walking home

when i was about 10 or 11, we were still at the bus stop - more than an hour after it had left, my sisters and i. and for some reason, we decided we would walk home. a 12 year old, myself and an 8 year old.

armed with a prayer and our trusty hockey sticks, we set foot to cover what would take a car some 10-15 mins to drive. but instead of the shorter, more trafficked main road, i convinced them, the longer, more serene route would be better. turns out, it would be the route my dad wouldn't drive up and down frantically lookin for us.

we walked for more than an hour. the hold on our sticks-cum-weapons losing force. and the "ugly face(s)" my older sister advised us to put on (distort/contort the face as distastefully as you can) to deter anyone that might harass were giving way to fatigue.

our father finally caught up with us when we joined the main road again, a stone's throw away from our house - mad as hell - at our folly. "you could have been raped!" he yelled - which is true. but by 6.45 when dark was already setting in, we were just glad to be home.

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i walked home again yesterday. this time, as an adult, stranded. or as an adult deciding to take things into his own hands, or should i say feet. and like forrest gump, i just started walking.

i walked for about an hour and a half before i considered what i might look like. that i must look desperate or out of place because a kindly young man, stopped to offer me a lift and instinctively, i declined. it was only when he drove off that i realised, he might have been sincere. bless him. bless people who do kind gestures.

as the road began to climb on that last stretch home, it hit me - this sadness - the solitude of doing it all on my own. the realisation that no one - in the duration of that walk - was looking for me.

spotted

just outside a shopping mall


passed out comfortably at the stanley

changing mode/habit

He bought her a hairpiece because it was beautiful, because the feathers that were arranged to create the semblance of a flower was something he could imagine her wearing. Though, it was likely she never would, now that she didn’t need to appreciate it, now that she had left him.

It was the only souvenir he bought and therefore the only souvenir he had of the place; a lake whose birds people flocked to see. She had not come as planned and so he continued alone and more in the habit of loving her than to bring her a souvenir, he bought her the hairpiece; a blossoming of red and white that would settle on her bookshelf than ever on her hair.

Ndinda

She liked the silence. It meant the freedom of an empty house. She read letters then, letters not addressed to her, perused pictures then, pictures not even intended for albums. It gave her a taste of their world, a taste for their wealth.

So she waited for those silences to don the Madam’s jewels, to scrutinize the Mkbwa’s receipts, to behold what they had hidden. She was in that stillness the master of the house and the owner of those secrets.

She listened to their points of discussion, listened to their rants and their gossip. The mkubwa increasingly suspected an uninvited audience. So one day, feeling her presence behind the door, opened it abruptly so that it hit her, outright. But the warning only caused her to dig deeper and to play with her role in that house like the way children play with fire.

Like a jealous third wife, Ndinda found comfort in stirring up trouble, and it was easy to dispense it to the company around her.

‘Hakuna chai,’ she denied the askari when he asked for tea. ‘Hakuna stima,’ she refused him again when he asked if he could charge his cell-phone inside. ‘Hakuna Ndinda,’ he humoured himself when lunchtime came around and Ndinda was nowhere to be found to serve him.

But even the most patient of people had a threshold for Ndinda’s insolence. One day, the askari asked of her, “Please, if the mkubwa comes, open the gate for him. I’m going very quickly, to the kiosk, to send mpesa. I’ll be back now, now. Here are the keys.”

And like a fool handing over his money to a thief for safekeeping, Ndinda went for the kill.

“Askari?” she feigned ignorance, “I don’t know where he has gone. I don’t have any keys,” she lied to mkubwa as he waited at the gate. Incensed at the askari’s seeming irresponsibility and having to send and wait for someone to deliver a spare set of keys, the mkubwa  threatened to fire the speechless askari when he returned.

Ndinda must pay, the askari decided to himself as he threw himself at her.

“Aiee!” she screamed, as she fled from his angry fists. “He wants to kill me!” she cried, appearing bewildered and desperate.

Then, in complaint to the other househelps, “It’s not even my job to open the gate!”

Naively sympathetic, they held the askari from beating her and pacified him with assurances that he could leave the keys with them if he ever needed to leave his station again.

But like the hide of an old beast, Ndinda remained thick-skinned and not long after the askari had chased her to her room and the other househelps had saved her from a beating, she found reason again to start another fire.

Setting out to do so, she bought herself ten sim cards; one for each of her fellow househelps’ boyfriends she designed to text. And true to her intention, she succeeded in spreading bad-blood like you spread hysteria.

An uproar ensued in the estate when it was finally discovered that the only possible culprit, the common link between the househelps and their boyfriends could have been Ndinda. They rallied now to charge at her door. And this time, they came with knives.

“Wacha tuingie!” They screamed at the askari who now oddly found himself responsible for her life, “this is not your business!”

“Please, the family is here,” he pleaded, “even the children are home.”

“Haiya, we don’t care!” They persisted, stung by her betrayal, “Ndinda has been disturbing our men. Telling them we are prostitutes. Let us pass. This girl needs to be taught a lesson she will never forget!”

“Violence will not solve anything. Please go home, forget about it and don’t talk to Ndinda anymore. She is only doing childish things,” he reasoned with amusement at the reversal of roles.

“Yah! She is disturbing us! Buying sim cards to disturb us! Her money is useless, look how she is spending it. You know, we pay school fees, we pay for our children... Ndinda is just buying sim cards to disturb us! What for?!....” they blustered, slowly becoming placated with the realisation that violence would not repair the damage done to their relationships.

“We have never met a devil like her and we never will!” they concluded as they walked away.

