India: Jetting off

I've been battling with blog content lately and this is because I delay my posts and it's harder to recall all the details. I've decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to write diary posts instead.

It's  Thursday 2 July 2015 just after 3 am. I am probably flying over Zambia heading to Nairobi for to connect to Mumbai. Our flight  was slightly delayed but we managed to have our wheels up by 02:10. I am slightly worried that I will miss my flight to Mumbai. It wouldn't be a bad idea if I did.

The past couple of days I have been missing East Africa. I'd be happiest in Kampala but Nairobi, Dar and anywhere in the Swahili coast will do right now. I even played around the idea of not taking the Nairobi to Joburg leg of the trip and head to Zanzibar instead. My planned return is on 16 July and Eid is likely on the 17th. I've always fantasised about  Eid celebrations at Forodhani Gardens. Friday evenings after prayers are already so beautiful. Imagine how Eid would be.

Back to the flight. I really wouldn't mind missing the flight and getting  on the next flight to Mumbai later today. I would then spend the day in Nairobi. I actually wouldn't mind just walking around the city and have all this food I've been craving. I'd be especially happy with chips mayai  (a dish made of eggs and potato chips) or nyama choma and the nyama must certainly be nyama yambuzi. If u make it to the flight I won't be mad. I will just have Fanta Orange and kenyan chevda, my favourite Kenyan snack.

Earlier today I had dinner with mates of mine. It was really nice to have such a beautiful send off  (I have hijacked it and I am deciding to believe that this was not a catch up session but more a send off. It's strange that as a lone (almost) frequent traveler I still like to have someone send me off.

I'm actually excited AND nervous about India. I will reveal more as I go along. I will write again on the Nairobi to Mumbai leg if I make it to that flight. Cabin crew assured me that they will wait for us. There goes my grand plan!

Till later then. Let me try and nap. Okay.. that might not  happen. We have minor  turbulence all of a sudden.

The Year of Living Dangerously

I called 2014 my year of living dangerously. I had a theme song – Scissor Sisters’ Year Of Living Dangerously. Those of you who know me will tell you how afraid I am of flying. Do not be fooled by the number of (useless) frequent flier miles that I have clocked in in the past few years.

***side note*** I am writing this piece while on the plane. We just hit turbulence and I just pumped the volume up on my music player. This is the only that I can survive turbulence. At least I do not close my eyes at take off.

I called 2014 my year of living dangerously because of this one event that made me realise that I shouldn’t allow fear to stand on the way of my plans. It was early in February 2014 when I decided that I would fly to Zanzibar for Sauti Za Busara festival. This African music festival is held on the island over the second weekend of February and attracts patrons from all parts of the world. We have the legendary Bi Kidude to thank for this.

Because it was last minute, I was not able to find a lot affordable air tickets. The only affordable airline that I could take was RwandAir. I would leave Johannesburg at 8:30 and go via Kigali with a 45 minutes stopover and land in Dar Es Salaam at 15:55. Our plane leaving Johannesburg was somewhat delayed and I had to run to the KGL and DAR flight. We shall not talk about how short my African print shorts were. I was serving AfroQueer realness. 

RwandAir flew the Bombadier CRJ700 between KGL and DAR, the second smallest aircraft I had ever flown . The CRJ700 sits around 70 people. I had flown the 50-seat CRJ200 between Nairobi and Kampala in 2012 and I thought my life would end right on Lake Victoria. There was bad weather and severe turbulence. I have no idea why I thought it would be a good idea to fly a CRJ again. But I had very little choice though – it was the cheapest way for me to get to Dar.The flight was pleasant. Perhaps it was the cabin crew that made it pleasant by feeding me enough gin and tonic.

Upon landing in Dar es Salaam I would then connect to Stonetown, Zanzibar. I had to get to Stonetown that evening to be able to catch the Thursday evening festivities.  I had two options: 1) take the ferry from Dar to Zanzibar or 2) fly a light aircraft to ZNZ. The last ferry to Zanzibar leaves Dar just after 16:00. The last time I was in Dar in 2012 I was stuck in traffic from Julius Nyerere to the City Centre for almost 90 minutes. It was well after peak hour traffic, I was told. I was also stuck at customs for 45 minutes because they had somehow managed to misplace my passport. That was over two hours to get to the city from the moment I landed. If I attempted to get to the city for the 16:00 ferry would certainly not make it. There was only one other option… fly the light aircraft.

