Mombassa and Lamu: And too much time to think!

Friday night, and after a surprisingly enjoyable stopover in Nairobi, we take the train to Mombasa. No ordinary train but the Mombasa Express. This is the line that opened up East Africa. We are not train spotters, but did, fair dinkum, visit the Railway Museum. Sure there were engines and stuff out in the yard but the museum was really the story of the railway's part in East Africa's history. A funny old thing, but an interesting thing to do.

For about NZ$75 you can travel First Class, a two-person sleeper compartment, for the 550km, 15 hour journey. And it's just so cool. Of course the compartment was past its best but what an experience. The restaurant car was a blast from the past. You are served by jokers wearing their (well-worn) white jackets and bow ties. Genuine (mis-matched) silverware is provided all embossed: EAR&H (East African Railways and Harbours), KUR (Kenya Uganda Railways), KR (Kenya Railways) - all in themselves a lesson from the museum. The current acronym is RVR (Rift Valley Railways) but that's a fairly recent marketing ploy for the passenger services, and the budget doesn't stretch to ordering new silver cutlery.

Over dinner, we met an English woman, Anne, who is on her way to taking up a job as a Tour Guide on safaris in Tanzania. The four course dinner can be washed down with a few of Kenya's favourites: Tusker Lager. Then, sleep like a babe.

What more could you possibly want?

Mombasa: And we are not wearing a Mambo T-shirt.

Mombasa:

- where our biscuits, fig, and date, bars are from Saudi Arabia.
- where our mixed fruit jam is from Yemen.
- where we watch Aljazeera news, in English.
- where we drink spiced tea.
- and where, despite a sea breeze, it's 32 degrees and with little relief at night.

Mombasa is Kenya's second city. But very differant to Nairobi. It's a harbour/port town with the usual sleaze attached. There are nice areas, of course, but the centre is way more crowded than Nairobi, and no signs of Nairobi affluence. There's just so many more beggars than we have experienced elsewhere in Africa, so far. It's edgy. There's a large presence of Somalian refugees. We witnessed a guy below us, when looking down and across the harbour, pull 7 or 8 wallets from his clothing and rifle through them.

Deb and I spend the afternoon on a follow-your-nose, free roaming, wander through the jumble of steets in old town. We stop for a tasty chicken briyani, mango juice, and chai before discovering a very local beer garden. I've never said "no" to one on a hot day, and a couple of cold Tuskers helps get over the heat. The local lads appear to be settling in for a Saturday arvo session and watching sports on TV. Their moslem mates have got to be envious.

This is not another case of 'flexible honesty' but an ouright fib. We are shown a flash bus when booking to Lamu, 350km north of Mombasa heading towards the Somalia border, along the Swahili Coast. Oh no, no, no. That's actually the bus to Nairobi and our vehicle is a pure bred rattler. The first section on pot-holed highway is bad enough, but then comes the dirt roads. We have plenty of room this time, but the rattling is endurance testing.

Six and a half hours of bone shaking later, we board a dhow equipped with diesel engine and chug to Lamu (a UNESCO World Heritage site, I might add). We take another dhow along the waterfront to the beach village of Shella. It's an easy enough walk, but later. We're not walking the 40 minutes in the heat with our packs.

I don't quite know how we do it, but we have done it again. We've scored a four bedroom, three bathrooms, lounge areas, kitchen, verandah, and a shaded rooftop garden, - but wait, there's more - complete with a 'house boy' who washes up and occasionally makes our bed. And we are paying less than NZ$25 a night. We stay six nights!

We are at the halfway point, time wise, of our trip, so the break will be good. Having to go to Nairobi for tooth repairs made us have to re-jink plans slightly. The beach at Zanzibar was to be our break. It rained, so this will do just nicely.

Shella wouldn't be a half kilometre square. But it's a maze of narrow sandy streets. Little donkeys roam. It takes a couple of times to find the same way back to our house. And a couple of little windows-to-the street shops we found are tricky to locate again. No maps. No street names. A wonderful experience. After a day or two you are recognised by locals.

News filters through of a bomb exploding in Nairobi. Just up the way, three Kenyan soldiers are captured by Somalian militiamen. We catch up with Anne again a couple of times. After a few days we are joined in the house by a nice Irish couple, Pat and Sarah. And we meet a delightful couple of Dutch girls, both Maaike, who are near finished mid-wife studies and have spent time in Kenya on practical experience. They have some interesting, and alarming, stories to tell.

There's a flotilla of exotically named dhow plying the waters of Lamu and Shella. Names like AL HAMID, TAWAQAL, SHAHIDA, MBUZI, HADI HADI, SWALHITI, TAUFIQ and more. But my choice had to go to the exquistely named vessel, the FURQAN.

I start to plan on how we could stay for three months. But risk becoming like Jimmy Buffet: wasting away in Margaritaville. But we do find a more comfortable bus back to Mombasa. A group of five young men, unarmed, have a road block set up in an attempt to beg from the bus. The driver lines one up and guns it! Straight at him. He jumps pretty quick.

