Kwaheri Kenya

Two army troops accompanied us on the road northward to Lamu, for the purpose of security. In theory. I’m fairly sure they just protected us from corrupt police, who we met somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen times. After ditching them at the docks, a tiny speedboat deposited us on the island.

Lamu is the most relaxed, welcoming place I’ve been since arriving in Kenya. There are no vehicles except for the motorbike of the district commissioner. Instead, donkeys carry loads of people or goods between villages and through cramped walkways, squeezing past each other when they find themselves head-to-head. Idle donkeys throng along beachside walkways and in city squares. Mozambique- and Lamu-style sailboats, equipped with a single sail and manned by two people, crowd the water adjacent to the seawall and provide ferry transport between islands, towns, and the mainland. People are so nice. As we walked along the beach at sunrise, collecting coral and shells from clusters of rocks dotting the smooth expanse of sand, women approached with smiles and eagerly carried out jabbered conversations. Men said “Hello” in passing, then carried on with their business, unless they were stopping to make sure we weren’t lost in the twisting maze of sandy alleys.

Monday morning we wandered the streets of Lamu, trailing behind a tiny old man who pointed out 400-year-old doors and mosques and led us through the local market. Our guide decided we needed to get more henna, which the Swahili women told us would take a half hour. It took three. As he waited, Charles quizzed all the kids on their studies and bought the lot of them sodas, obtaining the good graces of their parents for all time. However, he abstained from mentioning that the bottle he carried contained a combination of coke, water, brandy and limes.

That evening, we boarded a sailboat. We crossed the straight between Lamu and Manda Islands before continuing seaward along the mangroves. As the deep orange sun sank into the horizon next to the tip of Lamu, the full moon rose directly across the darkening sky before we returned to shore. Although it was breathtaking, I have now decided that sail boats and small planes are the two most terrifying things on the planet.

Tuesday, traveling back to the mainland, we passed Richard Leaky getting into his boat outside his giant private villa. I didn’t even know he was still alive.

Today was all wrap-up. I took my parents to Kibera, we visited a ceramic bead factory and shop (where they’re supposed to give tours, but they’re closed for xmas), and we had tea with my host mom.

I am now on the plane to Addis Ababa where my Ethiopian classmate Adane invited me up to stay with his family for a while. However. He’s gone AWOL, so couch surfing (and a hastily-bought guidebook) has become my new savior. As the flight attendant so graciously informed us, “In the likely event of a failure of the air supply…”

Until next time.