So I had no choice but to fly ZanAir on their trurboprop. You must understand this is not the CRJ200, this was a Cessna 208B that sat about 10 people. There were no allocated seats and I was a gentleman and allowed everyone to take their seats because I wanted an isle seat. The back of the aircraft was now full and I had no choice but to take the front seat, cockpit seat J See, I do not seat on window seats because I don’t want to see how far from the ground we are. I use my height as an excuse to get the isle seat. Now I had to face my fears and take the front seat and see everything that the pilot was doing. This seemed very dangerous for me. I must say, when I look back to that terrifying 20 minutes I realise that it wasn’t all that bad. Seeing my favourite island, Zanzibar from the top was amazing. The landing at sunset was spectacular.

This is ZanAir's Cessna. Source: ZanAir

The 2014 trips that followed this one proved to live up to the theme of living dangerously:

·         I took a Matatu from Mombasa to Watamu, via Gede, without any map.

·         I missed a bomb at a Matatu rank in Mombasa the day I returned from Watamu heading to Nairobi.

·         I avoided conflict in Hebron, Israel, when Israeli boys were abducted by Palestine.

·         I jumped out of a moving taxi (well sort of)  in Istanbul. 

Fire in the Bush

“If you want something new, you have to stop doing something old”  Peter F. Drucker.

All the events leading to the 2015 Bushfire Festival indicated that I would be better off if I stayed at home. This was to be my second Bushfire Festival, an annual arts and music festival held in Swaziland that draws crowds and artists from all over the world. Last year after Sauti Za Busara, another African music festival held in Zanzibar, I promised myself to go to at least one African music festival a year. With the year slowly coming to an end I knew that if I did not go to Bushfire this year I would have to break my promise. 

A picture of the crowd at Bushfire. The crowd is always up for major fun.

Last year I drove with a bunch of friends and we stayed at the beautiful Lugogo Sun in Ezulwini, Swaziland. Beautifully air-conditioned rooms with white linen sheet. Breakfast was always an event. We would wake up at 9 am and go for a long buffet breakfast with mimosas on tap. It was a typical weekend away with friends, I wouldn't have it any other way. This was the life I was accustomed to.

Unfortunately life has its curve balls, everyone that I was meant to go to Bushfire with was unable to attend - I find this out twelve days before departure. I thought of staying at home and having a champagne party for one while watching some or other show. I called my friend, Mohau, who reminded me that I am a solo traveler and can take the trip on my own. I immediately went online and looked for accomodation at Lugogo and Royal Swazi Hotels. Everything was fully booked. I tried all my tricks - Hotels.com, Agoda, Kayak, roomkey, etc - nothing worked. I made so many phone calls until I realised that I should give up and try the alternative - camping. 

And no, by camping I don't mean singing along to all of Judy Garland's songs while mincing up and down. I mean camping in the woods. And by woods I don't mean... I had to prepare myself for my first ever camping kit. I had imagined that if I am ever going to camp I will certainly glamp (glamorous camping). Unfortunately that was not happening this time around. 

My journey into 'emancipation' started at 8 am at OR Tambo where I would catch the bus to Swaziland. My patience has never been so tested like that day. We got to Swaziland at 19:00 after hours of drinking to numb the pain from waiting. The first tasks was to pitch a tent. I had never pitched a tent before (well unless we are talking about THAT tent) and I was quite nervous that the damn thing would be blown away in the middle of the night. The tour leader gave us a quick tutorial and he helped me pitch mine. It was relatively easy so I offered to help my fellow campers who, I might add, had never pitched tents before. 

I had gone to Cape Union Mart before leaving SA to get camping gear. The shop assistant was very helpful and probably earned an easy commission from me. I bought pretty much everything the he recommended. I was worried that I had spent a lot more money on this camp that I should have. My first night camping was really great. This was because I had bought the right equipment and this kept me warm. 

