From Nairobi to Kilifi in Ten Hours Flat

Standing on the sidewalk of a street in city center in Nairobi with the counterparts and new volunteers and our bags, we waited for the conductor donning uniforms with a crude drawing of an elephant on their backs with the motto “We lead the leaders” below.  The conductor and porters put our bags in a compartment and checked our tickets, and allowed us to board.  Those who sat in seats in which the adjustment of incline worked proceed to adjust to their preferred incline.  Hoping out against hope some of us tried to adjust the fan above us only to find that like always, it never worked.  Sitting in my seat, I hoped that I remembered to sit on the right side of the bus in order to avoid the sun.  After everyone boarded, we were off to our homes on the Coast. 

The driver wove through the streets filled with pedestrians, motorcycles carrying ten crates of bread stacked up on one another, touts trying to convince people that their lives depended on going to Nakuru rather than Meru, taxis honking and playing with the realm of mass and space, and buses competing for a quick departure of the clogged city center to their destination.  As we left city center, we joined the snarl of traffic on the Mombasa Road, passing large warehouses, corporations, and of course, a Nakumatt, and as we go along the road, the buildings gradually became smaller and smaller, less and less westernized.  After a while, instead of backlight signs of a corporate logo, signs are adorned by the Coca-Cola or Tusker logos with simple black lettering on white boasting the establishment’s name.  Safaricom green, Zain pink, and the red, white, and blue of Omo becomes the de facto colors of buildings we pass.  Roofs now alternate between the brightly colored tin roofs and thatch roofs instead of ceramic, tile, or regular roofing materials.

Machakos junction loomed as the bus chugged on, most likely than not spewing out fumes, going over man-eating holes and speed bumps that would better be described as hills.  More and more Acadia trees and vegetation started to pop up in the landscape, often fronting a series of hills jutting out in a backdrop of crystal clear blue skies.  Passing Machakos junction, we went through several hundred kiosks selling sodas and peanuts, and the landscape starts to flatten more, houses are farther apart, and made of mud, wild life such as zebras, baboons, and African buffalo are spotted, as well as mounds of termites as tall as I am, as well as numerous herds of cattle and goats with the lone chicken scratching the dust they stomped up.

The road, thankfully, started to smooth out as we approach Emali, going through hundreds of hawkers selling thousands and thousands of red onions – I will remember Emali always as the land of onions.  The temperature starts to rise, and with dismay, I realized that I was stuck with the glare of the sun on my side, so I adjusted the flimsy curtain to block what it could of the sun and settled in for the rest of the trip.

Several large mosques and other houses of worship sped by as we went through Makindu and Kibwezi.  We reached the halfway point where we gladly got off for a choo break and some snacks.  The temperature continues to rise and the humidity starts to stifle the air, and I knew that we were going home, near the Indian Ocean.  Getting off the main road, we went through the safari town of Voi, which always felt to me like a neon colored beacon in the middle of nowhere.  Glimmers of colors from the Art Deco era of Miami combined with the craziness of Las Vegas can be seen and felt in Voi.  Our bus became besieged by the hawkers selling everything imaginable, from food to hankies to watches to pets, and then of course, finally, mobile scratch cards.

Another hour or two pass and we approach Mariakani, and the first strand of palm trees were sighted.  The sight of the palm trees always made me hold my breath for a second or two, with the thought, we’re almost at the Coast!  Traffic started to increase, more and more pedestrians, especially Mamas with colorful lesos walking around, building are closer together, and boasting colors with a distinct Coast flavor.  I see a series of tin roofs clustered together and I know I have reached the outskirts of Mombasa.  We crossed over the bridge, entering the heart of Mombasa, passing buildings with business names painted on them, men pushing wheelbarrows of water, mangoes, and pineapples.  The roads expel steam and humidity around the hustle and bustle of Mombasa.  Even the hustle in Mombasa has a Coast flavor – slightly slower and lethargic.  Hotelis boasts of Swahili dishes, especially pilau and biriyani.  Passing Bishara Street, with almost every level surface covered by lesos and fabric, we started north toward Mtwapa, Kilifi, and finally Malindi.  Crossing the Nyali bridge off the Mombasa Island, we pass a junction, called the lights, where several hundred meters of homemade wooden and burlap stalls laden with used clothing many with hilarious statements and unintentional irony make their homes.

Continuing our way, we pass several extremely fancy resorts with manicured lawns and nary a flower out of place contrasted with shops and homesteads with children playing and chicken scratching the bare dirt ground.   Crossing the gorgeous teal water of the Mtwapa creek, we enter Mtwapa, a juxtaposition of riches of traveling mzungus and Kenyans, youngsters about to go clubbing, and a very traditional Muslim community.  After Mtwapa, it becomes less densely populated and fields after fields of sisal that is used for weaving mats and baskets followed by clusters of palm and coconut trees can be seen.  Hulking baobab trees becomes more and more common.  High above the water, we went over the Kilifi creek sparkling with the mesmerizing color of sea green, we entered the northeast edge of Kilifi. 

Disembarking in the Kibaoni neighborhood of Kilifi, looking at the familiar sight of several bars and kuku choma joints, I was ready to tackle the bumpy road that I knew would lead me to my school, and then my home, ready to tackle the year of 2010.