most of them
liked holding their thumbs up and saying, "America, good!" and I
smiled and laughed and told Robyn not to forget that.
We had
eaten most of our little stash of food then Mike Tyson brought bad news - there
weren't any chapatis left. They did keep the deluge of tea coming though.
A man
referred to as the chief engineer taunted Mika by laughing and saying that
immigration would be closed when we finally reached Zanzibar and we'd have to
spend another night on the dwoh.
About
four o'clock in the afternoon I peered over the top crew box and for the first
time saw land to our left, "Is that Zanzibar?" The answer was,
"Yes"., and I hooted and a couple crew smiled ad gave me the thumbs
up. Then I thought, "Hmm, Zanzibar is almost 100 kilometers long, the port
is halfway down on the east coast, and maybe we're moving at ten kilometers an
hour - five more hours, minimum".
We had
spent the day laughing about our nausea and never vomited. As we neared
Zanzibar the ocean settled and Leben stopped her mad rocking. The rains had
finished mid-afternoon and there was a nice sunset to enjoy as we trod along.
We were thankful for the cargo of cheap foam mattresses and through the trip
read and re-read the label, "Vitafoam - Bringing comfort to your
life". Maybe a different trip on Leben would have left us the option of
sleeping on potatoes or the scummy wooden decks.
We made
port just after 10pm, now 35 hours on the boat, 32 under power, and we would be
spending a second night on board. Searching for a place to stay at this hour in
a strange town would have been difficult anyway and besides, the minimum
lodging cost per person in Zanzibar is $10 per night per person, we would save
that too. The downside was that there was lost vacation day.
-end
Address
for three Lamu old men photos:
Abdalla
Ali Skanda
PO Box
66
Mkomani
Road
Lamu,
Kenya
Address
for henna photos::
Charity
Mumdara
Sunrise
Beauty Boutique
Box 175
Lamu,
Kenya
-end of
document