The trouble, however, came in the morning - the showers. That was where I drew the line. I took a combi from Mahlanya to Ezulwini for my spa appointment where I hap a 3 hour session planned out strategically so that I can take a shower and have a warm brunch. This was the best thing I had ever done for myself. I had a good 4.5 hours to myself with no cellphone reception. I felt so relaxed. Do not ask me where I showered on Saturday morning. 

This camp was a great reminder to try something new regularly. It came at a very right time - a month before my first trip to India. Getting out of my comfort zone is what makes one a traveler, not a tourist.

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Per Swazi law intentional sexual relations per anum between two human males was unlawful. I am not aware of any men that have been jailed recently over homosexuality. It was very interesting to see the LGBT out and about in the festival having fun. I met a few locals that assured me that they are safe in the country. The Swazi people are still very conservative so public display of affection among the LGBT may be frowned upon. 

Valu Valu

This is a diary entry I wrote on my way to Dar Es Salaam from Kampala.

It is Sunday the 8^th of April 2012. I have been skeptical about this part of the trip for the longest of time. I am meant to be going to Kampala. I am a planning freak; I book my flights and accommodation well in advance before I go away. This time around I only booked my flight to Kampala from Nairobi the day before my departure. I didn’t book accommodation and a return flight as I was not sure how long I wanted to spend there.

See in my iternerary I had said I wanted to stay for one night only so I can just go to Makerere University for the day and head back. I had so many preconceived idea of Uganda (Kampala). Mainly because of what the media had been feeding us. As an out gay man it was an obvious stay-away zone if I valued my life. I decided that I would stay two nights in Kampala before heading to Dar es Salaam. I had it all planned out, I had asked a friend of mine to link me up with a human rights activist in the city in case of an emergency. I even had bail money ready.

I had taken about an hour to decide what to wear. I didn’t want to wear anything that will attract attention to my sexuality. It was at this point that I realised how fortunate we are to be in South Africa where I just go to the shops and I buy just about anything that I like. No I am not as camp as Christmas but really one can tell miles away in East Africa by just looking at my bright orange shorts that I am a big Friend of Dorothy.

After a pleasant flight with Air Uganda, the wings of East Africa, to Entebbe my heart started pounding. The fact that everyone in the flight was looking at me made it even worse. I thought they could see right through me. I spent about four minutes at the counter. The lady was amazing; she was impressed that I spoke Swahili.  The hold up was only to fill in my receipt for the $50 VISA fee. My driver from the hotel was already waiting to take me to Kampala. I was still nervous.

Driving from Entebbe to Kampala

The drive to Kampala was to be about 40 minutes if there was no traffic. The airport precinct looked much better than that of Mombasa. it was very clean. Yes, I had other ideas of how the area would look like. The drive made me cry. All I saw was a well-developed city that has been hidden away from South Africa and possibly the rest of the world, for whatever reason. The driver noticed that I was upset and asked what was wrong. Right there and then I did the bravest thing ever and I came out to him. You will not believe what happened next… He gave me tips if where to go and what not to do.

Clock Tower in Kampala City Centre

The city was a world-class city with an African identity. The people looked proudly African, not trying hard to be what they are not. It was by far the best city in East Africa so far and before even stepping out of the vehicle I had made my mind up that I would move to this city if I were to be asked to move here. I didn’t care much about the looming anti-gay bill. I had reconciled with myself that they would never arrest me just for being gay. What is gay after all? I would need to be caught in the act to prove homosexuality. I was certainly not planning to do anything of that nature in this city.

The Sunday evening saw me meet my friend, the human rights activist, with a bunch of gay men. The meeting was at a sports bar, how very incognito- just blend in with the rest of the men J The night turned out to be the best night out in East Africa for me.  The gay men were out and proud. They had no inhibitions. “What happened to the gay people living in fear as the media reports?” I asked myself. I was clearly not going to find them. Like in every African country, and that includes South Africa that has a constitution that protects the minority i.e. the LGBT, homosexuality is still frowned upon. Like in the streets of Umlazi Township, the sight of same-sex lovers holding hands is still very rare in Kampala. People know that gay people exist and they sometimes don’t mind them as long as they “keep to their lane”.

