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Mombasa; and The End!

There are no lights on the Nairobi-Mombasa highway, and a thousand stars, and bumps. 2am coach stop: the confusion of an African ‘service station’, all hung with gaudy fairy lights, maybe I’m tired but it really is surreal. Stumble off coach in a daze, deafened by un-popped ears (we are travelling downhill all the way from Nairobi) to use the drop toilets, nice. It is a total hotpotch of people; there are strange corked bottles for sale in dark corners, enormous plates of greasy chicken, mandazi, ‘bisquits’; the pink flickering lights of the ‘pimped up’ coaches and matatus blur your eyes…I don’t want to get left behind.

Arrive 5am in Mombasa, feeling very tired indeed! And in great need of a shower. A tuktuk carries us through the dark and dusty streets – all rather dreamlike, and so hot and humid! Welcome to the ‘New Palm Tree Hotel’!, complete with white balcony, and roof top all hung with bed sheets (gosh, socks dry quickly here), air-conditioning and hot showers.

We visit the Old Town and Fort Jesus (built by the Portuguese following their invasion of this coastline in the 15^th Century – eventually an Omani 33-month siege ended their two-century rule, and today Mombasa, although predominantly Swahili, still has massive Arabic influences (actually the neat green parks and whitewashed streets have a definite European feel; despite the hanging creepers and somewhat un-European trees!)). There are beautiful old winding streets to be explored (all seem to have their own resident crowd of kittens), with carved wooden balconies and Zanzibari doors, fascinating (inlaid with heavy spikes as protection against the war elephants which were deployed here so many years ago) – leading all the way down to the old harbour and the blue Indian Ocean. It is so hot! A tropical storm is coming…

Mackinnon market spills out onto the surrounding streets, and is a chaos of an incredible variety of tropical produce (all weighed on copper scales, you bargain hard for ‘good price’…) – baobab seeds (‘vimto’ flavour), dried mango, sugar cane, dark and sticky tamarind roots, green coconuts (the unripe cousin of the brown and hairy; lovely to drink, like water), black cumin and a hundred other spices – cinnamon and cloves from Zanzibar, red coffee, green and pink peppercorns, teas, masalas, bright pink paprika, vanilla pods; also piles of macadamia nuts and the speckled beetle nut (a mild stimulant when crushed and eaten); beautiful chillies laid out in the sun to dry, symmetrical rows of passion fruits, tomatoes, lemons and limes, papayas, wafting coriander, women carrying great bundles of lemongrass on their heads, coconut cakes, bizarre long green ‘dhudi’, and other fruits that I don’t even know the name of. There is an inside market hung with swinging beef carcasses; outside you can buy fried lobster tails, tilapia, fried taro roots, chappatis, weaved sisal baskets; another room is full of chicken cages and clucking (a new load have just arrived, packed and cowered in the boot of a tuktuk – they are carried in in bundles by the feet, passive as usual…); men are making the traditional leather sandals worn here (inlaid with beads and tiny cowrie shells). The cloth market street is famous throughout Kenya for its kitenges (waxed versions similar to Kangas) and kikoys (bright woven cotton scarves worn by the men as skirts). All mad and bustling; women in their veiled black ‘bui-bui’, stall holders shouting and selling hard; all complicated by the presence of honking, brightly coloured tuktuks driving all over the place…

Next day: make our (tuktuk) way to the busy bustle that is the Likoni ferry (the only way to the South Coast; as Mombasa itself is an island – we queue up with the rest of the crowd – women balancing ridiculously big loads on their heads, men pulling ridiculously over-full banana carts. In the confusion on the other side we manage to locate a matatus which is travelling to Tiwi beach – the road passes through the market which looks as impressively confusing as Mackinnon’s (all a mass of bamboo-roofed stalls) - there are many mango trees along the way, too, quite odd, actually, with their tear-drop shaped deep-pink loads . I’m still rather flu-y, despite the heat!

