Running out of Mombasa with a drink

Running out of Mombasa with a drink

There are two reasons why I was taking this train on this Tuesday.  The first was that I was short of project funds.  I was now on the last one-thousand shillings, that could only afford a train ride.  The alternative would have been a flight back to the capital, but I would have to top up the 4,100 difference from my own pocket with no possibility of refund.  This did not seem possible at the moment.  The second reason was that I needed to experience a train ride after an over three-year hiatus.  I wanted to confirm if the train was still the same good old train.

One contributor to my broke status was that I had underestimated the Mombasa experience.  My plan A was to adhere strictly to my schedule and be out of there as per my schedule.  However, I was now being forced to run back to the city after I had already exhausted a two-day extension from the initial plan, and even that extension had not resolved my pending work.  I was just realizing that Mombasa hakuna haraka.  A task that I would have done upto late night back in Nairobi was being split into a three-day thing in this city.

“Sasa tumalizie hapo.  Leo imetosha.  Rudi kesho tafadhali,” were the many breaks that I encountered on my road to the research data that I was collecting, yet I was just getting started.

So, I left my residence at noon on this Tuesday, August 10 ready to get out of Mombasa.  I had just booked my seat on the train using the online platform.  I had initially intended to just buy a ticket at the station, but I had observed how the free seats were progressively getting fewer by the minute on the online system and I had started to worry that I would not get a ticket at the station.  Missing that ticket would have meant digging deeper into my pockets to facilitate an extra night stay or be spend more for a flight out of here.  I was not chancing on these options.  I was already on a shoestring as it was.  That is why I had booked my seat online just before I left the residence.

The taxi that I got through the hailing app was at my door hardly five minutes after I had confirmed.  The app showed a cost of 890.00 from Bamburi to the Miritini train station.  Apart from the traffic jam at ‘lights’, caused by the matatus that were obstructing the road by stopping in the middle of the road, with impunity, the rest of the travel was quite fast.  I loaned the taxi driver one-hundred shillings to pay for the parking at the train station.  He had said that he did not have any cash, since all his money was on MPESA.

“App yasema kwamba yatakiwa nilipe eight-ninety, kwa hivyo nitakulipa seven-ninety tu, sivyo?,” I asked him when we got to the parking and I was getting ready to alight from my backseat seating position.

“Hapana, lipa tu hiyo eight-ninety yote.”

“Lakini nililipa ile mia moja tayari?  Pale kwa gate sababu ya parking?”

“Hapana, hiyo ya parking ni kando.  App huwa haina pahali pa kuongeza parking.  Abiria ndio hulipa parking”

I did not have to make a scene over one-hundred shillings and therefore I paid the full amount by MPESA.  I asked him to confirm receipt which he did.  He was just in time to tell me that not so long ago he had dropped someone at the very same station.  The passenger had paid by MPESA and then had reversed the payment after that passenger had passed through the train station security.

“Sasa ulifanyaje?,” I asked him.

“Ah, mimi, uende na pesa zangu?  Nilifukuza huyu jamaa mbio.  Nilipita hapo kwa security mbio.  Niliwambia ninafukuza jamaa ambaye ameniibia pesa wakanikubalia nipite.  Nilipata jamaa tuu hapo mbele.  Aka anza kuniambia ati ilikuwa tu error ya simu.  He!, ali lipa hiyo pesa yangu mbio!”

I was still smiling over this story even as I went to the security check area, where you lay your luggage on the long luggage stand, and the security personnel then let two dogs sniff through the luggage.  After that check, the luggage goes through scanning and you are then allowed through to the ticket check area before getting to the terminal waiting area.  

The process is usually that simple and I expected it to be that simple, until I was now passing through the luggage scan with my bottle of water at hand.

“Hebu songa huku,” I heard a voice beckon in my direction, just as I was about to pick my two bags from the scanner.

“Oh, mimi?”

“Ndio, wewe,” the security person said now coming towards me and joining me in a second.

“Hi nini umebeba?”

I was not even thinking.  I was completely taken aback.  I just had with me a bottle of water.  This was a transparent plastic soda bottle of one-litre capacity.  I had just filled it with the remnant of club soda and bottled water that had remained in my fridge as I checked out.  I did not want to discard those remnants which had cost me money.  I had already sipped a few mouthfuls on my way here while in that taxi.  I was not thinking anything about it.  And it meant nothing to me.

“Hi ni maji and soda,” I said and made to start picking my bags.