Party at the sports bar. Decided not to post any pictures of my friends for their protection.

In my two nights in Kampala I enquired a lot about people’s perceptions of homosexuality. I came out to both of my drivers and a few staff members at the hotel. The message was clear; you can do whatever you do as long as it is behind closed doors. I was also told that if I were to get a rent boy, I needed to make sure that I pay them or else the consequences would be dire. Many of the arrests started with an individual reporting another to the police. In most cases the reporting party would have conclusive evidence of the sexual act, he would prove penetration.

I also made a stop at Makerere University, the largest university in Uganda. I had gone there because I believe it should be the Harvard to Africa.  Makerere educated some of the most influentia post- independence African leaders, such as former Ugandan president Milton Obote and late Tanganyika (Tanzania) president Julius Nyerere. The current Kenyan president Mwai Kibaki and the current DRC leader Joseph Kabila went to Makerere as well.

The institution is aged and not very well kept. I was not sure if the reason for that was funding or that is how Universities looked like in East Africa. It felt like pilgrimage for me. The walk in the campus gave me goose bumps. Seeing young people working in the library lawns on a public holiday made me realize how much they still valued education. My time was limited; I had many more sights to see and never had a chance to speak to many of them.

Makerere University

My main means of transport in the city was a boda-boda, a motorcycle driven by someone and I the passanger. It was a rather scary experience as these guys drive very recklessly and passengers are not given helmets. My worst fear came to reality when we had an accident on Jinja road, the centre of Kampala. No one was injured, just a funny moment seeing myself on the ground. I loved this form of transport so much that I used it again a couple of times.

I made sure that I tried the local food. One that I had to get was a Rolex. No it’s not as expensive and fancy as it sounds. It was made of eggs and what I called salsa (a mix of tomato and chili) all wrapped in a chapatti. I was also offered a bit of what the locals call KiCommando, a mix of chapatti and beans. It is believed that if you eat this you will be full for a very long time, like the commando (soldiers). I must say the food was quite appetizing. And yes I had my valoid on stand by in case something funny happened, luckily I didn’t need to use it.

In my travel I fell in love with all the music they were playing. Sunday night, my new friends and I danced to the latest music which included a popular song by Chameleon called Valu Valu. Valu Valu means doubt. The song was about this guy who had doubts about the girl he was dating because the girl was materialistic, sound very familiar. I went hunting for the CD all over town, from Nakumatt to Uchumi, and I could not find it. It was unreleased. But where there is a will there is a way.

Kampala sure has my heart and I will be returning again very soon!

Victoria Lake

NaiRobMe

Remember I took a cab from the station to the hotel? Well I was also worried that the cabbie might rob me by overcharging me since the hotel was just a hop and a skip away. He didn’t but someone else that was smarter robbed me. My hotel, Hilton Hotel, was in downtown and I thought it is the ideal location. I had a tough time deciding whether I should stay at the Hilton or Sankara in Westlands. Sankara was more expensive by about $35 dollars. I then stuck to the Hilton at $185 per night and good lawd was I robbed. The hotel was nowhere near all the Hilton’s I have been to (remember Hilton Windhoek?). It was aged. It needed renovation. It was comfortable all right but for $185 I felt robbed. They don’t call it Nairobbery for nothing. Funny I spent most of my time in Sankara. But then again there are many other reasons why I chose to stay at the Hilton. Maybe one day I will explain.

Seen in Central Park, Nairobi City Centre

One thing you will know about East Africa is that you end up wanting to speak Swahili as well. Everyone, I mean everyone, in the region knows at least a few phrases in Swahili. The basic phrases were in songs playing in all foyers of resorts and theme nights. The hotels and restaurants greet you with a “Jambo! Karibu sana” and warm smiles that you don’t have a choice but wish to converse in Swahili as well. The worst part is when you hear Europeans speak in fluent Swahili. It kills me. I should know Swahili better than them, it is an African language!

