Mombasa - hot sticky, sleep in afternoons so you don't die kinda weather, first night in usually reliable hotel that has since increased prices by a third - funny cuz they're STILL doing construction - literally around the hall from our room there is a nifty, shall we say, "Moon roof/wall" to let in all the mosquitos. So we dodge out of there and get a hotel in the middle of Old Town down from the Shiite mosque which is celebrating Ashura (that's the holiday where they commemorate the martyrdom of the Prophets grandson Hussayn). Here's a view from the roof of our second hotel.
We're in town for the "swahili cultural festival". Think Drums, singing, play sword fights (well if you consider 10 men standing in a row waving around canes to a slow beat a play sword fight), bao (African "chess"), and of course, Henna, or Heena as they call it here.
Tag.
Patience:
They also say" kuchora," or "drawing." Very cool stuff. I got to help judge a heena competition. It was totally wicked! So there I was sweltering in a sunny court yard in my hijab (head wrap that covers the hair and neck) with a bunch of other women sweating in theirs when, saints be praised, one of the judges comes out of the inner sanctum, grabs me by the hand, and take me inside to a small, but wonderfully air conditioned room where all the models come to show off their heena tattooed arms and legs. I love it when people like me :) There are three judges, a video camera woman, and now me, camera in hand, chewing at the bit to judge between nineteen girls and weed out the best from the not so best.
The first model sedately come in the room, head downcast, her body shrouded in form concealing black cloth. All that can be seen of her face is her eyes, the rest of her face also covered. "Salaam aleikum," she murmurs. "Aleikum as-salaam," everyone in the room responds, including myself. She shakes her head when she finds out they want her to remove her buibui (black out
er garment) so they can fully view the designs on her arms and legs. She refuses and even starts heading toward the door. They finally convince her, and she takes off the buibui. And that's when I got a little lesson in Muslim fashion. She looked as if she had just walked off the streets of New York, a regular woman of the night. Hot pink spaghetti strap tank top incrusted with rhinestones around the neck and a very snug mini-skirt with Dior written, (again with the rhinestones) across the back pockets. And I thought the outward super conservative modesty was more than, well, buibui deep.
Anyways, back to the wonderful heena. Here are some of my favorite pics. I narrowed it down a bit for you (I took over 200 hundred shots. Yeah, I'm a little obsessed).
Tag.
Daren:
Sandals. We also got sandals after two attempts. Patience was the one who remembered where to get them so we started off down the narrow alleys deep into Old Town, only to emerge right on the main drag of Mombasa (Digo St) and realize that all the shops had already closed down for the night (at a healthy hour of 6:30!). But the next day we return about mid-day to find the sandal shop staffed by Somalis (and perhaps owned by them as well) and begin to piga bei. (to hit the price, or bargain). But like any good shoe shop it takes us each half a dozen or more attempts at trying on various cuts and sizes of sandals to find the ones that fit - and while the sellers conception of "fit" meant the foot generally hits the sandal, ours was more along the line of our toes don't spill over the front sides of the sandal and are relatively comfortable to walk in. In the end we both get a pair of handmade leather sandals sewn into the rubber soles that selflessly take the brunt of nails and mud scattered about the streets of Kenya. Of course, walking in the sandals for a full day does quite the number on the feet since they're not broken in yet, and by the end of the day I'm ready to chuck them out the window. But the bars on the window (did this used to be a prison?) prevent that, and so I now have a moderately comfortable pair of sandals to walk around the house and neighborhood.
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Patience:
After a hot three days we pack our bags and head to the train station on a late and entirely energy sapped Sunday afternoon. The train is supposed to set off into the sunset at 6:30, but boarding doesn't begin till an hour later (African
standard time), so Daren and I entertain ourselves by paying a guitar strumming man who keeps trying to hit us up for a few shillings to play us a song. He has a pretty good voice and with his e string entirely flat, he rips into a song about one of his heroes, a native son who was born just down the street: Obama. And yeah, we recorded it. I felt like telling him that Obama was totally born in Hawaii and probably doesn't even speak a lick of Swahili, but he was just too happy high up in his Obama balloon and I didn't want to burst his bubble.
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Daren:
There is only one railway in Kenya. It used to stretch from Mombasa to Kampala, Uganda with a few side spurs down to Tanzania and out to Lake Victoria. Now it stops at Nairobi. And the passenger rail only travels every other day in either direction. The compartments are nice enough, if not roomy. First class (about $110 for two people) has two narrow beds, one atop the other, a small closet, a sink that hides away under a fold down counter and a mirror, behind which hides a non-functioning tap of "drinking water". Its brother the non-functioning fan is above the mirror and would have been a welcome blessing at the beginning of the trip in Mombasa. But the air cools down within a few hours and your thankful for the exceptionally warm bedding they turn down for you while your away at dinner.
Dinner isn't as impressive as the dining car. Colonial era cutlery, folded napkins, silver (plated?) sugar bowls are nice, but the food catered by Glory Hotel (remember the one with the "moon roof" mentioned above) is just barely on par with any run of the mill diner in Nairobi or Mombasa. Vegetables or chicken or beef, plus rice or potatoes (advertised as roasted but mashed without butter in reality), fruit salad, and coffee/tea/drinking chocolate (though you have to wait about 20 minutes if you want drinking chocolate) are included in the price of the ticket, but you pay extra for any drinks, including water. But its also the best chance to meet with your fellow passengers and at breakfast we have a nice time with a young married couple on their way to spend Christmas with their Jain parents who don't celebrate Christmas.
As expected though, the best part of the train ride is the scenery. Actually it looks a lot like Arizona on this route, except the trees are all a little different and there's much more green (it is the rainy season after all). Of course there's also the occasional wildebeest, several small herds of eland and a sprinkling of ibex to keep you busy shuttering away at the camera. And as you approach the outskirts of Nairobi, you get to greet groups of children screaming at the train as it passes within centimeters of many of the tin and wooden shacks in the slums without fear of being pick pocketed.
Well, that brings us back from Mombasa. Tune in for Christmas later. Hopefully we'll be able to find some good shots of "scenery" for you next time.
cheers,
pd
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