Stepping out of the sterilized blue cylinder that was KLM flight 566
To be honest, I hadn’t expected it to be as modern as it was. I had harbored in my mind a naive image of stepping outside the plane onto a dirt runway and walking into a grass hut after which I would be carried away to the village on a hand cart.
But
In order to get through to that blessed van, though, we had to get our visas. We walked by duty free shops that looked as if they had been plopped down in a DMV office from the early 60’s. We walked by separate prayer rooms marked for Muslims and Christians. The Christian room was empty. Chocolate skinned airport officials, their uniforms and suits hanging on their bodies oddly, stared at us with smirking eyes, their mouths harboring neither frown nor smile but somehow both.
We milled around the necessary forms, obtaining them in no discernable order. After waiting interminably in line in paranoid fear of having my belongings stolen I reached the visa counter. The official took a picture of me with a digital webcam that looked very much out of place, and I descended to the baggage claim area.
The majority of that night was spent in ever increasing paranoia proportionate to each new bag we claimed. I had been the recipient of multiple well intentioned stories warning me of the numerous thieves and pickpockets lurking about in
Kenyan customs goes something like this: We walk up to a table and the man seated there greets us.
“And where are you going in
“Malindi district”
“Ah, very nice, very nice….” With an accent much like a breath of fresh air he sung the words, “So, you have anything to declare?”
“No we don’t.”
He smiles and beckons us forward.
The next morning we went to catch a bus to Malindi. The rest of the group took a plane, but Andrew, his Dad, and I stayed with the luggage. The van drove us to the neighborhood from where the buses left, which Andrew’s Dad happily informed us was one of the worst sections of town.
Every time the van stopped, it seemed to have a magnetic effect on the swarms of touts and hawkers trying to fill their buses with passengers. Of course, I was only aware of this fact because Andrew’s Dad, Dale, explained it to me. From my perception, our van was being assaulted by violent hijackers banging on the windows. But the driver waved them off, informing them that our passage was already paid for.
We got out in front of the Busways station, which the driver was able to identify by some miracle unbeknownst to me, considering there were no obvious signs signifying its location. The large bus marked with the company logo may have been helpful towards this end, but to this day, I cannot understand how he was able to navigate the complexly organized chaos of the
Lucy and Benjamin, the missionaries whom we were meeting in Malindi, had arranged for a man to meet us and give us our tickets. The bus tout was trying to get us to load our luggage, but Dale informed me that this essentially signified a contract between the tout and us that would involve paying for the transportation of luggage on a bus bereft of our passengership. Loading the luggage seemed like a great option to me, though, considering that the three of us were trying to keep our eye on the total baggage, sitting exposed on the street in a bad section of
“Sometimes people get nervous about this sort of thing. They really shouldn't Anyways, most people aren’t really interested in taking our stuff. They have their own places to be and things to do. There’s really no reason to be nervous, just keep your wits about you and you’ll be fine.”
“Ah no, this is a great experience!”
It actually was. True I was nervous, but also excited by how different everything was. Taking a bus back in the States would never be as much of an adventure as this would be.
As I stood there watching the daily movements and interactions of city dwelling Kenyans, breathing in the diesel exhaust that spewed directly from the bus into my face, stinging my nostrils (and eyes), I began to relax a bit. I was able to discern women waiting for the bus and businessmen on their way to their jobs. I was able to note that the bus personnel were just as interested in the safety of our luggage as we were, though it was extremely difficult to tell who was working for the bus company considering the complete lack of uniforms.
Eventually the man, Peter, came to meet us and give us our tickets. We all exchanged pleasantries and I was able to sputter out some broken Swahili.
“Bwana asi fiwe
“Ndiyo,” I replied. Kenyans always seemed to speak as if they were singing. Peter had told me “Much praise be to the Lord!” I had responded “Yes.” I later learned that the proper response to this would have been “Amen.” It turns out that word is the same in English and Swahili.
As the bus rambled its way across the country it would stop frequently to drop passengers off, pick them up, or simply serve as a sort of FedEx for bundles of produce or livestock. At each of these stops we drew crowds of merchants to the bus windows, all peddling the same jewelry, fruits, and packages of nuts. Initially I felt guilty for refusing them, and tried to avoid eye contact with them lest I indicate any false interest in their wares.
Somewhere along the twelve hour overland journey through
To my understanding, an herbalist in
We arrived in Malindi later that evening. I had no idea what time it was, since I had lost my watch in
I was immediately quite impressed with Lucy. Her manner exuded confidence and her eyes seemed to remove any facade that you had planned on constructing.
The first time I met her sticks out in my mind quite clearly.
"Karibu sana." she lilted deeply in welcome.
I paused while my brain hurriedly tried to assimilate what it had heard and come up with an appropriate response.
"
We packed our luggage and our bodies into the matatu (not the one headed for Lamu), and headed to the Lutheran Guest House. As Andrew and I greeted Joey in our room, we all got ready for bed, exhausted.
The first night I learned the following things:
1. A shower head does not have to empty into a tub. The floor works just as well.
2. Toilet seats are a luxury. Toilet paper equally so.
3. Large ants and strange worms are equally entitled to sharing your living space. There is neither point nor reason for you to attempt to get rid of them.
4. The number of holes in your mosquito net is directly related to the number of bites you will discover on yourself later the next day. Therefore, taping these holes will solve most of your problems, as well as a thick layer of extra strength DEET.
5. When there is no trashcan, an empty drawer works just fine.
6. When you are exhausted and jet lagged, a toilet that flushes for just a bit too long, and an irregularly clattering ceiling fan are sources of great humor.
7. When you later live in villages that have neither flush toilets nor irregularly clattering ceiling fans, returning to these things can be a surprising comfort.
The bus ride across
