Doing a 360 - Back to Kenya 14/16

On the road again…but you know that.
October 12, 2003

As I’ve mentioned in previous emails, I’m back on the road. It started for Jan and me with a glorious night journey on a glorious bus from Mzuzu to Dar Es Salaam, a mere 22-hour travel time. It turned out to be a pretty cool bus ride: I had a nap on the sidewalk on the border of Malawi and Tanzania outside Immigration (quite refreshing); we had forgotten to buy food and lived on little sweets until we finally came across some boiled eggs and bananas at hour 20 (some guy bought us the bananas as a kind gesture – we looked that hungry); we drove through a National Park at dusk, one of the best times to see game, and man, did we. Tons of giraffes, elephants, boring impala, zebra…well worth the $17 ticket price for the bus.

Speaking of food Africa has this great little system on the road (as I’m sure many third world countries do). You never have to worry about packing food cause there will always be some available. Ok, maybe in some cases that theory doesn’t prove true (see above) but usually it’s reliable. What I’ve really gotten used to is boiled eggs. When a bus pulls over to the side of the road or whatever a group of people will rush over to the bus in frenzy. Women with babies strapped to their backs will have huge baskets of bananas on their heads, shoving them in your face screaming prices. Boys are the ones usually in charge of the eggs. Cartons of them with either cones made of newspaper filled with salt (the best way) or actual shakers. Eggs are so good to fill that hole and one of the few things one can eat that isn’t fried. What about bananas, you say? Well, since I average on 10 a day now, they tend to not be that craving I get. What am I going to do when I reach home and I can’t open my bus window to grab an egg off some boys’ head? How will I cope? It just won’t be the same carrying my own…

Jan and I had one cheeky little thing try to overcharge us (as usual when your baring your glowing white arms that are seemingly tattooed with dollar signs) for his oeufs on our mission journey (as we like to call the Mzuzu to Dar ride) so Jan had to confiscate his shaker until the deal was settled. The poor boy. He just didn’t know what to do. I settled it by taking a third egg. We were all happy: he got his salt back and we got food for a proper price. Yippee.

We made it to Dar and basically spent our time there online. And shopping. Online and shopping. It was nice to be out of the dark ages. Did you know that people walk around and talk on these tiny little phones that are apparently using satellites? For how long has this been going on?

We then went to a small town just north of Dar called Bagamoyo. This is possibly one of the best names I’ve ever heard in Africa. Bagamoyo. Maybe it’s because my friend Daz’s dog is named after the town. It means, sorta, rest your heart/lay down your heart. Essentially come, chill out, don’t let things get to you, blah. Nice, huh? Anyway, there was a music and art festival going on there that we had heard about from Rasta Argon (a Tanzanian acrobat that had been living at Mayoka for 2 months). It sounded cool. We saw a bit of work, all done by the local art college, ran into some Rastas that we had met in Malawi (realized how small Africa can be…and how you should try to remember everyone as to not hurt feelings), met some local artists who made us dinner and gave me jewelry…and then left. Good times.

The giving stuff to me thing, I should explain that. It’s called fishing. That’s what Africans call trying to pick up/pull/get. Fishing. And the ones who catch the fish(girls) are called Fishermen. How absolutely hilarious is that? The best is they don’t know I know. Richard, one of my friends in Nkhata Bay, told me about it months ago. As well, when a mzungu girl arrives in town news travels fast that an air/plane ticket has come. Now, these guys are fairly harmless. They would never force themselves on you. But anything you do will encourage them to stay nearby. Honestly. I’ve told guys that I have a boyfriend or husband and they wouldn’t leave me. Where is he? Oh not here…well, then your single. They don’t care if you are actually with someone. It will not stop them. Gay? Nope. They’ll convert you. Tell them to go fuck themselves? Nada. And the worse is they can’t even afford to buy you a drink! So you have to put up with all these guys bugging you for nothing! Oh, and usually its not one at a time. Often its 3 or 4.

Some guys are better then others though. I guess these are the fishermen. They just chat with you, just like a guy back home. You really think he just wants to be friends. But let’s face it: often the guy back home just has one thing on their mind. Why would it be different in Africa? Man, it can get annoying.

We then headed up to Mombasa, my full circle return. It was there that we were to meet up with Phil, my friend in Nkhata Bay, the one I was supposed to be traveling with but ended up staying at Mayoka. Mombasa was cool. I’m really glad I got to go back To Kenya. It seemed so scary when I first arrived to Africa. It’s so not. I mean, yes, there is crime. Name me one big city that has no crime? You can’t. Anywhere you go you should take care, not just in Africa.

I also had forgotten how cool the matatus were. These are the minivans that are used throughout Africa as public transit. Only they’re privately owned and the ones in Kenya, called matatus are brightly decorated and pumping tunes. The interior shines at night with purple fluorescent lighting and the exteriors, well, they’re usually done up with adverts (except they don’t really think they are advertising as they do it themselves): name brands and big names are the shit here. Craig Davids seems to reign supreme, as does Ecko brand. ‘Am real’ was another one I saw often. Various football/soccer teams as well. But my favorite was the Toronto Raptors. The whole matatu was tastefully advertising (they really don’t understand that is what they’re doing) my city’s basketball team. Go team go. Someone in Kenya believes in you!

