The journey from Mombasa to Nairobi was an agreeable one: the comfortable bus, smooth roads and Asian action films made the 9-hour ride fly by. As we approached the hulking, industrialized city; thoughts of all the ways I may be robbed or assaulted flooded my mind. Not one person, not even people from Nairobi itself had anything remotely positive to say about it.
Luckily, that same weekend, Stephan, the traveler we had met in Mozambique and then stayed with in Tanzania, would be in Nairobi with his Kenyan girlfriend and they were going to meet us at the bus station.
After stepping off the bus, I held onto my valuables for dear life. Winnie (Stephan's girlfriend) met us and escorted us to a bar where he was grabbing a drink with an old friend from the school he taught at in Arusha. We quickly caught up and then he drove us to Winnie's brother's place where she had arranged for us to stay. The neighbourhood was called Buru Buru and was regarded as a very safe area within Nairobi; where you could walk alone after dark without fear of being assaulted.
We then went to grab a beer and some food and were joined by Winnie's brothers Max and Evans (the brother we would be staying with). We all retired early because the following day Winnie and Stephan were going to the west of Kenya to visit her parents and I was going to pick up my new passport from the Canadian High Consulate.
The local transport system in Nairobi was extensive but complicated. It took us several hours to find the appropriate matatu and reach the Canadian Consulate. Unfortunately, when we finally arrived, we were told that it was closed for Canadian thanksgiving! We then headed back to central Nairobi and tried to find the Ethiopian Embassy to arrange our Visa for Ethiopia. We finally found it after walking for what seemed like hours just to find out that it was also closed. Our exercise in bureaucratic futility had really worn us out!
The next day we tried our luck a second time and I finally managed to pick up my coveted travel document. At last, I could resume my journey north! We then promptly headed to the Ethiopian Embassy where the tattoo-faced Consul gave us an incredibly hard time, despite having an Ethiopian contact in Kampala, who had given us the phone number and support of the Ethiopian vice-Consul, Mr. Yelibu, but unfortunately his hands were still tied. Our overland journey by public transport was put on hiatus: we were going to have to fly.
We did have a second option: to mail our passports to the Ethiopian Embassy in Canada but the cost of shipping and time consumption did not warrant the effort. If we couldn't travel to Ethiopia by land, we would at least see the Visa situation for Sudan. If it was too difficult, as we had heard it was, we would just fly to Cairo after Ethiopia, if not, it would be quite incredible to tread through Africa's largest yet least visited nation.
We arrived like most other Embassies this week, when they were already closed. We asked the security guard if he knew the visa requirements. He replied 4000 KSh (50$ US), 2 passport photos and a letter of introduction from our embassy. He said it would take one day to process. I had to hold back from laughing in his face. This man obviously didn't know what he was talking about. Sudan, from what we heard from other travelers, is a nightmare in regards to bureaucracy. If the visa takes an eternity to process, that would be quick. We told him we would come back the following day and talk to the consul.
We did and that seemingly delusional security guard was in fact correct. It did require us to visit the Canadian consulate again to receive our letter of introduction (basically a letter with our names and passport numbers on it costing 50$ payable to the Canadian government), but after 9 visits to various diplomatic missions, I had finally received my new passport, would need to fly to Ethiopia, but could resume our overland journey through the Sudan!
Just a brief note on the Canadian High Consulate in Nairobi. It is a really impressive, modern building with an immaculate tennis court and an equally majestic swimming pool! Despite our tax dollars having paid for it, only staff are allowed to use it! Believe me, we asked several people.
In Nairobi there exists two major forms of inter-municipal transport. 2M buses: a frequent, punctual and safe company. And the unsafe, crazy, erratically-driven Gangster matatus. One afternoon, the wait for a 2M bus back to Buru Buru was taking a lot of time, so we decided to jump onto the gangster matatu with its sub-woofers pulsating with bass and TV screens showing the latest rap or bongo flava videos. As soon as we sat down, the bus pulled away and drove over the median and was driving in the oncoming lane of traffic! The bus was swerving to avoid cars and the touter was screaming at pedestrians to get out of the way.
The traffic in Nairobi is like nowhere else I have seen in Africa or anywhere else in the world for that matter. The traffic lights work, but nobody uses them. So in a peak traffic hour with thousands of pedestrians and no cars obeying any form of road rules, our matatu is on a mission that only the driver is aware of . This deadly driving behavior quickly catches the attention of a multitude of nearby traffic cops, who eventually manage to chase the matatu down on foot. The whole ordeal only lasted 2 minutes, but that was enough for us to pledge allegiance to 2M buses for the remainder of our stay in Nairobi!
Of all the cities and places we've visited north of South Africa, Nairobi was the last place I would expect to have stomach problems, but I did, and in spades! The food we ate was rather basic, and from a cleanish establishment (Chelsies); but I did drink roughly 1.5-3L of coke a day (yes, I was addicted), but still the wrath my stomach endured could not be justified.
There is a huge beer-drinking culture in Nairobi. Evans said in a normal night, he could drink anywhere from 10-15 500 ml bottles! That is also the average among his friends. I had to sit out (literally) many a night, writhing in pain because of my turbulent gut.
The one night I did manage to go out, we were a mere 5-minute walk from Evan's place and I knew I had to leave. I briskly walked to Evan's apartment and fiddled urgently with the padlock on his front gate. The fact the lock was on the inside of the door adds to the complexity and time-consumption of the task. I was running out of time and still needed to unlock the padlock on the inside of his front door. My futile, desperate attempts were too late: I had to decide, either shit on his front porch and have to explain it to Evans, Chris and Evan's neighbor, or crap my pants and destroy the evidence. I chose the latter.
I crapped my lady jeans.
Feeling utterly humiliated, even though I was all by myself, and equally disgusting, I cleaned myself off and threw the evidence into a nearby field. I couldn't believe that just happened and in Nairobi or all places!
I rested the next few days, ate very little and drank even less coke. I was finally feeling better and just in time for Stephan's return. I had gone to a market and purchased a new pair of jeans: men's jeans this time I swear! Our final night out was a lot of fun and it didn't even require an escape. Stephan stated that this was as far north as he would venture in Africa and therefore the last time we would see him.
As for our final day in Nairobi, it consisted of me getting the most luxurious haircut of my life; which included a 30-minute scalp, face and neck massage; all for just 9 dollars! Evans' neighbor's brother, Raphael, also introduced us to an Ethiopian studying in Nairobi who would actually be taking the same flight as us to Addis Ababa. His name is Muluneh and his kindness knew no bounds. But more on that later...
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