Feverish in Mombasa

Mombasa is a feverish city. The bustle of the streets, the heat, the dust and the humidity of the coast mean that it seems to be in the grip of a fever – tossing, turning, sweating. Today it is a bit less so, with cloud cover and a light breeze. The streets too are somewhat more quiet although the city seemed to wake as early as it does during the week.

It is probably apt then that it is in Mombasa that I have come down with a fever-inducing infection. My plan to leave this morning was, I knew by yesterday afternoon, not going to be wise. So I have booked myself another night in the Ramadan, and I will be lucky I think to leave before Monday for Kilifi. My room has the two basic necessities of any room here: a fan and a mosquito net. The latter however seems to have more holes than netting, but fortunately I have only come across one bloodsucker in my room thus far.

Right now I am sitting in an internet café on Haile Sellassie Street at which I have become something of a regular because it was the only one that had a computer which can take my USB flash disk (to complete my work). My intention is to take things as easy as possible of today, but I have just come out to get some bread, fruit and chai for breakfast and am waiting for the bakery to open. My diet has been very high in carbohydrates (chapattis, potatoes, rice) and sugar, although I am now making more effort to diversify – though I do have some vitamin tablets, I’m trying to keep them for more remote areas where they are likely to be necessary. This lack of diversity is because I have been eating out quite a lot – by necessity – and have been avoiding meat unless the establishment looks particularly good, but the non-meat dishes tend to have no real vegetables (potatoes don’t count).

Judging by some of the emails I have received (thanks very much, I enjoy getting them) I should probably clarify a few things about the trip. The large suitcase I mentioned is going to be discarded as soon as I get on the road with the bike – it was just the most convenient way of keeping all my panniers in one fairly easy to handle unit.

You may also have heard about some violence – a massacre of sorts – that took place in Kenya. However, it took place near Marsabit in the far north and should not affect my route in the slightest. (I did meet some people in Nairobi who had been planning to go to Ethiopia overland but decided to fly when their bus, supposed to go through Marsabit, was cancelled).

I have still not had an opportunity to go down to the coast, even though I can see the sea from my window, and walk through the ‘old city’ of Mombasa. Perhaps I’ll do that then I return from Malindi/Lamu. (Kilifi, incidentally, is half-way between Mombasa and Malindi – about 60km’s or so according to my maps).

Time to go, I’m getting hungry and the bakery should be open by now.

Bureaucracy and Chai: Slow-brewed Kenyan Style

The train ride between Nairobi and Mombasa is described by a number of writers as one of Africa’s ‘great train rides’. I’m not sure why, particularly since it runs through the Tsavo National Park in the dead of night, making it impossible to spot any game – or anything very much for that matter. Nevertheless, it turned out to be an interesting escape from Nairobi to the coast. I shared my 4-person, second-class compartment with a Jamaican/American called Jabari doing an ‘undercover PhD’ based on translating the additional 15 books of the Ethiopian bibles into English – a fascinating guy who immediately impressed me with the fact that amongst his relatively little luggage was a very large wooden chess board… (I eventually won, but it was a close game that was finally ended by torchlight because our lamp died – as did everyone else’s). Also in our compartment was a British commercial pilot currently taking a break before moving to Hong Kong, who was a very amiable character. As I expected, the vast majority of those on first- and second-class were tourists. The meal in the dining car still had very strong colonial elements to it – with the car itself still with the same furnishings and the waiters in their white suites - but the food was wholly unremarkable and if I go again I’ll probably take my own.

I barely slept for an hour last night, because of a rather jerky ride and being dive-bombed by mosquitoes most of the night. Jabari and Nick slept like babies – the former perhaps with a little assistance from ‘da herb’. The sunrise over the acacia grassland was quite impressive and we seemed to be making excellent progress but alas - as seems to be my fate with non-South African, African trains – it was not to last. A mere 15 kilometres out of Mombasa the train stopped at Mahereza (I think) station. A goods train had derailed on the line ahead and it could take up to 5hours to clear. ‘But wait’, I thought, ‘my bike is on the train. So I can get away without having to pay exorbitant amounts to the opportunistic matatus drivers.’ Well, not quite. In fact, in the end I was one of the last mzungus to leave the train because after much traipsing backwards and forwards between the station manager, train guard, train policeman and commercial manager (whatever that is), in the end no-one wanted to risk the consequences of ‘breaking the seal’ on the goods cage of the guard’s carriage. I could see and almost touch my bike, but they wouldn’t give it to me.

However, I took it in good humour and on the bright side, I got some good exercise lugging my (20kg) suitcase the length of the train a few times, and got on well enough with the station manager that I was invited into his home for a rather good cup of chai – sitting on the table in a thermos ready-brewed -before boarding one of the complimentary matatus called out from Mombasa. Fortunately I was with some rather tough English girls who negotiated a good price for all of us from the station since I was unable to cycle.