Back to Nairobi. I couldn’t sleep on the train. I think I slept on average three hours a night. Upon arrival I went to my room and took a long shower and thought I would take a to hour nap before heading to the city. I looked outside the window and had the most beautiful view of the city ever. The city was abuzz. The traffic is a mess! I wanted to be with the masses and try out my Swahili. Needless to say, after my shower and brunch I headed to the city. Walking down the streets and avenue of Nairobi felt like a giant African history library. Each street was names after great African liberation struggle heroes.  I am talking Kenyatta, Moi, Nyerere, Mandela, Luthuli etc.

Moi Avenue in Nairobi

I met up with an “old friend” at Tacos , an unofficial gay bar near the hotel which was later closed down. We had a few drinks and he took me deep into town to show me how they chase tail in Nairobi. The place was real dodgy, like most cruise spots all over the world. All eyes were on us as we got to the bar. We joined a small table of obviously gay men in a bar full of what seemed like straight men. Unsure if it would be wise to share what I experienced in the bathrooms but I can share with you that I was quite shocked that THAT happened in Nairobi.  One day when I write my tell-all book I will indulge the details. PS: I did nothing at all. PPS: You will totally not believe me.

Nairobi City Centre. Below is a view of the main Matatu Rank in the city.

You know they say Nairobi is a city that never sleeps. They are right. Every evening was a special evening for me. There was a new party/ club to go to. There were new places to dine out , of course this is after sundowners at Sankara. From SkyLux to Pavement to Black Diamond to Gypsy to Hidden Agenda. I found a few gay friendly spots, which I was sworn to secrecy not to reveal them.

Remember I told you about cockroaches in the last post? I also mentioned that they come in all forms and shapes according to the European gentlemen I was on the train ride from Mombasa with. What would Nairobi be without cockroaches? I got bitten by one. One of the evenings when I was out I met a lovely young man who instantly fell in love with me. Yeah, I kinda liked it but I knew this was not genuine. Showered me with the sweetest words and got me blushing the next thing I know his entire crew was around and I was expected to buy drinks for his friends. I was a traveler on a budget and there was no way that I was going to buy drinks for his friends. Of course I ran a mile the first opportunity I got.

I don’t know what it is that draws me to Nairobi so much. It may be because it is so Afropolitan. Or perhaps it may be because of the hot boys that adore me (and want free drinks).  Whatever it is I know that Nairobi has captured my heart and will be seeing more of me in the future.

Safari Njema

Just as Mombasa was beginning to feel like home I had to bid farewell to this lovely beach city. It was only three days ago when I trekked into town to go buy my first class train ticket to Nairobi. You should have seen the shock in my face when I went to the counter to buy my ticket. It looked like a Spaza shop. But hey, it said First Class on the window.

 

The train was scheduled to depart Mombasa Station at 19:00. My oh-so-efficient cab driver mentioned that we needed to leave the hotel at 17:00 because there is going to be a lot of traffic on our way from Reef to Town. There was always traffic in the city no matter what time of day it was but got worse in the evenings. We arrived at the train station at 17:55 as he had predicted and the car was searched for bombs, Kenyan style.  It took a while to understand what was going on until I linked it to the bombings.

I walked around the train station looking for the platform and was greeted by loud African music and happy people. Of course I knew I was in the right place. The excitement to go to the nations capital could not be missed in the locals’ faces.

I really need to stop being paranoid. As I waited for the boarding announcement I needed to go to the train station tuck shop. I wanted to take my bags with me because I was worried that they would be stolen, typical South African. There was a young man that was sitting close to me, he didn’t look like he was going to board the train. I wanted to ask him to watch my bag while I went to the tuckshop. I had ‘profiled’ him and worried that I would come back to no bags. I took a leap of faith and I asked him. Needless to say, I came back and I found him standing there with my bags. A huge sigh of relief.

The Railway Shop

At 18:30 a boarding announcement was made. I still had no idea which coach to get on. I just followed the white people. There was an eclectic mix of people awaiting to board the train. 99% of them looked like tourists from Europe. I spotted a lesbian couple with what seemed like their adopted baby girl and I wanted to go say hi to them. It was obvious that she was adopted, she was black and they were white. Everyone stood on the platform waiting to be told where to go. Turns out that our hand-written tickets had details on which cabin to board.