It's Saturday afternoon, I give consideration to finding the beer garden again. We bus it back to Nairobi very comfortably, it's quicker, and daylight. It's Kenya after all, and we don't tire of seeing animals. Between Lamu and Nairobi we see giraffe, zebra, waterbuck, monkeys, baboons and red elephants. Yep, because of the red dirt and dust the elephants take on an odd colour. Two bright red whirly-whirlies winds of rising dust also. Get back to find the Yapies have beaten the Wallabies by kicking two field goals at the death.

The Kenyan Daily Nation got to the point with one story: 'A mentally retarded man, James Olgatha, drowned when he plunged into Lake Victoria. A fisherman was too late to save him.' That's it. Total story. Finished. And a couple of stories of 'prompt justice'. A husband and wife couple are lynched by a Nyagenke village mob accused of being 'notorious witches'. And my bro, Whaleboy and I don't know how lucky we were. Villagers machete hack to death some lads who steal mangoes from their trees. In our early twenties we used make mango raids on trees in central Brisbane. But hey, this is Africa.

Hanging out at the beach for a few days gave me time to think.

Oh no. That's dangerous.

I noticed an interesting couple of press releases. When covering the G8 conference, the Saturday Nation (9 June) quoted rock star Bono commenting on G8's Africa aid pledge.: "They have taken language hostage. We wanted numbers but this is burobabble." Hmmm, and what language is that. Same day, Aljazeera shows fellow rock star campaigner, Bob Geldorf, as saying: "Africa could, or should, be the richest country." Ah, Bob, it's a continent of something like 54 countries.

But Bob did get me thinking. In fact I could rant on this one for ages. But relax.

But the fact that Africa is 54 countries is in itself the issue. There's no 'Africa' generalisations possible. Countries apart, there's northern Arab Africa, and Sub-Saharan Africa. There's West Africa, East Africa, and Southern Africa. Even from what I have seen there's different education, health and food levels even in neighbouring countries, and even in the same country.

But if I understand what Geldorf is getting at, doesn't Africa being self reliant also mean being less reliant on foreign aid?

At the time of independence, let's say early 1960s, just about all African countries were self supporting for food. Then came twenty years of dictators looking after themselves. By the 80s, Africa needed food from outside and was going broke. In steps the IMF and World Bank and starts providing funds on the premise that countries will privatise the nationalised companies to encourage enterprise. But they put few checks and balances in place, and wouldn't you know it the leaders sell nationalised companies to family and cohorts at rock bottom prices. These new owners in turn then turn to IMF/World Bank for funding to get the companies going. The funds disappear. Loans are not repaid.By the 90s African countries can't feed themselves, are broke, and owe stacks.

But don't get me started.

And, don't get me wrong. There has been real needs for humanitarian aid in Africa. I have witnessed abject poverty in this continent. I'm not so naive to not know that poverty in Africa also means child labour, selling children, trading your daughters and death by easily and absolutely curable disases. But real problems and blocks to remedies should be looked at. But I suggest G8 leftie protestors should be turning their attention to asking just where money donated by G8 has gone. And unfortunately, much of the well intentioned work by well meaning volunteers (largely) of NGOs and charities has been the same stuff for years and is but a scratch on the surface.

Time and time again the problems have lain with leadership, and its corruption. The political leadership has been a shocker. From Saturday Nation, 9 June, a letter to the editor from a Mr. Oulu:

Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe is accused of all forms of oppression in his country and considered Africa's shame. When he attended the recent COMESA talks in Nairobi, many people did not find it honourable that he should be elected vice-chairman of the reputed trading bloc, let alone be given the chance to move a vote of thanks.

Many people think that Mugabe should get out of power to set Zimbabweans free. But all these are shallow conclusions and condemnations. We must be bold enough to face the facts.

There is a dictator in every African country. Some are found in political parties, while others are in economic or social sectors. Thus Mugabe's exit, just like Amin's, Charles Taylor's or Mobutu's, will not end dictatorship on the continent, or the world. ...(cont'd)

And this, I believe, is Africa's problem. There appears something wrong at the top. Though my dentist reckons the current Kenyan President is just OK, but better still there is an active opposition. Single party politics has been the history of Africa since independence.

If you, too, should have the slightest interest in Africa's history since independence, and the tale of the same old, continuing story of the corruption of politics up until today; and of the continuing story of humanity where fights against oppression and racism are then followed by brutalities of people turning on themselves (Did you know that Band Aid and Live Aid relief food sat in rail wagons for two years not 250 meters from a refugee camp in which 250,000 people starved to death, all because of political gamesmanship?) - then have a read of Martin Meredith's The State of Africa: A history of fifty years of independence. (Jonathan Ball, 2005).

Its clear sighted, readable, straight forward story of cynical Western colonialists and then the post independence ruling elite hell bent on a pre-occupation of holding power for self enrichment is completely recommendable.

But you have been spared. I thought about heaps lying around, and reading the above mentioned book. So now it's time to get back on the road.

Tomorrow morning we head for Uganda. I'll attempt to try not trip over the Equator as we head to the border.

I'm always right. I once thought I could have been wrong, but it was an error.

Max
aka Mad.