I doubt the train will have arrived but I am going to go to the train station later this afternoon to see if I can collect the bike today. I have already given-up on leaving Mombasa tomorrow. I think I’ll leave on Saturday morning, which should also mean less traffic. My current abode is the Ramadan Guesthouse on Dioni Road that heads north from Mombasa. The room is simple but clean and very reasonably priced (250 Kenyan shillings – R25/night). It also has a great view out over the ocean and adjacent buildings, and has a couple of street vendors opposite where you can get a small meal and a glass of fresh watermelon juice for 50 shillings.

Mombasa definitely has a more Arab feel to it, and is clearly less wealthy and somewhat less frantic than Nairobi. In fact, the Guesthouse is right next to a mosque and its roof-mounted loud-speakers, which adds some ambience (I have been told that they stop calling around 6pm so there is some prospect of sleep – not even earplugs could block that noise out).

So far I have discovered some interesting patterns to the way people receive me. First (other than my standing out as an mzungu) they remark on my height, often by asking whether I play basketball. (And sometimes assuming that mzungu + tall = American). This seems odd because although I am quite tall, Kenya is not a land of midgets and the Masai in particular are very tall. Second, a high proportion of people I spoke to about South Africa seemed to think that apartheid is still continuing because of the footage they saw some time back of that incident in which some white policemen set their dogs on some black men they claimed were criminal suspects. This seems to have lodged in many minds because a number of people have mentioned it. Having said that though, a lot of people think we are far better off than Kenya, and many of them are angry and disillusioned with the new National Rainbow Coalition (Narc) government. The last thing is that when they try to pronounce my name – Sean – they say ‘Oh, like Sean Michael?’ To which I say ‘Yes’, because they pronounce it right, but I have no idea who this guy is – does anyone else know?
Oh, yeah, and everyone seems to know and love Benny McCarthy - the South African football striker.

Mombasa is definitely hotter and stickier than Nairobi and I am feeling quite dehydrated so I am now going to go and find myself some bottled water (I had purified myself a litre of the Ramadan’s tap water before I asked the cleaning lady and she advised that I rather not use it: lesson#1, always ask about the quality of the water).

Next update will probably be from Malindi where I hope to visit the Gedi ruins and look for some rare birds in the Sokoke forest – not to mention finally getting some bike kilometers under my belt.

Tailwinds to Nairobi

Habari gani? (‘What news’/‘how are you’?)

So here i am in Nairobi, sitting in an internet cafe looking out at the incrediby busy Moi Avenue. The weather is strange; cool with grey skies and a slight breeze- a bit like the highveld before a summer storm except not as hot, and with no indication of rain. The quite high levels of pollution add to the overall dusty greyness of the city, but i rather like it. Probably more like Jozi than any other city, but much more similar to Maputo.

The flights here were largely uneventful, though the same cannot be said for the rather hectic days before. The trip had an auspicious start with the pilot on the Jozi-Nairobi flight noting that we had a 100km/h tailwind - every cyclists dream! (We shall ignore the fact that it was blowing in the opposite direction to the one i will be travelling in). He was also kind enough to drop 14,000 feet so that we could get great views of Kilimanjaro- one of his reasons was that the snowcap is soon going to disappear because of global warming.... It was very impressive, and i hope that i will get to see it from ground level in a month or so.

The bike arrived largely unscathed, so a big bouquet to SAA for that - many cyclists have made plans for epic trips only to get off the flight to find their trusty steed has become a piece of scrap metal.

I was going to avoid cycling in Nairobi- especially after seeing the driving on the airport road! However, i had to take the bike in to the train station this morning to check it in for the train to Mombasa this evening and it seemed crazy to push it or take a taxi so i cycled. It wasn't too bad actually, riding on CapeTown roads during heavy traffic has been good training. In fact, the only difference here is that everyone drives like the minibus taxis ('matatus'). On the plus side, Kenya has much more of a cycling culture - in terms of using them for practical purposes rather than purely for sport.

I'm currently staying at Nairobi Backpackers, which is perfectly pleasant. However, i tire quite quickly of the many inane backpacker conversations - who really cares about Western TV programs when you're travelling? - and so i am glad to be moving on. Being around relatively experienced non-cyclist travellers is also not good for my confidence because they have travelled more in East Africa than me and yet i can see they think i'm nuts, plus they are generally quicker to highlight difficulties than positive things. You might think that this is because it is going to be very difficult, and I am slightly crazy, but I think in this context it has to do with people not accustomed to the idea of travelling great distances under one’s own steam.

So far i have found Kenyan people to be friendly and helpful - as i expected. All seem to speak English, which is good for the moment but not from the perspective of practising Swahili – which by all accounts I am going to need very often in Tanzania. Incidentally, one of the first things I looked-up in my phrasebook was equivalents of my (Swazi) second name (‘mfundza’). There are two: ‘fundi’ and ‘mfungwa’. The former comes from a similar stem to the Zulu ‘funda’ (meaning ‘to learn’) and means artisan/mechanic. The latter however means convict/prisoner! I think they are both apt, because by the end of this trip I will look like an escaped convict and should be a fairly good bike mechanic.

