Dhow or Donkey

There's a couple ways to get around Lamu island. The easiest and most comfortable is to take one of the dhows and mashuas that ply the waters with sails and motors. From Lamu Town to Shela, these cost about $5 for a private boat, just a tad higher than a taxi ride in Nairobi over the same distance. But to get to Mokowe or Matondoni, where we visited last week, the fare is closer to $12, unless you take the excruciatingly slow "public" boats which hold about 25 passengers - that costs about $1.50 for two people.

So, last Saturday, curious to see what Matondoni was like and after sitting too long on an invitation from one of that towns elders to visit; Patience excused herself from her Henna class and we boarded the public boat to Matondoni. While waiting to board (it left an hour late) we enjoyed a soda at a seafront café and various boat captains tried to get us to hire them to take us straight to Matondoni with a speedboat. They started at $25, but after several refusals they went down to about $17. That would cover the return trip as well. But we declined with the standard and generally accepted line that we were students.

When we finally boarded, we ended up with a seat right next to the engine, but all in all it was a good trip. The engine is a big old mechanical contraption with various bits of string and cord tied about it to keep things in place, and it started after two attempts by four guys pulling on big rope which they temporarily attached to the engine. There's no separate "gas tank" for the engine; instead one of the crew has the duty to pour about 6 liters of fuel in the engine every 20 minutes or so ; either that or it was very shiny water that he was pouring into the engine radiator. Except when starting the engine, they put a large wooden crate around the engine to keep the noise down and provide a makeshift table. Most of the men sat on the bow or astern, with the women and a few children taking up the middle. Since I was sitting next to Patience, I was stuck in the middle as well. Near the end of the trip, the boat crew collected the fare from everyone and offered a some frozen fruit drinks for sell that were stored in a small water cooler (like the kind we used to make root beer in at home, but a little smaller).

Except for a brief crossing over to Makowe on the mainland to drop off some passengers (that's where the bus station is) we stayed near the mangrove forests along the shore of Lamu island for the entire trip. The channel is quite a short distance really; perhaps half a mile. The government threatened to build a bridge at one time, but all the boatmen protested that it would kill their business and it never happened. Besides, the people of Lamu seem quite proud not to have motor vehicles on their island aside from the ambulance, a tractor for pulling around the various trash bins, and the frowned upon ATV's that some mzungu woman bought to hasten the delivery of supplies for her orphanage.

But I digress, as usual. At Matondoni we were offered a small meal and refreshments at the home of Famao Muhammad, who had invited us. And then he took us for a small tour around the town, meeting the blacksmith, a boatswain, the weavers of the village who were making mats and serving bowls. He had the habit of pointing out what everything was made of in the village - the roof from coconut leaves, (Makuti), the wood of the boat from Mahogany, the cloth calking to fill gaps in the hull was cotton, and so on. After passing by the main schools and mosques we stopped by the port to see if there was possibly a boat available to return. The public boat leaves in the morning and returns in the afternoon, so that wasn't an option. But the return trip alone was going to be $15 ; that's when I realized we probably should have taken the offer of a round trip. There was even some discussion among the elders at the port about how we had turned down such a good offer because we were students. But, instead of eating the extra dollars we made our second mistake of the day - we bargained for donkeys.


Now, normally, a donkey is a perfectly acceptable way to get around the island. We hadn't tried it yet, but we'd seen plenty of locals and tourists take the donkeys to the beaches north and south of town, and it didn't seem to difficult. What we didn't count on was that Matondoni was an hour and twenty minutes away by donkey, through sandy scrub brush. But undaunted at the task before us - or rather because we were naïve and ignorant - we hired two donkeys and their handler (Abdul Rahman) to take us back to Lamu town for $9.

They don't make saddles for donkeys, just a very course mat/blanket from plant fibers that they stack two or three high on the donkey's back to lessen the friction - it doesn't really help as padding. After mounting the donkeys we did quite well, for about 20 minutes. About that point I realized that the severe pain on the inside of my thighs was not going to numb out anytime soon, so I begged a reprieve and started jogging along side the donkeys I'd paid to ride. Patience wasn't so lucky, she was on her donkey with Muhammad (the son of the handler) and he never let up or got tired - she stayed on that donkey the entire trip. After recovering a little bit, the handler taught me to ride side saddle which requires much greater balance and attention and effort - I only fell off seven times, and only one of those times did I fall off backwards over the donkey. Luckily my camera bag broke my fall onto the soft sand behind me… no don't worry, the bag is fine and the camera just has little bit of sand in it that makes it reluctant to extend the lens. The video camera and audio recorder survived without any harm. Despite the obvious difficulties brought on by side saddle riding, it was at least bearable and I continued most of the way until we got to Lamu. Then it was twenty minutes of bow-legged walking and wandering until we reached a part of town we recognized and made our way home. Next time, I'm forking over the money for the dhow and applying for a reimbursement from my research budget. Don't even get me started on the "saddle sores".