“Hapana, hebu angalie ile sign,” he pointed to some A4 size white sign that was affixed at the walls of the luggage check area.  It was a bit unclear from my location about twenty metres from that sign.  I could see the top line, “No alcohol allowed”, but I could not see the fine print thereafter.

“Lakini hii ni soda na maji, hata angalia,” I handed the litre bottle.  He took it and shook it.  It released the fizzy effect of a typical soda.

“Yes, nilijua!  Hii ni pombe.  Hakuna soda utoa povu!”

Is this guy even for real?  Isn’t soda the very thing that is supposed to fizz?  That is how you know that a soda is a soda for crying out loud!

“Hii ni soda, hata ukitaka kujaribu, fungua ujaribu.”

“Hapana, hii ni pombe, hakuna soda utoa povu.  Unafikiri sisi ni wajinga!”

We were getting into a singing game now.  I was just about being agitated.

“Sasa lazima urudi kwa parking, ukunywe pombe yote alafu ndio urudi,” he told me.

“No way, hii ni soda, na siwezi rudi, kama siwezi kuenda nayo, basi baki nayo.  Siwezi rudi.”

“Sisi tuwezi baki nayo, lazima urudi kwa parking.”

“Sirudi, baki nayo basi!”

I was just about to leave it with them when they told me that the only way out was that I should throw it away myself in the bin.  I was thinking about this last move later on at the terminal as I waited for the boarding time.  Was this action a way of getting them out of a potential legal situation?  I was wondering what would happen in case a passenger like me instituted harassment and false accusation charges.  They would just say that it was the passenger who threw away their own drink!  However, that contemplation of taking it legal still stayed with me some time.  We should have proved our cases before a judge and the soda should have been subjected to chemical analysis.  I believe that citizens deserve a hearing and they need to be treated innocent until proven otherwise.

I was still just shaking my head over the happenings of the last few minutes, while seated at the terminal building, when the waiters at the restaurants on that first floor location approached my seat.

“Tunauza chakula, menu ndio hi,” the lady handed the menu, which I declined.

She was not giving up, and continued, “Lakini hata soda tunauna.  Hata ukitaka pombe, Tusker, Gin zote ziko.  Nikuletee gani?”

What is going on here?  I have just been denied my soda in the guise that no alcohol was allowed.  Now I was being offered hard drinks hardly five minutes later on?  What a contradiction!

It did not take long before the we boarded and the 3pm express train left the platform.  I was seated on the 3-facing-3 section of the train isle.  The train was surely full.  I could not see any vacant seat on this 106-seater coach no. 4.  We were three wagons from the engine, with the cafeteria and the two first-class coaches being just in front of our own.  Six other economy class coaches followed ours.  I was seated on the isle side, next to two other gentlemen.  

Opposite my seating position were three guys in their mid-thirties.  The first thing that they did when the train started to make its way out of the station was to get out their tumblers and pour themselves three stiff drinks from the bottle labelled ‘Gilbeys’.  I heard about how they had bought just one, instead of two at the station, and that it had set them back only eighteen reds.  Their loud mouths as the drinks took them over and the boredom overtook them, enabled me to hear all their secrets, including their bedroom habits – thanks to that Gily!  They proceeded to buy more drinks on offer in the course of the travel.  What a drinking train we were having on this day!

While I spent those five hours on the express train just seated, standing occasionally, taking washroom breaks, or even taking a nap, those three fellows seated opposite spent that time being high and playing cards.  I have never known that a card game can take that long.  They played and played until we finally got to Athi River just before eight, when they played ‘the last game’.  How they had survived those hard seats without getting sore still remains a mystery.  Maybe Gily works after all?  Nonetheless, next time I am paying triple and enjoying a ride in the first class.

The train finally got to Nairobi at about 8.02pm and slammed on the brakes.  The scheduled arrival time was 8.08pm.  We started travelling at about 5km per hour, with even people walking outside the train on the platform walking faster than the train.  The train was buying time to get to a stop at the scheduled time.  However, despite stepping on the brakes and trying to slow it down to the limit, the train ‘refused’ to be tamed any further and it was forced to stop at 8.06pm, with no more platform space available, hence it just had to stop.  Why was the driver hitting those 110km/h speeds only to here early to now force us to encounter the slow down to a walking pace towards the platform?

We disembarked from the express in time to be beckoned to the train to city centre on the metre gauge rail system.  I had already made arrangements for private taxi and hence skipped the offer for the train to the city centre.  I had also had a last minute disappointment the last time such an offer was made in similar circumstances.  On that last time, I had actually even got into the city train and settled in, only to be informed by the train crew that the train service had been cancelled and it was not going to the city after all.  It was a disappointing experience that meant starting to make plan B when that was not on the cards.  That experience had made me skeptical about this Syokimau to city centre train, but maybe next time I would still try it out and see if lightning can strike twice, however, not today.