Ndinda remained in her room after that, only leaving it to bring the askari his tea, his lunch and to return his cellphone after charging. Her demeanour was like that of a sullen child and the askari was glad to have it for he knew that this cooperation would only last as long as it would take for her to fan another fire.

tiwi and diani

We stay at Twiga lodge for 2,000/- for two. There’s a shower (cold), a balcony (with a glimpse of the beach) and a fan.

You can borrow a book in exchange for another book at the reception.

There are less beach boys and tourists. The sand is clean and there is a lot of shade.

safari by numbers contd. (without the numbers)

PART 3: TIWI FINALLY

MK is so impatient he runs from the taxi to the beach and then comes back when he realises i'm carrying all the luggage and we have to at least check in.

but it IS a relief!! to finally step foot on sand. the rooms are simple. twiga lodge has the following options;

budget rooms:

1,100/- single
2,000/- double

superior rooms with sea view, hot baths and showers

4,500/- double with breakfast
3,000/- single with breakfast

camping (with own tent. showers and toilets provided)

300/- pp
200/- per child 3-12 years
free for children under 3 years


the double budget room we take has a shower (cold), a balcony (with a glimpse of the beach) and a fan.

you can borrow a book in exchange for another book at the reception :)

the distinct quiet that tiwi has in comparison to diani is something i really enjoy. the sand is clean, there is a lot of shade and a lot less beach boys and tourists.

i'm quite amused by the red bodies around though and i take to taking pictures of them. MK doesn't understand the fascination but for me it amuses me like wildlife lol.

safari by numbers, a blog framed by numbers.

PART 1: TO VOI

09:45, the time i'm in town.

10:00 the time it is when i'm still waiting for MK to come from umoja.

30-40 mins, he says, the amount of time he'll take to get here.

10:30, the time of departure for the tickets i buy for 900/- each.

10:15, the time when MK is still nowhere to be seen and i'm beginning to become frantic (for potentially losing 2 x 900/- tickets)

10:25, the time he says he's arrived at the stage. i speed walk to afya centre and then walk to the stage.

no MK.

where are you? tuskys. there are 2 tuskys, i will discover, conveniently located within the same block.

4. the number of times i call him.

when i finally do find him (at the other tusky's), i hand my bag over to him to carry (late do-ers must be punished) and we run to the mash bus.

2. the number of other buses that go to mombasa from river road. coast bus and modern coast. but we take mash because the next departure time would have been at 12:00 and i wanted to leave as early as possible.

09:00, 09:30, 10:30, 12:00, 12:30, 13:00 and 1330, the morning departure times between the 3 buses.

900/- to 1,400/- the price range for tickets.

i follow a map as we pass athi river, emali and kibwezi before deciding to stop over in tsavo to to see if we can go for a safari.

15 mins, the time we have to decide before the bus leaves to carry on to mombasa.

15:30. the time it is when we get back on the bus, having decided to alight at voi instead. the conductor, a one christopher takes a liking to my 'brother' and will continue to call me for some months looking for him.

16:00. the time we arrive at voi.

the first hotel we enter, doesn't give us any information about any other places to stay or even discuss a safari if we don't stay with them. even after saying we’d be happy to camp, they tell us that every other place is booked and the best they can offer us is $100 BB.

we settle for $50 bed only.

4,000/- the price we settle for, for an evening safari (from 10,000/-) and 6,000/- for a 4-hour morning safari the next day.

ONE HOUR. the time it takes us to haggle for that, recognising that if we want to have a safari at all today, we’d have to settle somewhere.


17:00. the safari is anti-climatic but better than nothing and a relief at least from a day on the road. the KWS wardens take their sweet time signing us in etc.

i’m resentful enough about being cheated/not camping for $10(!) to not have dinner. i do order a sandwich however - 250/- for the morning safari because the kitchen won’t be open before we leave.

20:00. the time my mother calls me to tell me i have no decency with the way i travel.

22:00. the time we sleep and MK cheers me up by telling me that his father thinks him a sex tourist for choosing to visit thailand and the philippines repeatedly lol.


05:15 the time we're up.

05:40 the time we're off on safari. (we must punish the tour guide for wasting our time yesterday)

one hour, the amount of time we drive around for, as the sun rises.

where you find buffalo, steve the guide says, is where lions will go for a killing in the early morning. but today, there wasn't one.

1 out of the big 5, is what the buffalo turns out being. we don't find any other (except the red elephants from yesterday).

marabou stork, grand gazelles, guinea fowl, sickly wild dog, zebra, waterbuck and baboons... they are at once familiar and exotic. familiar because documentaries can make you feel like you've seen them up close and in real life. and exotic because it really is a treat to be in their company.

10:00. the time it is when steve takes us back to tsavo lodge. we pack our things, check out and have him bring us to town to take breakfast.

he takes us to new distar hotel, a place he says, he goes to himself, and order beef biriani and doughnuts: 250/-.

PART 2: TO MOMBASA

200/- each is the price for bus tickets to mombasa on frontline safaris.

3 hours, the amount of driving time from voi to mombasa town.

5 mins and 15/- for the matatu to the ferry.

50/- each and 20-30 mins for the matatu to ukunda.

300/- from the road to the beach by monopolising taxis.

we offer 200/- to a mat which happens to be passing there. and they agree. but then the taxi drivers rally to save their clientele;

"this is not your business. why do you interfere with our business? you are supposed to be a driver for school children. why are you even going this way? stealing our customers? do we interfere with your business?" they confronted the matatu driver.

the tension in their dispute surprised and unsettled MK and to avoid it, he changed his mind to go with the taxi drivers instead.

it’s 17:00 when we step onto tiwi beach.