Day 5: a Foodie in Lamu

Day 5: Cinnamon Tea

If I didn't know better, I'd think Kenya was the tea capital of the world, but I'm sure places like China has it beat. However, Kenya could give England a run for it's money. Here in Lamu, people walk around tea-logged on chai, a tea mixed with milk and spices like ginger and cloves. You begin breakfast with chai and mandazi or arrow root (a purple potato that I think tastes like dirt, I seriously don’t understand the dedication people around here have to it). You then have morning tea around 10 am, some more at 11:30 before lunch, again at 2pm after lunch, then afternoon tea at 4 followed by a night cap following dinner, as well as any other odd time during the day when you feel like socializing, you just find the nearest tea stand and you're bound to see at least one person you know who you can chat it up with. A preferred spot to sip and shoot the breeze is in front of the many mosques scattered around the island; you never have to look far to find a complementary chai stand. While Daren and I were in Nairobi, we had to explain on numerous occasions (oftentimes to the same people) that we didn’t drink tea. Chai is such a part of Kenyan culture that it was very awkward after refusing to drink chai at friends' houses because drinking chai is what ones does to welcome guests to a home. After trying to tactfully explain, we'd sit there, our host looking at us with a puzzled expression on their face. I think they were thinking, "what do I do with them now?"

But here in Lamu things are different. They have more tea! That is, they have more options when it comes to tea, including a wonderful cinnamon tea which Daren and I can actually drink. Very cool. I've made friends with a tea vendor named Ali, who, whenever I stop by his little stand, gives me a cup of cinnamon tea and a small brick of simsim (compressed sesame seeds held together with sugar) on the house. He never talks to me much, so I stopped going so often because I didn't want to be taking advantage. But, a couple days ago, I ran into him on the street and he wanted to know where I had been. He said, "umepotea," which means, "you've been lost to me." I felt bad, I didn't realize he enjoyed our silent meetings as much as I did. He made me promise I'd come the next day, and so I did. It was a very good cup of tea.

Here's Ali getting ready to serve up some tea.

Day 4: a Foodie in Lamu

Day 4: Korosho

One of my favorite nuts are cashews, or, koroshos as they are known here. My friend Hafswa brought these for me one day after Henna class. Hafswa's mom lives an island away on Pate (about two hours away by boat) and makes these sugar coated koroshos to sell on the street. Hafswa says you cant get them on Lamu streets, so every time she returns home for a visit she loads up. Thanks for sharing the hoard! I've now had inter-island street cuisine. Friends rock!

Day 3: a Foodie in Lamu

Day 3: Calamari

There is a local ice cream shop facing the wharf which Daren and I like to stop by once and a while. If they are out of chocolate coated vanilla, we get the indeterminate fruit twist bar and then sidle over to a bench overlooking the moored boats and enjoy the ocean breeze or watch the moon over the water. We usually have to down the ice cream as quickly as possible because it seems every time we have the hankering for a frozen treat, the electricity on our side of the island has just gone off which means the freezers and the ice cream they hold are anything but cold. Well, as we were walking past the before mention shop without any intention of stopping, the owner hailed us over. As we drew closer we saw what he was doing; grilling calamari kabobs. Apparently he likes the mix of seafood and ice cream. After convincing Daren that it didn't look so bad and that I would be right there with him for the first bite, we bought some. Just to be clear, Daren is usually very adventurous when it comes to most foods, but seafood on the other hand, well let's just say sometimes it smells a little fishy. Anyways, we took the calamari and ate it on our veranda. It was really good and we especially liked it with a healthy dose of tamarind sauce, onions and green peppers. We decided it was one of the most unprocessed foods we had eaten in our lives; we could feel the hard nubs of the suckers as we ate. It seems unusual to eat something with such a short prep. process as catching it and then cooking it. I doubt it was even washed.