I reached the parking yard in time to see an SMS reminder on my phone, ‘This is day 8 since you arrived in Kenya.  You have not reported on your symptoms.  Kindly do so via Jitenge MOH Kenya App or by dialing *299# MOH’

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Aug. 21, 2021

Running 1,000km in a day – is it even possible?

Running 1,000km in a day – is it even possible?

The turnaround

I was only worried about the ‘coming back’ part of the trip.  It had its many unknowns.  If this part would happen, then the whole trip would also happen.  Whether this would happen now depended on time.  It was now 8.20am.  I was already worried about 3.20pm.  It was a Wednesday.  It was Idd holiday.  It was June 5.  It was the middle of the week… but we were on holiday.

This day was purely an accidental occasion.  The trio of us were not supposed to be seated here.  If anything, I could be still sleep at this time.  I do not know what the other two could be doing.  I can only guess that both could be asleep too, judging by the time they reported to duty the previous day – both were late, as late as nine on a 7.45am day.  Their reporting late is however what brought about this whole trip.

“Imagine that you have just arrived, and tomorrow you shall not be on duty,” I told Sally, the visitor from the land of Haile Sellasie.

“Oh my God!  I can’t believe that.  What shall I do?,” she exclaimed.

“My friend,” Nikki joined in, “You shall just have to sleep until late.”

“How about a train journey to the coast,” I said, without any inkling on the possibility of such.  I was just saying.  Hoping that it shall be dismissed.

“I would like that,” Sally responded, much to my surprise.

“Not possible,” Nikki said, “You guys are dreaming my friends.”

To prove what I also thought was not possible anyway, I extracted a notebook and wrote a few statements.

“See here,” I pointed to a statement that I had written as ‘start time 8.20am’.

“This is how you start your journey and reach at 2.20pm.  And now, look at this,” I pointed to the next line on the notebook, where I had already written ‘starting back 3.20pm’.

“This gets you back to Nairobi.  So technically, you can get down there at the coast and be back.”

“My friend, not possible,” Nikki said once more.  Examining the piece of paper, while shaking her head.

“Oh my God!  I want to go to Mombasa,” Sally said, seemingly not realizing the gravity of what she was talking about.

“There are many things to do however,” I updated my excited guest, “Starting from money, to bookings, to tickets, to transport to the station… the whole package.”

“I want Mombasa,” is all that Sally could say, “I want it!”

We left it at that, and went on with our daily activities, the subject forgotten.  Bad idea, if you could ask me.  It was a busy day.  Day 1 of the visit by our guest.  Another busy but routine day for the rest of us.  The day would at some point come to an end and it would be time to bid our guest goodbye for the evening.

“So tomorrow, we go?,” Sally would ask as we called it a day around six.

And go we would.  I would soon be searching for mobile money.  I would momentarily be online booking the trains.  I would be arranging transport for the morning.  I would be creating a communication group to exchange information and I would soon be sending a final confirmation message at around nine in the night, “It is done.  I shall pick you people at 5.00am.  Be ready”

Too early

The taxi person was punctual.  I found him waiting next to the local supermarket, our agreed meeting point, at exactly five.  In ten minutes we would be picking Nikki, and in another twenty would be picking Sally from her hotel.  It was still dark as we drove through Mombasa road, reaching Mlolongo at six.  It was still rainy.  The rains that had started the previous evening had not relented.  We had a tea break at Mlolongo.

“Chai na hamri for each of us,” I told the waiter.

“Ati chai na nini?,” he wanted my confirmation.

“One mahamri – isn’t one supposed to be a ‘hamri’?”

We did not get any surprise reaction from those on the table.  They stayed true to character.

“The tea is cold, have mine re-heated,” that could only come from me.

“This is tea with milk?,” that was the surprise from Sally, “For us, tea is with no milk.”

“This mahamri is not fresh,” as expected, Nikki complained.

The driver behaved like a good guest.  He just sat there and nodded in agreement to whatever we said.

We would be landed at the Nairobi Syokimau SGR train station around 6.30am, where it was still drizzling.  We would soon pass through the security checks, starting with the sniffer dogs, then the luggage scanner.  At the train station we did self-print our tickets, then went through another security check before we were directed to the upper level passengers waiting area.