Taxi from the road – coconut, baobab trees, and vervet Monkeys swinging in-between. Twiga Lodge borders the white sands of Tiwi beach, which is littered with empty coconut husks and tiny hermit crabs, and lapped by the balmy warm blue-clear waters of the Indian Ocean – wow!- completely picture perfect. I ride Armet the camel (dressed in a gaudy orange saddle, each handlebars decorated with a brightly perched bunch of pink bougainvillea) –  saggy knees and beautiful, sorrowful eyelashes – perhaps he’s just hot. It’s a gentle life, on the coast….

The following day we make a small hop along the coast so as to ‘cover’ the whole area. There are 26 ‘colobridges’ along the road – for the benefit of the colobus monkeys which live here and don’t know how to check both ways. Diani beach is absolutely stunning, with pure white fine sand - it is still windy and lying on the beach, this is blown deep into my ear. Hair-like-straw. The beach boys here are nothing if not persistent, ‘sisterrrrs…’, selling everything and anything! The campsite cook makes us a delicious ‘Zanzibar’ soup, made from ‘eddy’ fish, coconut milk and saffron.

‘Shoppin, shoppin’ – I buy a wooden giraffe keyring from a man who is carving them on the spot from a solid log of ebony, black and polished, and as heavy as an iron bar.

We are punted out to the coral reef in a hollowed-out mango tree (it has ‘stabilizer’ wings on each side – a good thing as it doesn’t look particularly seaworthy…) – it is hard work against the wind and we are buffeted by the salty waves – they are pure turquoise and warm. The bigger deep blue surf far out marks the start of the reef (which blocks shark access to the beach…oh good! … there are fishermen here hauling in huge nets of white snapper. Snorkel, mask and flippers on: putting your head under for the first moment reveals an utterly magical underwater world, familiar from the TV….the water is literally ‘hung’ with Zebra and Spiro; Angel and Nemo fish; shoals of tiny electric blue flashes moving in unison; and hundreds of other colours and species, all going about their daily business. Our guide dives down to pick up a sea urchin and cracks it open with a stick on the sea bottom – I hold it as they all flock to snatch mouthfuls of the caviar-like yellow intestine spilling out – it is empty in  seconds. There is a patched-yellow sea snake carving its way along the sea floor, and a red pure plastic star fish; another star fish is about 2 inches thick – orange plastic on the bottom and red velvet on the top with black sticky circles. Care must be taken not to tread on the black spiky sea urchin (which would cause a nasty sting – luckily we ‘needn’t worry’ as the antidote, papaya milk, is ‘available’). Huge, fluorescent blue-rimmed clam shells clamp ruthlessly and tightly down on a piece of coral placed inside; there are giant other-worldly orange puffballs of coral; shimmering pink barnacled shells with a surprise disgruntled resident who reaches out to pinch your finger… Patches of clear sand are littered with the debris of dusty shells carcasses, bunches of green sea spaghetti and pink ribbons of weed. A definite highlight of my trip.

I buy an octopus for 700ksh from a man on a bike (caught fresh from the deep sea, along with lobsters, using a snorkel and spear). They are hung in a great inky bunch by a string through their bulbous hippo heads - the man removes the brain and ?intestines (more black ink spills out). Then we have to go to the beach to ‘tenderise’ it by flogging it against the sand – what a pitiful limp sandy specimen. A good washing in the sea reveals its original pearly-white star shape, large tentacles with suckers in symmetrical neat rows thinning to a fine grey point (complete with mini suckers). The campsite cook is very obliging and cooks it up as a delicious salty coconut curry – it is very meaty and chewy.

Up at dawn to see the early beach – there are hundreds of tiny almost-transparent crabs, perfectly invisible against the sand – they disappear down their round crab holes before you tread on them.

Freshly baked bread and a pint of avocado juice for breakfast- just what I need (fair wipes me out though!). Another fisherman arrives to sell some freshly-caught calamari to the cook – these are even stranger beasts than the octopus – blue-rimmed, golf-ball sized eye balls and a glittery-pink-white latex body. Today we sit by the pool at the hotel (feels very luxurious) – all very relaxing until the monkeys arrive to cause trouble… budget lunch is my bag of left-over rice from dinner – at least, until I let my guard down – furry paw swipes and the robber scarpers up the tree. Just to rub it in, he sits on a branch in eye line, stolen bag balanced in front, and champs away most unattractively…small grains of rice rain down on me – how annoying!

