As we sat in a little juice bar on the waterfront in Lamu, sipping on our freshly-made drinks (passion, lime and mango juice and a chocolate milkshake, respectively) we heard the sound of hand-drums approaching. We finished our drinks and poked our heads out, curious, to be greeted by an onslaught of men and boys in white robes and kofias, drumming and dancing. Some held signs with anti-drug messages, others little paper flags. It seems that we had unknowingly arrived in Lamu in the midst of the Islamic New Year celebrations. It was lucky for us, since there was a lot of activity in Lamu town while we were there. The town square held movie screenings, plays and speeches every day.
Getting to Lamu is a pretty rough ride. We took a bus from Mombasa very early in the morning. For the first few hours, it’s an alright ride; the roads are paved and everyone in the bus is sitting in an orderly fashion. It’s when you pass Malindi and get out into the countryside when it starts to get really uncomfortable. The paved highway gives way to bumpy, potholed dirt roads. It’s unbearably hot, but terribly dusty, so you have to choose between sweating it out with the windows shut, or having dust and grit constantly blown in your face, sticking to your moist skin. It’s very unpleasant. Once you’re out of the city, people start piling in at every stop. Before you know it, the aisle is crammed full of people standing, and attempting to sit on the arms of seats. There are boxes and bags everywhere, and chickens stuffed into boxes or tucked under arms. Children are plunked down on strangers’ laps. It’s slow going, so we were stuck like this for five hours or so. At every stop, shouting hawkers would immediately surround the bus, thrusting up trays of fat mangoes and bananas, empty oil containers now full of fresh milk, boiled eggs, meat on skewers and ultra-sugary sweets. God help you if you make eye contact by accident.
The trip is definitely worth it, though. We stumbled out of the bus at the port feeling grumpy, sweaty, dirty and stiff, but soon enough we were on the boat to Lamu, a wooden motorboat which was also crammed full of people, luggage, and a huge freezer. In about fifteen minutes, we reached the island. The waterfront, with its white buildings all crammed together and beaches on either side, was a welcoming sight. The crowd of beach boys and touts, all of whom want to take your bags and show you around to the “best” hotels, were not as welcome, but we managed to avoid them by walking purposefully on and plunging directly into the alleyways of Lamu town. The town is very similar to Zanzibar’s Stone Town in many ways – the buildings are built close together, leaving only narrow alleyways to walk through, and the older buildings are frequently decorated with elaborately carved doors and sometimes balconies. Old men sit in entrance-ways sipping coffee from absurdly small cups, and children race by with a wheel and stick, or dragging small cars fashioned from old plastic bottles. There are mangy street cats lurking everywhere, slipping in and out of homes, leaping across rooftops and sitting under stands on the street, waiting for something delicious to drop.
What is so unique about Lamu, though, is the lack of cars. There are only a few vehicles on the island – two ambulances, a donkey ambulance, a police car and the chief’s car. Instead of jumping out of the way for motorbikes, you’re stepping into doorways to let donkeys pass – and sometimes they’re moving along at quite a trot! Donkeys carrying one or two grown men, donkeys lugging sand or rocks, donkeys loitering outside homes, even donkeys fighting each other in the street (vicious!). There are no car accidents, only donkey accidents. I felt quite sorry for the poor beasts – they’re worked very hard, and many of them have sores from the ropes they’re tethered with. If things get too bad, though, there’s always the donkey sanctuary. I was a little skittish around them myself, remembering the Swahili saying, “A donkey’s thanks is its kick.”
Aside from the donkeys, Lamu is known for several things: the huge number of mosques; the fantastic seafood; the stunning, isolated beaches; and dhow rides. We were only there for about four days, but managed to pack a lot of food, beach time and cultural activities in. We had henna painted on our hands and feet at the home of a local family, ate crab and fish curry, prawn samosas and coconut bread, and watched a dhow race. A trip in a dhow, a traditional wooden Swahili sailboat, is a must. In order to get one, you must simply take a stroll along the waterfront, let the beach boys come to you and decide who to go with. The beach boys in Lamu have almost universally adopted the Rastafarian look and lingo. There were so many men with beautiful, long dreadlocks, which made me happy. Most of them have solid Muslim names like Ali, Muhammed and Hassan, but they also have ridiculous nicknames like Happy, Barracuda and Aloe Vera. We befriended a guy with the improbable nickname of Sunflower. Initially, we had arranged a dhow ride with a random beach boy, but unfortunately he turned out to be a con man, so we had to scramble to make other plans. Sunflower was a crew member for a Captain Ali, so we ended up taking a dhow ride with them, along with four other people from Canada, Norway and the UK. The trip involved heading out into the deep sea to do some fishing with a rather rudimentary line, then going to a small island across from Lamu and swimming in the absolutely-perfect stretch of beach while the guys cooked up a delicious lunch of rice, veggie curry and grilled spicy fish. Then more swimming and walking on the beach, before heading back to Lamu for a little shopping. There was a lot of singing and laughter on the way back. It was pretty much a perfect day. The only downside to it was the intensity of the sun: Jenny ended up getting completely burnt, poor girl, and I had the second burn of my life, on my face and back (the other time I burned was also on the Kenyan coast, gotta watch out for that). Even Georgie got a bit of burn on his face, which just shows how serious that sun was.
We were so relaxed and content in Lamu that it was hard to return to the mainland. But return we did, taking another brutal bus ride back to Mombasa just in time for New Year’s Eve. The big thing in Mombasa is beach parties, and we all trooped out to the beach for the celebrations. George’s brother Elijah also came along, which was nice. At the beach party there were DJs, live acts, a bonfire, and even fireworks at midnight. We took to wading into the ocean and dancing out there. It was pretty surreal, thinking about times we had attempted to spend New Year’s Eve outdoors in Canada and how cold it was there. It was a fantastic evening.
As is typical for New Year’s Day, we were pretty lazy on the first. The highlight of the day was going to see a Bollywood movie, Ghajini, which was basically a Bollywood take on Memento. Although they show them pretty frequently, I’d never seen a Bollywood movie in a proper theatre before, and I didn’t realize that they have an intermission (they tend to get pretty long, because of the musical numbers I guess). It was a pretty intense one. Lots of crazy action, melodrama and over-the-top costumes. If you’re into Bollywood at all, I would definitely recommend it.
Now we’re back in Nairobi. I’ll be here for about a week longer before saying my goodbyes to Kenya. It’s going to be sad, but I’m excited to move on and see more of East Africa. In the next two months, the plan is to visit Uganda, Rwanda, Zambia and Tanzania. I’ll be coming home at the very end of February – just a little over a year and a month since I left. I’m planning to make some visits in March, so if you’re around Montreal, Toronto or Barry at that time, expect a very cold and culture-shocked visitor!
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