“What will you order,” someone asked.  We were seated next to the big windows.  Admiring the cold weather outside as we watched the travelers stream into the station.  We turned back from our gaze through the windows, to notice a stretched hand with a menu.  It was a waiter from one of the eateries that now had a prominent presence at this part of the station.  We did not have any eateries at this section the last time I was on this level of the station.  Two more such offers of the menu would be presented to us at different intervals during our one hour stay at this waiting area.  We stood our ground.  We did not bulge into the intimidation to buy.

The fifties

We started boarding at 7.45am.  The three of us headed to coach 10 and searched for seats 52, 53 and 55.  We found someone already seated on 56.  The other 5 seats of the set were empty.  We would end up taking seats 50 and 55 next to the window, and had a choice of another three seats at discretion, since the train was not full and six seater on our section now just had two of us per seat of three.  We can thank the passengers who did not turn up, for these free seats.  We would soon understand why, since as late as 8.20am when the train started easing off the platform, we could still see a few passengers running towards the check-in while flagging-down the train.  What a waste of their time!

The girls would soon be busy selfie-ing and Whatsapping their every moment.  On my part, I would unleash three story books and offer them to Sally.  Nikki had her own book at hand, and would be starting her reading before long.  Sally would pick on Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, and would soon be flipping through the pages, all smiles with each passing page.  I could imagine how the story was forming up at Umuofia.  I deliberately avoided Grisham’s Sycamore Row, which I have been attempting to read on such trips and never finished or never got time to have enough concentration to go through the legal prose.  I would end up reading the cartoon version of the good book.  I would in a moment be seeing the snake talking to the woman….

I smile with nostalgia as a remember an occasion, not so long ago, May 10 to be exact, when I had a trip with some colleagues to Makongo, a rural setting in Machakos county.  On this particular occasion we would talk about this and that and at some point get into discussing religion.  It just somehow become a topic.

“There is no one who is saved,” our driver declared.

“You mean, not even the bishops?,” I asked him.

“Kwanza hao ndio wabaya.  Ni kondoo ngapi wamekula tukiona?”

(The are the nastiest.  How many of their flock have they 'eaten'?)

At some point we would discuss the origin of the world and origin of sin.  

“We are all suffering because of this fruit that Eve ate,” I would at some point contribute to the topic.  By that time we were many kilometers from Nairobi.  We were past Kapiti, about to turn left off Mombasa highway and start on the road to Wote.

“Do you know that the fruit is actually not the fruit?,” our driver asked the group of four in the car.

“What do you mean?,” one of the three colleagues on the back seat of this comfy Land Cruiser would ask.

The driver just took his time and let the tension build, then slightly looked back and asked the back-benchers, “You tell me, what is this fruit that is in the middle of a woman’s garden and a woman has to give to a man while she is naked?”

I have translated it, but his Kiswahili version of that question actually hit the mark.

Nine stations

I was almost laughing out loud when Sally brought me back to reality, “Where are we? We have stopped!”

The question would soon be answered on the intercom, where we were informed that we were at Emali.  The time was about ten.  This was the second stop after Athi River station.  We would be making another five stopovers at Kibwezi, Mtito Andei, Voi, Miasenyi, Mariakani and finally would arrive at our destination at Mombasa.

This is a long journey and ultimately everybody sleeps – guaranteed.  The girls were the first to let go.  They would have denied it but a had photographic evidence.  The tide would however turn against me when they would post a picture of me deep in slumber land in the same Whatsapp group – just to show that revenge is sweet, when served during a travel.

“Welcome to Mombasa.  Be ready to disembark,” the public address announced.

“Oh my God – we have arrived in Mombasa!,” Sally shouted.

We disembarked.  The gals were snapping off at every moment.  Sally was especially over the moon.

But this would not last for long, since it was soon 3.00pm and we were rushing through another security checks, canines, scanners and frisking ready to get into the E1 train that was ready for us, on the very same station and platform that we had been at less than 30 minutes ago.

I relaxed for the first time when I found myself settled on seat no. 7 next to my two colleagues in 5 and 6.  Sally was on the window seat at 5.  I was on the isle, while Nikki settled in the middle seat.  It was going to be possible to make a round-robin trip from Nairobi to Mombasa and back on the same day, only if the train would now leave… and leaving it did… at 3.20pm.

There was nothing much more to see.  We had already seen it all.  It would be the same stretch of rail back on the 500km journey.  My story should have ended here.  But it did not….