After minutes of trying to find the right cabin and berth I finally settled in and the train left 30 minutes later. It was going to be a long ride. I was actually very happy that I didn’t have a berth mate for the trip. We all stood by the windows and bid Mombasa farewell. Some even waved white handkerchiefs, just like in the movies.

Moments after we left Mombasa and into the darkness that I believed was Tsavo the dinner bell rang. As first class passengers we were called into the dining room. At this moment I need to mention that this first class berth was nothing like the first class I imagined.  It was beautiful and rustic nonetheless..

There was a bunch of festive European travellers. They came from Belgium, Sweden and Germany. At dinner I met this Swedish gentleman that lives in Nairobi. We had a lot of Tusker beer while in the dining room until we were asked to leave. I had forgotten to get cash for the ride and only had 100 Ksh. My friend bought me so much beer I could never thank him enough.

The best beer in a minute.

The topic of conversation that dominated was black ladies. Coming from Mombasa you will understand that there are many “cockroaches”, prostitutes, and they come in different forms. The gentlemen mentioned that they liked a few black ladies they saw in Mombasa. The ladies liked them back. But they worried that these ladies might not be genuine. They might be long-term prostitutes, seeing them as meal tickets. I couldn’t help but wonder.  Multi-racial couples were a normal sight in Mombasa. What was more distinct was that the white partner would be older. I aint trying to start nothing here, so I ma stop.

We arrived in Nairobi at nine. Two hours late. I am grateful that I took the train. As we were approaching Nairobi I got to see the poor conditions that many Kenyans live under. There was a shantytown next to the railway; I assumed that it was Kibera. Kibera is the largest slum village in the whole of Africa.

Nairobi City Centre

I was so happy to get to Nairobi, I actually wanted to kiss the ground. The city was abuzz. I was really lazy to walk through the traffic and find my way to the hotel so I hailed a cab. The cab looked like it would break down but it didn’t matter, I was in Nairobi.

Nairobi Railway Station

Mombasa in pictures

I had the time of my life in Mombasa. I literally cannot find the words to describe it so I am posting pictures instead.  Enjoy 

The first thing I did after checking in was head to the beach and got myself a drink to celebrate my arrival in Mombasa. I, naturally, headed straight to the bar and ordered a cocktail. It has to be a Dawa. Dawa is medicine in Swahili and this cocktail was quite medicinal. Made of honey, lime and vodka. To this day, every time I get to any destination in East Africa I get a Dawa to celebrate.

The reason why i came to Mombasa, the Mombasa Tusks. These
two pairs of giant aluminum elephant tusks were commissioned in commemoration of a visit to Mombasa by Princess Margaret in 1956 (PS: I said the queen in the last post, Princess Marg was the right person). These tusks are so impressive!

Moi Avenue, the main road in Mombasa Town.

My tour guide in the Fort Jesus. This was built in the 1500's by Portuguese leader, King Philip the First.

This was the first Swahili door I laid my eyes on. I will do a blog on Swahili doors. They tell so much and are a common scene in Old Town Mombasa and other areas in the Swahili Coast.

Young girl in Mombasa. She is apparently mentally ill. This was the first time I met her. The third time I saw her in the Old Town she recognised me and started having small talk with me in my broken Swahili.

This is me in a Matatu going back to the hotel in Nyali, Reef. This was my first day in Mombasa and East Africa. I didnt know that men are not allowed to wear shorts that go above the knee. When I got in the matatu the gentleman behind me knew I was a Mzungu but that did not stop him from giving me the disapproval look.

Octopus at Tamarin restaurant in Reef. Very beautifully cooked. Was my first time having octopus.

This is my tour guide at the Ngomomgo Village. This is an eco-cultural tourist village in Mombasa created for tourists to find out about the tribes of Kenya. It was very informative and fun too.

Ngomongo Village

A Luo gentleman in Ngomomgo.

I bought this belt in the village. I dont know if the person selling it/ made it knew what they were making. I just had to have it! Beautiful.