Matatu back to the island where we have a lovely evening with Sakeena ( a friend from Birmingham) at a really  nice North-Indian restaurant – I am recommended to try the biriyani (famous on the coast line – flavoured with the beautiful spices – saffron, cloves, cinnamon, and sprinkled with almonds, served in a traditional ‘Handi’).

Back in Nairobi, I am renamed ‘Mwamboi’ (a Kikuyu name) by the AA staff, owing to my love of githeri… (Or, ‘Mama Bean’ for short). There is a new advertisement on the main road outside publicizing a company of ‘sign writters’ (talk about shooting yourself in the foot). Tomorrow I fly home – the staff are packing for ‘Rhino Charge’ at Samburu (a big annual event where vehicles ‘charge’, Rhino-style, in a straight line  for 3 days across whatever terrain is planned for them) and  I am sorry to be missing it!

May 31^st; Oti drives me to Jomo Kenyatta, early early. The end; to what has been surely the trip of a lifetime. So much to remember. Kenya, asante sana!!!

Lake Naivasha and the Masai Mara

We leave early for the Masai Mara, stopping on the way in the flat plains of the Aberdare National Park – here lies ‘Solio’, a series of seven villages of ‘displaced’ people (mostly squatters from the woods and roadsides of Mt Kenya National Park) who have officially been given land here by the government.  Luckily today it is dry, as the road quickly becomes impassable with rain (although it is extremely dusty now instead). Moving Mountains has set up a school in the second village, and we pass the group of teachers making the long journey on foot– it is 9km each way from Naro Moru. Each village has a borehole, and each homestead is allocated half an acre of land - lots of potato seeds are planted - a staple of the Kikuyu diet. There are 400 children in the school, built by the charity using a cheap technique of chicken wire and plaster, to replace the tented classrooms (the very first lessons were taught under the shade of an acacia tree, which has been ‘preserved’ as a reminder). There are also 4 new shelters for the teachers (to save them the long walk each day), and a kitchen with a smokeless stove (which would otherwise need parents to supply firewood to ensure a daily meal for the children – difficult as trees are pretty sparse round here). Wilfred the deputy greets us. Oti fixes the generator (it promptly blows up again, though).

What a bumpy road, and dusty!! Lots to see, as the road is still bordering the edge of the Aberdare Park – gazelles, monkeys and the magnificent Grey Crowned African Crane; grazing Kikuyu flocks and the endless whistling thorn trees. We take the Aberdare ‘Road of a Thousand Potholes’ (my name; not official or nufin…) through the park and into the Rift Valley – on to GilGil and the Nairobi Highway to Naivasha. Quick pause at the Thompson Falls, a 74m waterfall draining the Ewaso Ng’iro River – big tourist scene here and the usual pleasantries by the hawkers (there is even a ‘hold your own chameleon’ man (and pay for the privilege…) – it has strong clamping feet like pegs, ingenious), ‘sisterrr…. looking is free’ – all very charming, but unfortunately even a flicker of the eyes towards said ‘special offer’ comes with obligation. We set up camp at Fish Eagle site on the shores of Lake Naivasha – Eva has brought mangoes and cabbages for lunch, and there are blue Starlings, weavers, speckled mousebirds, and a peacock. Oti buys a string of fresh tilapia from the shore fishermen.

