On the eve of my 30th birthday. I was in Nairobi, Kenya trying to stay warm. It was August and Southern California was in it’s hottest temperatures but Nairobi for some reason even a blanket wasn’t enough, felt more like an inland empire winter (normal temperatures outside, but very cold indoors). I had plans to meet with some friends that day in Nairobi town but it became too challenging due to the cold and the distance, so we decide to put the meeting on hold. My siblings and I were in preparation for a trip we had been talking about since 2017. We were headed for the coast.
A few days back while at Bidibidi Refugee camp in Northern Uganda, our sister called from Nairobi and told us that she would be booking the train tickets. We found that morning the train was all booked. After a heavy breakfast, my brother and I headed for downtown Nairobi to try and book bus tickets. We had no idea how busy the trip to the coast was. After going to two bus stations and finding out that they were sold out, we started kind of worrying, seemed like possibilities for going to the coast was thinning. As we walked out of the last booking station, a man working there decides to walk us to another bus station, he told us the wait for buses were about two days for most places but this other station although it wasn’t as fancy as the other ones he guaranteed us that at least here we would be able to get the tickets, and sure enough, he was right. We got the tickets.
Nairobi, unlike Kampala, is a fast city. Here people like to walk and they walk fast. If you don’t know the City you can get lost easily. Navigating our way back to the matatu I saw a man get hit by a taxi although it wasn’t life threatening, it was still an accident which the taxi driver didn’t even acknowledge, he just drove off as the man yells and bangs on the taxi. We made it back to our sister’s place and rested for sometime before it was time to get on the road. Roughly around 6pm we boarded the matatu and headed back to town. We got to the station and had to wait for awhile, there was an old bus parked in front of the station. My sisters were depressed, did we get the budget bus? Then a cleaner looking bus pulled up and another group boarded. I can only imagine what was going on in my older sister’s head ‘we going to the coast in that? this raggedy looking bus, is it even a bus, looks like a tank.’ Finally, our bus showed up and everybody sighed with a gentle smile, at least this one.
*matatu – a minibus, local public transport*
My brother and I had the front seats, on the left side of the driver. That night midnight I turned 30 on the bus. I remember my siblings wishing me a happy birthday as the driver overtook trucks and other buses on the way, at scary speeds. It was a magical feeling seeing the sunrise that morning as we were pulling into the outskirts of the city, I was filled with so much joy. Until this point I had heard about this place since I was a child but to actually reach here, felt like a new chapter in possibilities. Finally, Mombasa at last, what a beautiful city. The streets look like magazine photos from the 1950’s -1970’s Africa. Black and white pavements, blue and white buildings from what seemed like the colonial era and prior, alongside new more modern structures, encompasses the city. The sound of Islamic prayers from a distant mosque echoes. Varying degrees of Swahili spoken on the streets. The people overall felt genuine, and the tuk-tuk drivers were welcoming, and very useful in helping with navigating around the city.
*tuk-tuk – 3 wheeled motorcycle, a common mode of transportation.*
The day we arrived there was a marathon happening. Traffic jam was heavy on all the normal routes to our destination, Diani Beach. Me and my brother took one Tuk Tuk and our sisters were in the other. Out of all of us, only our brother had been to Mombasa and that was years back, so even his navigation wasn’t absolute. Within 5 minutes we got separated, our driver used a short-cut, to avoid the traffic, I got a bit worried when we were separated, eventually we all met at the line for the ferry. Standing in line with my huge backpack, my sister leaned over and told me “keep your eyes open, there’s a lot of quick hands.”I stepped up my defense mode, kept my eyes open, and nothing happened. We boarded the ferry took a few minutes to cross. The ferry was packed each crossing back and forth was full, easily over 300 people. After reaching the other side we had to climb about 20 steps to reach the top then board a taxi to Diani beach.
We finally reached the hotel and settled for a bit. After lunch we headed to the beach, we had no idea that it would be a 20 minute walk, it seemed much closer. Being raised in Southern California I’ve gotten too used to being by the ocean, the ocean always makes feel a great sense of freedom, it makes me feel limitless and insignificant, the ocean brings me back to my center. This trip to East Africa, I had been landlocked for a while in Uganda, and I felt like I was suffocating I needed that breath of fresh air; a release. As we walked I was overjoyed by the smell of the ocean in the air, I couldn’t wait to get there.
When we reached the ocean, I was overwhelmed by how beautiful it was; so magnificent that I lost myself in awe. I drifted into a daydream, imagining myself living there; by the coast. This was a place of imaginations and dreams. No palm trees only coconut trees on the beach, people relaxing on the beachside, vendors selling clothes, arts and coconut cocktails, the vibe here was just right. As my feet sunk in the white crisp sand, I saw tourists windsurfing, getting ready for scuba diving and some being sold to take a camel ride. As for me, I was submerged in amazement, I stared across the ocean as I took a deep breath, I just wanted to just acknowledge being in this ancient place. I finally stepped foot in the salty water and I felt it embrace me. Before leaving I dipped my head in that water, my locs (hair) needed to reconnect with this part of the world. I felt a deep joy and sadness at the same time.
The next day we would spend most of the day at the beach. The most amazing phenomenon I’ve experienced in East Africa is that everywhere I went when I meet any Rasta it’s always nothing but respect, we click and bond as if we’ve known each other before. Locs to me have always been a spiritual journey rather than a fashion statement and usually, not always; when you meet people with locs they are on a spiritual journey and are usually conscious and free minded. I’m always happy to connect with rastas anywhere and everywhere I go. I connected with a few in Mombasa, unfortunately, we didn’t take any pictures together.
The last day we were all sad to be leaving, we went back to the beach for the final day. As I went in the ocean to say goodbye, I promised that I’ll be back, and next time for a longer period of time. I got a bit sick on the way back, but I couldn’t regret the journey. This was one of the most significant birthday experiences I’ve ever had in a while, I felt a deep spiritual acknowledgment of who I am, and I also gained precious memories I’ll never forget. When we boarded the bus we were all so tired, but I made sure I kept my eyes open, I kept looking at the city until I couldn’t see it anymore then I went to sleep. Mombasa, your joy moves me. See you soon, it’s only a matter of time.
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