We met up with Phil, as I mentioned, and spent a day or two tooling around Mombasa We then started up the coast of Kenya. We were ultimately heading to Lamu Island, a small less touristy version of Zanzibar. This was the place that got me before I had even left Toronto and I never went to see it when I was in Kenya, or even East Africa. I had always regretted it so…
We thought we’d cut the journey a bit and stop in Malindi, highly recommended to me by other backpackers. Having been there I now wonder why. Don’t get me wrong, it was pretty and all but it’s set up for package tourists…Italians to be precise. It was just wrong hearing the Masaai greeting you in Italian. Oh…and the extremely tacky women. Ick…I saw this horrible blond thing in a baby doll dress in the “Italian Supermercato” with her fat husband…and she was like 70! Ewww…
Anyway, all the Italians tourists made the town kinda creepy. Only cause it made you feel like you could be anywhere in the world. It certainly didn’t feel like Africa. We did manage to get a good price on a very nice hotel that is owned by a nice Kenyan, Jeff, who just returned from living in England for the past 10 years…and his whitey girlfriend from Holland…who he didn’t seem too into….

Needless to say, we did not spend much time there in Malindi. We left early after day 1 to get our asses to Lamu. Now, it’s widely known that Kenya is dangerous. Well, apparently the bus ride to Lamu is very dangerous: Shiftas. These are bandits who stop the buses, possibly shoot some people, and take stuff. So now the buses go in a convoy escorted by armed guards. Sounds scary, right? Couldn’t notice. And obviously nothing happened. Well, we did see some big ass baboons and the music was great. Really! Tanzanian pop is pretty cool! Ok…maybe I’ve been in Africa too long.
Did get to see one of the most spectacular sunsets to date. The whole bus was glued to it. I was reminded of how well Kenya does the whole beautiful landscape thing.

Took our dangerously overcrowded dhow/ferry to the island and immediately made our way to the nearest fresh juice bar. As always, a zillion (maybe 4) touts followed, praying to be the ones who takes us to our hotel of choice and gets the commission. Luckily neither Jan nor I had to deal with it because we now had Phil and the crazy man actually doesn’t mind doing the whole tout thing. And he does it well. Phil, master of languages and supermodel supreme (really, he used to model. But he’s really cool about it) got us a house! A gorgeous house! With a rooftop terrace, kitchen and, get this: a house boy! For the cost of approx. $3 a night each. Damn! Ok, the house boy/man made us a little uncomfortable. We only asked him to cook once and that was when we bought fresh crab and wanted some coconut rice with it. Oh, and he did our laundry. Ironed them too! He put creases in my Mod Robes!


Lamu is spectacular. There are no vehicles on the island; ok, a couple of mopeds, but it’s a donkey place. A donkey and dhow (sail boats) place. And the donkeys have this great little society going on. You see them mingling in the streets all the time, chatting, strolling aimlessly. It’s really cool. There’s even a donkey sanctuary for worn-out/beaten beasts of burden.
There’s a ton of cats too. We noticed that most of them have one or both of their ears clipped. Thought maybe it was because they were all inbred. Turns out it was the Humane Society (Kenya’s version) that was doing it. They would capture a stray cay, make it unable to make more babies, and then clip the ear to mark it. Two ears: they neutered the cat twice (?).

The little Rasta clique in Lamu is very, creepily similar to Nkhata Bay. And the fishing forms are fine there! I had not one but two crazy men trying to cast bait. And the little brat next door to our house would watch us all day and report to the really crazy one what I was up to. I almost killed her. I complained to Ingamin (our ‘boy’) and she ceased immediately. Which is lucky for her…her wee little life was going to be cut short. Anyway, sorry, no plane ticket here! I’m with Phil! (Blatantly not but he was there and could save me!)

Jan and I found the ‘Cultural Center’ one day in Lamu. This was actually just some local artists trying to hawk some wares but we took a gander at their paintings anyway. Two shone with brilliance: The first was a pretty bad painting of two Muslim women all swathed in black, just the eyes showing…in outer space. How awesome is that? Should have bought it….Muslims in space….The second was a stunning (sic) portrait of a Rasta with his arms wrapped around a naked fat blond white woman. We actually know of a blond Peace Corps girl in Nkhata Bay who’s marrying Brown Bread/Bright (local Rasta) in November. We thought it might make a good wedding present.

We spent a blissful week in Lamu, trolling around the maze of streets, enjoying the beach at Shela (the other side of the island), discoing it up one night, doing a dhow trip ( I learned that I find ‘tacking’ very dull and annoying), just chilling. Lamu’s awesome.

Sadly the time came when we had to leave…on the even more dangerously overcrowded ferry (even some Africans were complaining and they have very little sense of safety!) and back on the convoy.
Back to Mombasa…back to Dar. Went to Kipipeo beach (just south of Dar) for a day or 2 to get some skin cancer. Picked up a cold instead.

Tomorrow we head back to Malawi Malawi and Nkhata Bay. Looking forward to it. Not looking forward to spending the next 2 flu-ish days on the poultry express…nah…kidding! I really don’t mind the crazy buses here in Africa…as long as I’m mentally prepared for it!

So please don’t expect an email from me for a while…I’m going back to the Middle Ages. I plan to not be there for as long a period of time but…

Hope all is well and love you all!
Love thi