We take a boat ride onto the lake (the biggest freshwater lake in East Africa) – the shoreline is covered with water hyacinths (shrek-y pipe ear leaves and purple flowers) and giant papyrus, which act as a water purifier. Mt Longonot (my fav!-from Hells Gate) is in front; Hippo Island (named because of its resemblance to a hippo backside) behind. Incredible Pied Kingfisher (detailed black & white markings); cormorants, and the African Fisheagle. Then I spy the hippos – pinky-red brown, Labrador faces and cute stumpy bear ears (placed high on skull to facilitate huffin and puffin, wallow-friendly breathing), an impressive jaw span and MASSIVE corpulent , barrel-like bodies. They can hold their breath for up to 6 minutes under water – lovely to see, err, from a distance… (They are still the most dangerous animals known to man. I don’t believe it…)

Visit Crater Lake, the site of the flamingo migration from Lake Nakuru –an incredible sight: a solid MASS of pink and white - interestingly they become more pink, the more blue-green algae they consume (through a filter system in their down-turned bills). Ridiculously long legs – all well and good for wading, but a problematic undercarriage when coming in to land!

Tilapia choma and ugali for dinner (and sour uji. Oti and Eva take any beverage, regardless, with 3 tbsp sugar…).

Next morning we journey on through the foggy Rift Valley to the busy Masai town of Narok – lots of curio shop treasure troves and cow traffic. It is a further 3 hours from here to the Masai Mara, along a jaw-shatteringly bumpy track the ENTIRE way (the rains had caused the track to collapse and we are fortunate that it was repaired just this morning- still, the crevasses seem fairly substantial…). It is hot and dusty and EVERYTHING rumbles, loudly (I’m seriously surprised the axel remains attached; suspension definitely went some time ago – my vertebra are becoming increasingly well acquainted with each other…) – all somewhat tiring, but the landscape is fantastic to see. The Mara has no fence, so the flat plains are well-populated with zebras, gazelles and wildebeest; interspersed with herds of Masai cattle – each with a lone, tall Masai striding out in a with a spear and red shuka, tied and thrown  over the shoulder ( stands out brilliantly against the green), or resting crouched in  the shade of an acacia.

We pass many manyattas – the circular Masai villages – each has an outer fence of thorn branches for defence, hung with drying shukas; entry points are guarded by the ilmoran (warrior – moran means they have not yet killed a lion - all moran must spend 5 months outside the manyatta in the wilderness, fending for themselves, and living on meat, milk, and cow blood taken from the jugular vein, perhaps with a bit of ugali mixed in- all veggies are shunned though...). Initiation into the ilmoran takes place in the Eunoto ceremony, signaled by the blowing of a spiraled horn of a Greater Kudu antelope – this sound serves to bring the dispersed families together from great distances – much beer is brewed and consumed, sweetened with honey and sugar… ). A Masai man is polygamous and takes as many wives as possible (girls are promised at birth and married young) – the nuclear family live in a number of huts constructed from bent sticks slathered in mud, grass and cow dung; and the precious cattle are enclosed in the centre of all (a keen hyena has been known to jump even this final frontier, though!) - the Masai believe that when the earth and sky split, Ngai gave them the cattle to safeguard. Grazing close to the manyattas are smaller groups of pretty white goats, which are entrusted to the younger boys (cattle for teenagers, only…) – each one is swinging their own ‘grown-up’ stick. Waving girls have red-ochre dyed hair, and are wearing beautiful traditional beaded necklaces (glass beads were first brought over by the Arab traders  and are used by the Masai simply for their ‘beauty’- red is the favourite colour (as for the shukas – apparently it scares off the simbas); white is for milk; blue, the sky; and green, grass.

At the gate we fend off Linda, the masai lady selling her wares. Open that sunroof! From now on, there is no leaving the vehicle, and we stand up and hang on for our first game drive! - fantastic – it is dusk and we are extremely lucky to come across a pair of lionesses deciding on their evening takeaway (a tricky decision as it is a large buffet of buffalo – could be  out of their price range - a group of buffalo are a fearsome thing) - we watch for a long time as they slink forward and hang back. A hyena has obviously heard the news and trots over hopefully for the pickings, but he may not be lucky:  us too, as we must leave before the gate closes… Driving home in the dusk there are long lines of cattle, bells clopping – the Masai are driving them home.