My Tuk Tuk Driver and I in Reef. The coolest guy ever.

Kongowea Market in Mombasa. Easily one of the biggest markets in the area that feeds other smaller markets.

Bombasa

This post was written while on the plane to Mombasa from Johannesburg. Additional comments that were added later are in italics.

I could not sleep! I could not sleep even one wink! I slept at 23:45 on Sunday, 01/04/12 in anticipation of my long awaited trip to Mombasa. I was wide-awake at 04:00 getting ready to depart at 05:15. I rang a cab up to come and pick me up from my apartment to the Gautrain station. The real reason for my sleeplessness is because I was very nervous. Yes, this was my first trip to East Africa and no that is not why I was nervous. On Sunday, 01 April 2012, I woke up to the news of a church and restaurant that were bombed in Mtwapa, Mombasa City, the night before. I didn’t know if I should cancel my trip and wait it out or just go. It was a bit too late that night because I had already checked-in on that flight.

On days subsequent to the bombing Al Shabaab claimed responsibility for the attack and this has been going on for the past three years. You probably know of the attacks in a Nairobi mall that left many people tragically killed.

I was so excited about this trip that I was really not going to let anything stand on the way. I bought a new, lovely bag that i was going to use to 'backpack Africa' with. Well, I didn't backpack, i just liked the idea of my new designer bag. My friend, Lerato @madamafrika, treated me to a beautiful coffee ceremony in Yeoville and bid me farewell. I will never forget her tales of East Africa. 

Lerato at the coffee ceremony.

The fabulous 'I-am-backpacking-africa' bag

 

I am flying to Mombasa on 1Time (a South African low cost airline); the tickets are not too expensive in comparison to Kenya Airways that goes via Nairobi. I am still surprised to see that not a lot of people travel up to East Africa. The plane must be at 30% capacity, I have the entire first row to myself and I feel like I am on Business Class. It is school holidays; I expected to see more families on the plane. I am quite selfish because I don’t want this route to be discontinued. Something in me tells me that I will love Mombasa. I knew I loved it the moment I picked up an in-flight magazine on a British Airways flight, High Life, and I read about the Mombasa Tusks that were built for the Queen’s visit. I kept that magazine and brought it to this trip with me. In 2010 when I was in London Prince William got engaged to Kate in a Kenyan village. I never bothered to find out what village this was but I just always imagined it as Mombasa. And I have been 'learning' KiSwahili since 2003 when Safi taught me how to greet. To this day this is all i know, I feel that I need to learn a bit more while I am in East Africa.

The Mombasa Tusks on Moi Avenue, Mombasa.

1Time was liquidated and one of the first routes that was suspended before the inevitable liquidation was Mombasa. I was so heartbroken! I still have the High Life magazine. I almost cried when I saw the tusks in the city centre. I love Mombasa, I have returned there one more time and will return again a couple more times. I went to a remote Kenyan village too, Watamu, and no I didn’t get engaged nor was I with a Prince William. I still don’t know what the village that they got engaged in is called. Perhaps I should Google it? Oh and I can now hold a small conversation in Swahili, there is much more to learn. Perhaps another trip to East Africa.

The aircraft is quite loud; one needs something to filter the noise, the music is helping. I am listening my collection of African music. Baba Maal, Salif Keita, Angelique Kidjo, Tuku, 4 Etoles. Vusi Mahlasela, Busi Mhlongo, etc. This music is the reason why I am traveling the continent and braving a few weeks of my life to explore East Africa. A four-hour flight without entertainment can be quite painful. Thank God I had brought entertainment.

I have arranged Airport transfer with the hotel (Reef Hotel in Nyali) following the events on Saturday night.  I had planned to take a matatu or tuk-tuk to the hotel so I can meet people. I am not about to take the risk of being in a crowded area in case there are more bombings. I have decided that I would much rather stay far from any busy areas until I have had a chat with the locals. My driver is Julius. He called me last night to confirm that he will be there at 12:45 to come and get me. Bless him…. Two more hours yawn.

Julius was a great driver. He assured me that there would be no retaliation by the Christians because Muslims and Christians in Mombasa have lived alongside each other in peace for years.