Sept. 28th -Oct. 4th
Chris decided to sit this one out but I really wanted to spend my last night in Kampala at Flaming Chicken. I was sitting with Magdi, his German friend Anna and the Special Niles' were really flowing. Masoud joined us when the place had calmed down and he suggested martinis. I obliged and asked if they wanted a shot. Masoud preferred tequila but he didn't have any in his bar so we decided to change venues. By this point I was already quite inebriated and decided tequila wouldn't be such a bad idea.
We piled into Magdi's pickup and went to Al's bar. Although I remember having a few tequila shots, the rest of the night was a blur at best. The only thing that sticks out in my mind is how good Magdi and Masoud were at pool. When I finally regained conscious usage of my brain, I was at the Kenyan border! And it's 4 hours away from Kampala!
No one, myself included knows how I made it back to Viola's place. In order to catch our 24-hour bus-ride to Mombasa, Kenya, we needed to wake up at 4:45 am and leave by 5:15am at the latest. Chris told me that I showed up at the door at 5:10. My dear friend Chris then supervised my intoxicated packing, made sure I didn't leave anything behind and we somehow still made it to the bus on time!
When I woke up, I felt terrible to say the least. We had made it to the Uganda/Kenya border and I needed to go through customs. They thankfully accepted my temporary passport and police report as proof that I no longer had possession of my Ugandan Visa, and I began the trek to the Kenyan side. Although it was not that far away, I accepted the offer of a bicycle bodaboda driver (like a motorized bodaboda, only the driver is pedaling a regular bicycle and you are sitting on a cushion just above the real wheel). Awesome.
After customs, we had a brief stopover in Eldoret, Kenya. From there we changed buses and found ourselves in Mombasa a full 24-hours after leaving Kampala. We then hopped on a tok tok (rickshaw), took out money from the only bank that supported our infernal TD debit cards and then hailed a matatu (synonymous to chapas/daladala) to the Shanzu district where we were scheduled to meet our couchsurfing host.
William, our CS host, arrived by bodaboda and instructed us to get onto the motorbike and Douglas, the driver, would take us to William's home. After staying at Trine's mansion in Mwanza and in Viola's gaited-community home in Kampala, we had a very skewed view of couchsurfing in Africa. When Douglas pulled up to William's mud-hut several kilometers from the main-road, we didn't know how to react. We evaluated the home, its lack of electricity and running water; and wondered how long we could tolerate staying there.
William showed up shortly after and introduced us to his wife, Emily and their two adorable sons, Ngala (not pictured unfortunately) and Dadu. He then showed us where we would be sleeping and gave us a brief tour of Majioni, which is the name of his village.
The first day we didn't venture too far from William's home: our bodies and minds exhausted after the 24-hour journey from Uganda. At night we slept exceptionally well considering we shared the room with a family of ducks, but we were woken up by William's rooster who started crowing at some ungodly hour in the morning.
The following day, with our spirits lifted from our well-deserved rest, we made our way to Mombasa's famous north-coast beaches. The 3-5 km walk from Majioni was well worth it despite the many beach boys continual attempts to sell us overpriced souvenirs and glass-bottom boat excursions to the nearby reefs.
By the time we reached the beach it was already mid-afternoon and the tide was low. Despite this, I relished my long-awaited reunion with the beautiful Indian ocean and lay in shallow pools near the beach as the clouds rolled in and enveloped the sun.
As dusk was approaching, we made our way back to Majioni and stopped at Paradise bar for a thirst-quenching Tusker beer. We started talking to the lovely Janet, our waitress who was originally from Tanzania; and her cousin Lillian, who was from mainland Kenya. They invited us back after dinner for some more drinks and we gladly accepted.
After our two first nights, we really warmed up to Majioni, the lack of electricity and running water; and even the clay squat-toilet that was surrounded by bamboo reeds to give some semblance of privacy. Emily kept her home impeccably clean and we really took to the local community and its many characters: from the man with his pet monkey named Rafiki to the one-year-old bruiser named Ryan who would get his pleasure from bitting or hitting the older, yet more fragile Dadu. He would then look at you with an innocent face but a mischievous 3-tooth grin that quickly gave away his guilt. It was hilarious to watch those two little best friends/worst enemies duke it out on a daily basis.
Chris and I had also become the talk of the village, clearly being the only white people in Majioni and stirring mzungu chants from all the children (Ngala and Dadu excluded, William and Emily taught them better than that) and provoking double-takes from the older population.
Our lifestyle in Mombasa was definitely not that of the typical westerners who visited this sea-side town: those being either wealthy Europeans lounging in their 5-star beach resorts much like we do in the Caribbean; or lonely/sexually-frustrated middle-aged men or women in search of an African princess/prince to satisfy their carnal desires or to quell their first-world solitude with third-world obedience and affection.
The most striking example of this was at a club called Tembo, which we went to with Janet and Lillian. It was supposed to be the best club in Mombasa but appeared to be more of a high-class brothel. Around the semi-circle bar was a beautiful Kenyan girl sitting on each barstool trying to catch the attention of any man, Kenyan or foreigner, willing to buy her drinks, or her body.
It was slightly disturbing to see so many older white men dancing with, groping, or a combination of the two with one or several drop-dead-gorgeous, young African women. Unfortunately, it wasn't just Tembo club, but all clubs in Mombasa were swarming with prosties (the term I used to label ladies of the night).
The rest of our days were spent practicing kiswahili (it really improved in Mombasa), taking ridiculously long walks (17 km in one day in search of fish to cook that evening, which we never found) and getting William's take on life in Kenya and Africa in general.
William's story is a tragic but typical one. He is an intelligent guy with a lot of great ideas. But without a steady job, he doesn't have enough capital to put any of his ideas into motion. What little money he makes, he spends on his family. What is great is that he uses Couchsurfing as a way to network, to meet new people who can help him get out of this African vicious-circle. One evening, after dinner, Chris and I sat down and wrote a business plan with him, outlining the steps and materials he would need to start a solar-panel selling business. With a little bit of planning and determination, I can really see this ambitious man succeeding in life.
My last day in Mombasa was spent in the ocean among sting-rays, turtles, a multitude of colorful fish and corals and even a giant manta-ray. It seems as though my capabilities in the ocean have much improved since my first dive in Africa, but that is still not the case outside of it. While getting a ride from Douglas to the dive center at a 5-star resort, I suggested he drive me to the entrance. We seemingly went the wrong direction through the round-about and while I went to get change for him, some security guards apparently confiscated his license and roughed him up in their office. They had told him they would have him arrested if he was ever seen on their premises again.
Pretty harsh for making a simple mistake!
Chris and I retaliated by eating some of the hotel's free food reserved for its guests, all of whom are white and don't wear a bracelet (we fit the profile). For once, an advantage to being white in Africa!
Although I have been in Africa for 4 months by this point, this was really the first time we experienced what it is like to live like a typical African family does. Electricity and running water are wonderful luxuries but not inherent necessities. When someone utters the phrase T.I.A. or "This is Africa" to use as a defamatory statement in reference to something going wrong or not working properly in Africa; I, on the other hand, will think of the amazing sense of community and strong family values that form the foundation of African life.
That is Africa
And I thank all my African friends for proving it!
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