Bed for the night is in the Mura Chui campsite - massive leopard print beds in a thatched hut (and evening electricity from a generator) = very luxurious after the past week (although promise of a hot shower falls flat, unfortunately). The Masai use this campsite for water - they run away if we see them, though, earlobes swinging (the huge pierced holes take only 3 months to make, apparently), and empty bottles dangling by the forehead strap… Oti disappears to dust off the van each night, a ritual, although perhaps unnecessary given the next few days; still, he likes things shipshape…

We leave for our second game drive at 7am, with a packed lunch. All toilet stops to be taken round back of van, with care of simbas… ‘Mara’ means spotted and refers to the changing Savannah landscape of grassland, interspersed with woodland canopy – it really is VAST  (583 square miles  - Oti says you could drive for 30 days to reach the end)  – this is the Mara Triangle, studded with lush wooded granite hills called ‘Kloppies’  (home to the Kilpspringer antelope). A HUGE sky and lone umbrella trees – it is so quiet, and it would be useful to have an Impressionist painter to record the colours of the grasses… I like the middle-sized acacias – thorns nearly 2 inches long, hence the name ‘wag-na-bie’ (the ‘wait a bit’ tree – of course, as the person in question disentangles themselves!); also the bizarre euphorbias (although the toxic sap of these doesn’t affect rhinos, apparently), and the even more strange ‘sausage’ trees, with their long monkey-nut shaped sausage gourds hanging on long creepers (used by the Masai to store their mursik and other concoctions).

It is a 4 hour drive to the Tanzania-Kenyan border, where the Mara meets the Serengeti at the Mara River. On occasion we stick in the mud, but Oti seems to manoeuvre us out each time, hakuna shida (no problem). Here is the site of the legendary Wildebeest migration (3 periods of migratory motion, with dispersal in June into the Mara from the Serengeti plain – 2 million wildebeest (accompanied by Gazelle, zebra and various antelopes), in a line stretching for up to 25 miles in length, must cross the Mara River…). 3000 of them will perish, due in part to the crocodiles which gather here for an ‘all-you-can-eat’, or often just a lack of swimming lessons – however their numbers are replenished in January each year by the 400 000 new calves.

At the river we can go for a walk, under the protection of a Ranger and his gun – it is scorching in the midday sun. We pass a group of staring giraffes, and giant 4-toed hippo footprints! – you can hear them too before you see them – huffin, puffin, snortin, growlin – impossible to tell their number in the water though as they sink below the surface and hold their breath. On the opposite bank is a lone croc, biding his time until the Wildebeest feast begins next month… We eat boiled eggs and sandwiches at the Trans-Mara gate – a fallen tree here is covered in plastic looking red/blue agamas lizards. I quietly pick a weaver bird nest off a low branch to investigate (definitely last year’s, as it’s not green – so intricately woven, and very satisfying to hold…)

We see a total of 15 simbas today, incredibly lucky (!) – including a male resting in the shade of a tree with his pumba kill (yes, Disney’s ‘Lion King’ has its facts right – Zazoo, incidentally, is a red-billed Hornbill…). They have THE cuddliest, black-tipped ears, and like so many of their colleagues, slightly comedic tails (black and tufted – apparently they have some sort of spine in it, keeps it moving nicely). The buffalo herd from yesterday’s hunt is still chomping away – maybe no luck for yesterday’s simba then? – they are such huge beasts, with feathery winged ears attached just TOO low down under their massive curved horns (which look like bunches with a strict centre parting…not cool). They stare at you – fair enough, as they suffer from chronic myopia. Many have a little cluster of oxpecker birds perched precariously on their giant backs – deal struck, to do with lice management, apparently…