Day 2: a Foodie in Lamu

Day 2: Uji

I came upon today's street food by invitation. I was buying a quarter kilo of carrots when I heard a jambo (hello) from behind me. I turned around and saw a young man holding a green plastic cup full of steaming something; it didn't look very appetizing. That's when I noticed about five other people sitting amongst the food crates blissfully sipping the hot liquid. He asked if I had ever had Swahili porridge and I said I hadn't, so he offered me a swig. I think I said hapana (no) at first after a bit of a pause. The guy I was buying carrots from said "No worries, I know him, he can be trusted." His trustworthiness really wasn't what I was concerned about, I was more anxious about the cleanliness of the kid's mouth. But curiosity won me over in the end and I took a swallow. I fit right in with the other people sitting around with a contented look plastered across my face. Imagine the best oatmeal you've ever had, but without the oats, a thick and creamy steamy drink with coconut milk, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. I bought I bag of the stuff from a woman and returned home to share it with Daren. He'd had it before. Sad. Daren told me it's really called uji, but in Nairobi, where he'd gotten it, they don’t add any of the spices or coconut milk and usually serve it as the government subsidized meal at schools. Gross! Daren said the added flavorings really made it and he definitely preferred Lamu uji.

Kuchora Henna

Henna is for everyone. Or, at least it should be so I can practice applying it when I get home. I've been taking henna lessons for two and a half weeks and am having a blast. I take lesson with two other girls, Rukiyah and Hafswa, 2 hours a day with Thursday and Fridays off (the Muslim weekend, instead of Saturday and Sunday). I also have two more hours worth of homework after each lesson. Here's a pic of my class. Rukiyah is on the far left, Selma in the middle and the camera shy Hafswa on the right.


As I mentioned before, I'm a tad obsessed when it comes to henna. My teacher, Selma says she can tell I love it because of how far I've progressed. I think she is always comparing me to the last mzungu (white tourist) who took henna lessons from her who apparently wasn't quite as much of a henna fanatic as me. Well I'd been doing drawings of hand designs for 2 weeks and was advancing so quickly that last Tuesday Selma decided I was ready for my first test; to create my own henna designs on the spot! I must admit I felt a little sweaty under my hijab (Muslim head wrap, which usually makes me sweaty anyway cause it's so hot). Anyways, here's what I came up with.

And…I passed! Now I can move on to the feet! Alham-dulilah! The test was to see if I could create my own flowers without copying my teacher's designs which is, as a student, what I usually do. Selma and my fellow students really liked them a lot. Yeah, I felt happy.

Day 1: a Foodie in Lamu

I love food, but it's one of those things that can be either really good or really bad. Thankfully Lamu is famous for its wonderful coastal dishes. Lamu, and the rest of the coast, is basically a foodie's haven in Kenya, where every other place inland is selling the same old ugali (a cornmeal paste, like congealed grits) and maharagwe (beans). Lamu also has a glut of fantastic street foods. If you walk along the main thoroughfare near our house, both sides of the street are lined with men, women and the occasional horde of Watoto (children) hawking their tasty wares; mountains of freshly glazed donuts, corn on the cob roasted on open coals and skewers of sizzling nyama choma (barbecued meat). As I was fully appreciating a 25 cent skewer of perfectly grilled beef drenched in spicy pili pili sauce, I suddenly felt very sad about someday returning to the bare streets of America, where the only real street food is found at the occasional hotdog stand (which are mostly in New York, no fair), and where, if you do find some, your wallet will feel a lot lighter if you buy. So, in honor of Lamu, where the concept of anything like the FDA is totally laughed at and everything usually costs way less than a quarter, I've decided to compile a food diary of a weeks worth of gastronomical adventures exploring Lamu's street fare. Bon appétit!

Day 1: Muhogo (cassava) with Chili

My friend Yahya (John in English) bought this for me as I was traipsing along the wharf. Yahya gave five shillings to a broad backed man who quickly handed us the piping hot cassava wrapped in brown paper. Yahya and I sat together under a palm tree and shared this savory potato like treat. Let me just say, it was like a revelation! Fries got nothing on this! The outside was crispy from being seared over red coals. Sprinkled on top is a mix of salt and chili powder with a fresh squeeze of lemon, seeds included.