Death rattle

Twisting one way, then the other, it made no difference; all you could hear was a rasping wheeze. The taps in the Ramadan sounded their last death rattle as i waited expectantly, soapily, underneath the shower. The place was never up to much – well, at R25/night what can one expect? – but not having any water is still a significant deterioration from putting-up with cold water in dodgy showers, and even dodgier toilets which I had been prepared to do. Now I don’t even have any dodgy water to purify(my dad said I could, and he’s a water engineer so he better be right)! So this morning I took my first ‘African shower’ with a bucket of water – perfectly effective, hakuna matata (yes, it does really mean ‘no problem’). It’s more the general hand-washing, toilet-flushing hygiene that now takes so much effort it becomes really draining.

Fortunately I have made something of a recovery; my temperature is back down, nose unblocked and throat less agitated. I still feel like a rather resilient lump of jelly but that could be due to anything, from the heat to the Lariam. Jabari is also at the Ramadan – we share a common desire for cheap lodgings – and told me today that when he saw me two days ago he was wondering whether I would make it to Tanzania, never mind SA. In fact, with double-bags under my eyes, a week’s worth of stubble, feverish eyes and – what my grandfather once referred to as – a ‘lean, hungry look’ I think I am one of the dodgiest characters I have seen in Mombasa so far… Certainly more of an ‘mfungwa’ than a ‘fundi’ [see an earlier post].

Nevertheless, the loss of running water is the final straw. I have come to the conclusion that I have been caught in Mombasa’s sticky web and the more I struggle the more I become ensnared, never to escape. So I have two options: make one huge effort and get the hell out of here, or try and ease myself out over a couple of weeks. No guesses at which one I’m taking.

A few notes on culture

As you may know, or have gathered, the Kenyan coast is predominantly Muslim. This of course means that there are quite a few cultural differences over and above the more geographical ones. So here are a few things I have noted:

- People really do look down on you if you wear shorts (even – especially? – if you are 6’4), so I only wear full-length pants (with convenient zippers for the heat)

- Laundry services, at the Ramadan at least, do not extend to socks or underwear of men; DIY
- Chai (tea) is a big deal here, and I have won many friendly remarks and comments by prowling the streets with my silver, insulated camping mug to get tea after I have been shopping. (I have no problem playing the ‘wacky but amiable mzungu’ card to the fullest)

- Toilet habits. Toilet paper here, is not big. Instead there is a bucket of water and a jug. Me, I went to the supermarket and bought toilet paper – call me stubborn.

- Muslim society may be more ‘conservative’ in some ways, but perhaps not as much as people think. The imam mentioned the word ‘menopause’ (the only English word he used in fact) in his lecture the other day, which is more daring than anything I ever heard in my brief forced sojourns to church. And on that subject, contrary to what one might read in some places, the supermarket I go to has an entire shelf conspicuously devoted to tampons so there you go…

- Although the latest call to prayer has not finished much later than 7:30pm, the earliest has been at 4:30am…but my attitude is that it comes with the territory.

- Bicycles. Okay, this is more a Kenyan than a Muslim thing but it’s certainly falls under the broad scope of ‘culture’. First thing, I did get my bike in the end without any problems. It gets many admiring glances and although I found this rather disturbing at first – like when you see a greedy child eyeing your piece of chocolate cake – I think it has more positives than negatives. Just cycling from the train station I generally found that here cyclists get treated as if they have a right to be on the road – viva! – and there is some residual enthusiasm for a white guy on a bike. There a re also lots of bike ‘shops’ here, including the one where I bought myself a really cool “2 ¼’ Steel Dome Chromium Plated Bell” made by the Shanghai Bicycle Corporation for R7 – and which I have unfortunately had to mount upside down because of the little space on my handlebars.


Lastly, I dragged myself out of my room to do some real tourism and visit Fort Jesus, which both the Portuguese and Omani Arabs used at various times to control the region. It is quite impressive, with good views over the Old City of Mombasa and the other side of the estuary. There were ten-times more mzungus there than I have seen in the past four days in my part of the city. Speaking of which, I have taken exception to being called mzungu – no surprise actually, this goes back to nursery school – but perhaps I’ll address that issue another time. There were also some crows in the trees which seemed to be interspersing their ‘craaak’s with ‘Allaaah’s; but given my current state I wouldn’t put any money on it.

Looking at the maps of the coast at the Fort, Kilifi looks a long way away. Then again, Stellenbosch looks far from Cape Town. It’s all perspective. Mind over matter, mind over matter…. Or is that matter over mind? Whatever.