A large chunk of this post just vanished, so perhaps that is a sign that i should end here for the moment. Aside from a few concerns about my malaria medication (the infamous Lariam) - which I am not yet able to assuage because at this stage I haven’t yet recovered from the stress and sleep deprivation of the past week and so am not able to identify for certain what may be side-effects of the medication – I am generally well. Suffice to say that I am wholly functional, and I will hopefully be able to decide whether to continue with it or switch to another – less convenient – medication once I return to Mombassa from my one-week foray northwards by bike (and boat obviously) to the island of Lamu.
Today i hope to finish some work I – rather embarrassingly – didn’t complete before I left, and then catch the Mombassa train in the evening, which I am rather looking forward to as a minor train enthusiast. If all goes well I expect to cycle to my accommodation in Mombassa from the station and leave on Friday morning to head up north. After which I will finally begin to go in the right direction…

On my way

This is the first post of my trip before my departure for Kenya. To some
extent I suppose it might set a precedent - in terms of style - for later
posts. In reality however, this is an opportunity for reflection whereas
future posts will be concerned more with actual experiences. In short, in
this post I indulge myself with the hope that those reading it will do the
same.

I am not going to bore you with the many logistical details and
considerations that I have been busying myself with over the past months
(and particularly the last week). If you are interested in what this kind of
thing involves send me an email (sean.muller@gmail.com) and I'll send you my
fairly detailed gear list.

It seems most appropriate to use this post to address the question of "Why?"

Why do it? There are lots of generic answers available to this question,
many of which you will know yourselves (I do not include the explanation of
insanity amongst those!) But to be honest I'm not sure how accurate any of
them are. I'm not sure that I myself know exactly why I'm doing this and
therefore somewhat sceptical - in my youthful arrogance - of other people
hypothesising answers on my behalf. It seems that it is a necessary part of
the human condition to believe we can explain our behaviour - to ourselves
and others - to a much greater extent than we really can. (If you doubt
this, reading any one of the recent popular science books on consciousness
may go some way to persuading you).

However, since - to my knowledge - everyone reading this is human [yes, I
know this depends on how one defines 'reading'!] I am going to make some
effort to provide a decent, profound hypothesis, which may be complete
rubbish...

In essence, I think it is to do with identity. Geographically, I am
indubitably African: I was born in Mozambique, and have done most of my
growing-up in South Africa. Politically and socially my perspective is
certainly more 'African' than 'European': for instance, when I think of
great leaders in modern times it is the names of Kenyatta, Nyerere, Machel,
Mandela, Lumumba and Guevara (he did spend some - highly unsuccessful - time
in the then Congo) amongst others that come to mind first, rather than those
of Churchill, Roosevelt, etc. Those who take a less 'Africanist' perspective
might consider this a little strange given the state that the countries
ruled by those African leaders now find themselves, due in part to these
leaders' post-independence leadership. However, independence from
colonialism remains the most important event for all African countries
arguably for as long as they have been countries and therefore, I believe,
remains paramount in the psyche of most Africans despite any failures that
may have followed this.

So, anyway, travelling part of the chunk of earth I most identify with seems
a natural thing to do.

Why the bicycle? Well, look, ultimately a bicycle is simply a mode of
transportation. However, having said that, many people at all levels of
society seem to me to not appreciate the fundamentally different perspective
on one's surroundings that results from utilising different forms of
transport. Bicycle is about as close to your surroundings as you can be
without reducing yourself to the more limited mileage of walking. It also
makes efficient use of the physical potential of the human body and energy
itself (it has been estimated that cycling may be the most energy-efficient
form of transport). It is interesting and somewhat ironic in this context
that despite the preaching of the spirit of 'ubuntu' ("I am who I am because
of other people") the new South African elite (black and white) continue to
strengthen their preference for exclusive private motor vehicle transport
over mass public transport systems shared by all economic groups, or indeed
more sustainable forms of private transport!

The above high-minded explanations may provide some reason 'why'. Then
again, sitting here at 3:15am, having had 3hours sleep and with the CapeTown
darkness glaring at me, I'm not sure they answer my question: what the hell
am I doing?!

But I have gone through all the motions, done almost all the organising I
could do, and now the time has come to do it. I reckon if I can get to the
point where I am cycling out of Mombasa with all my essential gear items
still with me I will be well on the way to a successful trip. The next few
weeks will be the most difficult, I just hope that I can make it through
them.

We shall see. Che Guevara said that a revolutionary needs to move through
the people of a country like a fish through water. I dare say the same
applies to cycle travellers; let's see whether my Africanness extends to
ground level...