It was a dusty, bumpy ride from Moshi to Nairobi. Perched on the armrest of the middle seat in the back row, I reveled in the beauty of the landscape past Mt. Kilimanjaro, Mt. Meru, and Masaai markets which were full of color, like a pack of skittles scattered and packed into a concentrated area. Dry plains covered by small shrubs whizzed past the bus windows. Desolate villages and occasional herds of goats dotted the horizon. Individuals waved and smiled as we bumped along the dirt path. I was awestruck by the beauty of the purple sunset. We stopped occasionally for police checks. At one stop, a police man waved at Mark and I in the back window. “Mambo,” Mark said through the open window. Sincerely impressed, the officer responded, “Oh, you are speaking Kiswahili.” “Kedogo,” a little bit. “Karibou” (welcome) he responded with a full smile.
As we neared the outskirts of Nairobi, Mark seemed unconcerned about accomodations, but Mike and I worried because the Lonely Planet Guide’s hotel picks were expensive. By camera phone flashlight, we tried to find an option with a good location on the map, but in the end, it didn’t matter. When we arrived at the bus stop, Mark negotiated a taxi ride to the driver’s suggested hotel with a free ATM stop in between. The first hotel was expensive and the first ATM didn’t work, but within a few stops, we had two $10 per night rooms at Voltage on Cross Road. It was late, and we were hungry, so we asked the front desk if they could recommend an inexpensive place to eat. Two smiling security guards escorted us through the seedy area of town. We laughed because the older security guard carried a wooden Masaai club which caused the road to part like the Red Sea. As we passed, a man threw his arms up, slowly backed up with a smile, and joked, “No problems here.” A few blocks down, we settled into a popular local café where we ordered beef and masala chips for ourselves and our two new friends.
At 8 am the following morning, we received a wake up knock. The security guard’s shift was ending and “Were we interested in a breakfast escort?” “We were sleeping,” I mumbled from my bed. An hour later, I was getting ready when a maid barged in with a smile. She didn’t knock, just let herself in. “Change sheets… laundry” she said as she shimmied around me to gather my pajamas and bed sheets in the crowded room. “Is there no sense of privacy here?” I wondered incredulously. Flabbergasted, I felt like laughing and telling her to get out at the same time.
It was Sunday and the streets of Nairobi were empty, quiet, perfect for walking around. Dennis, a street kid quickly attached himself to our group of 3. I tried to nicely explain that we weren’t going to give him money, but it took Mark’s stern voice to turn him around. We cruised around town on foot checking out the closed shops and the lovely University of Nairobi campus where my friend, Lauren, and I had once considered attending. Mark, Mike, and I stopped for a Snow Cap beer and water at a high end open air bar and got directions to a movie theater where they were playing the romantic comedy “How Do You Know?” with Reese Witherspoon, Paul Rudd, Owen Wilson, and Jack Nicholson. We made arrangements to visit Hell’s Gate National Park the following day, and made our way back to the hotel where we hung out in Mikes’ corner room with 180 degree sunset views.
In a major act of generosity, Mike offered to let Mark and I use his compact laptop for the remainder of our trip. We were over-joyed. Later, in a “Pride and Prejudice moment,” I accused Mark of being greedy and selfish with our new toy. “Darcy” astutely pointed out that I hadn’t shared his Kindle, and I was reminded of Byron Katie’s teachings about judgment. Whenever we judge, it has everything to do with ourselves and not other people; it is internal, not external. My infantile inner 2 year old had reared her unsharing head, demanding all of the attention and toys for herself. I was ashamed and appreciated Mark’s ability to keep my inner control freak in check.
On March 8th, our last full day in Nairobi, we used the PPS (like GPS, but “people positioning system”) to find a 50 cent matatu (local transport minibus) to Village Market, a classy high end UN area about 1 hour outside of city center. Village Market had a full water park complete with a lazy river and water slides. There was a modern book store and the lovely scent of apple grape mint hookah wafted in the air. We bought pizza and found a movie theater where they were playing a guy movie,” Faster” with The Rock. Again, we were the only people in the theater. As we finished the $6.50 hot car action matinee, we smelled ganga outside the theater. Using the PPS, the transport system was a breeze. Back at City Center, we went on a search for booze and a taxi for Mike’s midnight ride to the airport. Mike negotiated a night taxi and with a stroke of genius got the liquor store ride thrown in for free. We laughed as we bought beer and spirits from a few shady back alley stores where owners appeared like closet trolls behind open-shudder concrete counters. Apparently, a new law was enacted in Nairobi: In an effort to keep people working, liquor sales before 5pm were forbidden after January 1st. It was 6:30 pm, but we felt shady in that alley with the locals asking us to split a bottle with them.
We took our assorted beverages to the roof of our hotel where we navigated the rickety metal steps and PCV trip hazards. On the concrete roof with no railings, we laid out our seat pads with a stellar view of the city’s buildings. Mike, a former raft guide, asked if we were up for some games. We each made a list of the 5 things we want next in our lives. My list was something along the lines of 1)enjoy rooftop star-gazing with my African travel besties, 2)go to grad school, 3)start a family, 4)see my sister (miss ya, Stacey!), 5)do worthwhile work when I return home. Our second game had to do with creating a picture and getting interpretation. I painted a mental picture of a desert landscape. The flat yellow grasslands had a canyon with a 6 rung Mexican pine ladder, one shade tree next to a Mexican tienda/store where a dark brown horse bucked and galloped happily under purple skies of pleasant rain. Mark’s painting was white sand dunes with a 3 story ice cube that melted to create pasture lands where a white saddled Clydesdale submissively stood tall under stormy skies that created glass from lightening and a ladder reached up to the heavens. Mike’s picture had a 3 ft solid cube of granite on a pedestal with an in-charge white horse and ladder of 24 rungs. We laughed at the interpretations and insights into our personalities and relationships (which I can’t share in case we someday play this game together). We were shocked by the cold rooftop temperatures. I was wearing my new/used 1980’s bomber jacket and still freezing, so we adjourned to the tiny hotel room where the three of us sat on the bed and hung out until Mike’s midnight taxi arrived. Uncharacteristically early, the taxi driver honked at 11:50 pm. We distributed hugs all around and carried Mike’s bags down to the taxi. I said we’d miss our travel friend, “Jesus Rasta,” (as the locals knew him) and added that we’d especially miss him “because he’s so tiny!” which is the reason the teary-eyed staff at Kilimanjaro Backpackers gave when he left Moshi.
As we walked the streets, a 2 year old beggar girl in an unwashed yellow dress grabbed my hand which I found adorable, but she wouldn’t let go, so I tickled her tummy to make her let go. She chased me and when I reached down to tickle her tummy again, in a protest to my failure to give money, she fiercely grabbed my hair and wouldn’t let go. My reaction surprised me; I wanted to grab her hair, but she was bald, so I tugged hard on her ear until she eventually loosened her grip.
On the morning of March 9th, 2011 Mark and I made preparations to fly from Nairobi, Kenya to Istanbul, Turkey. Rather than pay a taxi $13 to deliver us to the airport, we sought out a $2 public bus. From city center, we drug our bags a few blocks to the Ambassador area where we used the PPS to find bus #34 to the airport. With our bags stacked at our side, we occupied the front seat of the bus, next to the driver. From here, we could enjoy the remaining bits of Nairobi, the last of our 2011 African holiday. The sky was a pretty shade of light clean blue, no smog in sight. Mark and I talked about how much we had enjoyed 2 ½ months in Africa and how much we were looking forward to something different; we planned to spend the following two months in Turkey, Greece, and the Middle East.
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