Beautiful antelope – a family of 4 delicate impalas picking their way across a river (can’t help but think that their horns would make lovely handlebars); the majestic Topi with their impressive tan coats and plum-colour markings; tiny ‘Dik-diks’, which pair for life and die of heartbreak; blue duikers (like Elizabeth Huxley’s ‘Twinkle’ in ‘The Flame Trees of Thika’); and my favourite – Hartebeest (Kongoni in Kiswahili) – their name is Dutch and describes their face which really is heart-shaped…they have the most amazing eyes. Also Wildebeest (they really are strange animals, with their saggy necks and mournful faces); silver-backed Jackals; so many butterflies... My other favourite has to be the Zebras – their pattern is as unique as a fingerprint and extends right up into the mane and all the way down to the hooves (jeggings) – they are ever so fetching with their teddy-bear ears (apparently they can never been tamed though…shame). (They have the most well-rounded bottoms, too). Several matriarchal clans of elephants eat their way past us (200kg must be consumed each day) – it is now thought that they communicate via ‘subsonic’ rumblings which can be picked up by the trunk and feet…

BIRDS!! Wow!! Just SO many, and they could not be more exotic – the so-called ‘superb’ starling (as beautiful as a kingfisher, and as common as muck); the malachite sunbird; the strutting secretary bird (black leggings firmly on – they ‘dance’ on their prey, snakes, to kill… - and a bunch of ‘quills’ hanging from the back of the head); the stunning African Crane (also known as the Ugandan bird because of its impressive colouring); enormous Kori bustards, lappet-faced vultures, tropical boubous, hammerkops; and my favourite, the fluorescent pink and blue-chested ‘lilac-breasted roller) – it has a golden back. Also several ostriches – coy eyes and shockingly muscly drumstick legs, in SUCH bright pink, like a drag queen wearing tights…

A bumpy 4 hours return to camp, where Sammi, a Masai who helps out at the campsite, walks us to his manyatta. SO interesting (and pleasingly un-touristy). We pass large white flowers with big circular leaves: masai looroll ; also ‘sandpaper’ trees (with very coarse leaves), used to smooth the beautiful olivewood sticks they all carry. A group of his friends is summoned to dance for us – it is quite intimidating; stamping and leaning forward towards you, jumping high in unison in their rubber tyre-sandaled feet– they grunt and hum and chant, and bare their teeth. After the dance comes the ‘pogoing’ (the higher you jump, the less dowry you pay) - one of them is wearing a tall hat strung with beads, made from the pelt of a lion.

The masai are famous for making fire by rubbing sticks together, and we are given a demonstration – one stick made from red cedar and the other taken from the sandpaper tree – scowling, heads together, 2 take it in turn to spit and rub their hands in the soil; then clap their hands at the top of the stick and spin it down – the smoking dust is collected on the blade of a sword, and the flames come quickly! (The hot sandpaper stick can now be used to make small burn tattoos in patterns on the skin).

We crouch inside his parent’s hut – it is pitch black inside, but there is a tiny porthole window to let out the cooking smoke (which can be stoppered up with a scrunched-up shuka) – there are 2 rooms, and 2 beds for the 6 members of this family, and one extra space for the baby cow… This manyatta has been here for 7 years now, and Sammi tells me they plan to move on in another 3, as termites eventually attack the wooden sticks of the houses.

There is a school not far away which the children from this manyatta attend – today we are welcomed to a singing practice being held for an end-of-term competition – a group of children stand in a square, each with a stick – the dance sways, stamps and jumps, and there are many parts to be sung – humming and chanting, with the bigger boys snarling at the back (one blows the horn of the Greater Kudu, carried spiralled over one arm),and a lead voice rises above it all – very cool.

Walking back, the cows are filing home again, and the Masai is dressed warmly in his shuka – they are rather magnificent, thrown over one shoulder and billowing out behind them, and the red can be seen for miles. The smell of the fabric is amazing – strong, of ochre (red hair dye), sweat, cow dung, mud…

The next day: our last game drive – 6 o’clock brings a wonderful morning with an early sun. In total we have seen three of ‘The Big Five’ (samba, buffalo and elephant – no leopard or rhino, or cheetah – but I am well satisfied!).

All the way back to Narok (along the same road, unfortunately….doesn’t make for restful snoozing AT ALL; plus me and Eva are nursing a cold) – from Narok, it’s the highway climbing high out of the Rift Valley to Nairobi, and a quick turnaround for the Mombasa nightbus!!