It’s taken me a while to write.
I didn’t get to Zanzibar. Too expensive.
I did Mombasa Raha, Round Two, instead.
I was having a ‘pre-New Years eve’ drink in Nairobi central when I was struck by the thought that I actually didn’t want to be amongst the seed and debauchery of Nairobi for New Year. So I boarded a bus for Mombasa.
There’s a saying along the lines of “What goes on in Mombasa, stays in Mombasa”.
I’ll stick to that pledge and venture just a small insight into my second experience of this coastal paradise … These are mainly bits I wrote along the way …
But first, an Introduction:
The road was empty and we got into Mombasa too early for the TSS Swahili diner to be open (see prior blog). There had been a power blackout in Mombasa since the day before, so nothing was going to open before dawn anyway. So, as the sky greyed from black, I settled for getting a Tuk-Tuk northwards and went looking for accommodation. After an hour it was clear:
Hakuna nyumbani, kabisa. No rooms available, anywhere.
I sauntered on the beach in the early morning light. It seemed the circus was in town again (see prior Mombasa blog).
Changing to a regular taxi, I rescued Hasua from the goings-on of an all-night stint at Bob’s. Reclined on the back seat of the taxi, Hasua got us lost a few times. The driver was getting pissed at the “right, no left, sorry right” routine emanating from the rear.
I eventually had to resign myself to an apartment on the beach front at Bamburi Beach. I say ‘resigned’ because the place was quite spectacular but cost a lot more than I wanted to spend. Hasua says I should have got her to make a booking. Nice thought, sweetie, but you were in no condition to book anything for anyone.
Mombasa is infectious.
After spending two days on the beach, I wrote this bit on Saturday 2nd January:
I suspected at some point that I would have trouble leaving Mombasa. Right now I am trying to work out the latest time I can leave and still make the office on Monday without being too stressed from a journey by bus (in the coming-home jam) and not having to lay out too much for a plane ticket.
Earlier I had written:
I see why the whole of economically-enabled Kenya comes to Mombasa for the holidays: there’s a chilled out, coastal groove to the place that is hugely appealing. Whether one is cruising the ‘local’ market that lines the street between Shanzu and Mtwapa, or pretending to be rich at the Severin bar (where a rum & Coke costs Ksh350/R35) you can’t help but get affected by the slightly ‘heady’ heedlessness of Mombasa. It’s a pretty relaxed atmosphere. The people are chilled to the bone, joyous. And even the Muslim chicks are doing 'sensuous'. Seriously ….
Bamburi beach turned out to be the greatest discovery of my second Mombasa experience.
I have discovered Yama's, a boma-style bar-on-the-beach, that sits at the end of a 7.5 km walk from Mombasa’s main ‘north’ beach. The place is run by Costa (yes, a Greek émigré) and his brother Spiro. During the bar’s working day, Costa plays DJ. He selects from a vast range of music stored on two laptops. Good speakers, and ample wattage to feed the beach with fine, undistorted sound, Costa keeps the groove going for his hip patrons. The music is clear, whether you are in the bar, playing pool, eating, socializing at the low tables, or just chilling on the beach. The place rocks.
I have been staying at the apartments next door. When I got back from the utterly boring Zain (Kenya’s ‘second’ mobile network) New Year party, held on the beach, I could hear Bob Marley doing the late night rounds at the party being held next door. I was too tired to respond appropriately. I regret it because it must have been a great party! It went on till late. Instead, I suffered a boring beach party hosted by Zain (and charged for) where the rising Spring tide (did you see the moon?) had everyone eventually dancing up to their knees as the water lapped the wall of El Covo. That was at least a laugh …
Costa has a great collection of contemporary ‘world music’. I am spending hours here, listening. Nursing only a single Guinness and cold Coke. Occasionally typing a line of blog …
He is playing a lot of Salsa today. Here and there someone just gets up to dance in the shade of the wide thatched roof. Feet are tapping, shoulders dipping, just a bit. Here and there, we hear Fela Kuti, or Brenda Fassie (who he calls Africa’s Janis Joplin). But mostly, it’s Cuban.
On Sunday, before leaving, I wrote:
I’m now sitting at the bar, 20 meters wide, that faces onto the beach at Yama's. Costa has permanently colonized a section of the beach and in front of me there’s an ample supply of beach chairs, recliners, tables and umbrellas - the whole beach ‘thing’ (including a great soundtrack) - to any people who are happy to eat and drink at his establishment. And the people are only too happy, too.
It’s now around 6 o’ clock. Since 5 or so, the beach has been getting very busy. Everyone is beautifully dressed. There are literally hundreds of kids around, either in bathing gear or in Sunday finery .
The kids in the water are playing on a rickety old dhow-catamaran that floats about ten metres off the beach. Other kids are taking camel rides. I see the occasional camera-flash go off in the evening dusk.
Women are dressed in beautiful Swahili fabric, kikois, Muslim conservatory. The colours, the kids; the entire scene is quite blessed ....
The sun has gone down now. The beach is still packed. The camel isn’t working any more. Mothers are dancing all over Yama’s with babies on their hips. Older kids are dancing among themselves. People are singing the lyrics of the bongo coming through the speakers.
I could spend a lot more time here but I have to go now.
The taxi’s waiting …
(And that’s all I got to write in Mombasa. Imagine!)
As always, amani na upendo,
B-)
ps: there will be one or two more blogs about Mombasa, soon!