Strangers

Opposite our three-seater were the two seats at the start of the coach, numbered 1 and 2 on coach 8.  On it were two strangers, just opposite us.  The long journey would have a way of creating acquaintances out of us.  This whiff of friendship would stretch to the next 4 seats on the other side of the isle.  It just happened.  And things do happen....  

It started when the express train, which is supposed to be non-stop, took a stop at one intermediary station.  It must have been Tsavo.  We were informed that this was a forced stop to enable the other express train from Nairobi to pass by on its way to Mombasa.  We know the drill.  At this point the curious amongst us stand on the isle, usually phone cameras ready, so that we can capture the speed of the approaching train.  Unfortunately no one gets to know when the train shall pass.  You just wait and hope to get a shot at it.  Alternatively, you record a long video, as long as 10 minutes, so that you can at some point capture the 10-seconds of amazement.

“Give me your phone,” I told Sally, “You need this moment.”

“Oh no!  My phone is gone off!  No battery.”

“Murphy’s law!?  For crying out loud!  What will we do?,” I helped Sally lament, “Maybe you can charge the phone?”

“Power bank also finished!,” she said.

“You could use this socket,” the stranger opposite us said, pointing at the two sockets just next to her seat.  Both occupied by some charging phones.

“But the sockets are already occupied,” I beckoned.

“I know,” she said, “They have been occupied for long and I think we can use them.”

“But, do you know the owners of the phones?”

“I don’t, but they have been occupied for long.  It is not fair!”

Soon, without any warning whatsoever, the approaching train just zoomed past.  We hardly had a chance to capture it.  It was completely gone in 5 seconds.

“Oh hech,” I shouted, “Now the train is gone!”

“I captured it,” another passenger seated on the 2-seater side, next to the window had overheard our conversation and volunteered this information.

“Would you mind sharing?,” we asked, almost in unison.

“Are you paying?,” she started, a big smile on her face, then continued, “Sure, Why not?  You have Bluetooth?”

Both our phones were off.  We would have to rely on the lady on our side of the seats to help us get the video from the lady on the opposite side of the train.

The elephant

When our express resumed the journey, we found ourselves just conversing amongst ourselves with the two strangers opposite us.  One of them now had a priceless video that we needed, transmitted to her on our behalf by wireless technology.  It was to our advantage that we engage.  The other lady also seemed interested in our conversations and just joined in, though the two of them had been conversing for a long time amongst themselves.  The five of us would soon be in deep discussion.  

Many subjects would be on offer.  But the lack of power on our phones, and lack of sockets to charge them became the basis of most conversations.

“Give me that feedback form located behind you,” I asked Winnie, who was seated just opposite me on the two seater.  She looked behind her head and saw the holder.

“Why? What for?,” she had a way of welcoming strangers.

“I need to give feedback.  We can’t be suffering lack of sockets yet some people are filing in their power banks on the only 2 sockets available on this 118 passenger coach!”

An attendant of the SGR train overhead us.  She volunteered to give me a pen, but would give a few pleadings before releasing the pen.

“You know how passengers are,” she informed our group of five, “If you remove their charging phones they shall make lots of noise.  They do not want to share with others.  I wish there was something that we could do.”

“You could allocate time, say 30 minutes per charging,” Winnie volunteered.

“Yep, such could do,” I supported the idea.

“Maybe,” Chebby said, “But passengers are difficult I tell you.  We get it rough when they report us to supervisors” 

I assumed her name from the tag that she wore.

Her voice was so pleading that I decided not to fill in the 2-page survey, which Winnie had slowly and reluctantly handed over to me a few minutes before.

“We usually have some elephants along the route, since we are passing though our national game park.  Tsavo game park is the name,” I updated Sally.

“But I see nothing?”

“Just wait, you shall see.”

“There they are!,” the lady who had taken the video of the express pointed out on her side of the window.

Sally glanced over to the opposite side of the isle, “Oh my God!  Elephants!!  I see them.  Very big!!”

“But we have no phone.  Our batteries have run out!,” I shouted our predicament.

It would be Winnie’s turn to come to the rescue by taking some pictures of the big beasts and would equally volunteer to Bluetooth them to Nikki’s phone – the only phone from the three of us that was still surviving.  Win’s reluctance had now been broken and was progressively becoming friendlier.

“They used to announce such game siting on the public address,” I complained loudly.

“Seems that they do not do that anymore,” Win joined in, “That is not fair.  The crew on duty today do not seem very friendly.”

Chebby, who was generally operating next to our seating position, would again volunteer her customer service by informing us that crews and briefings are different, and hence experiences could be different.  She told us of the 3-day one-trip per day schedule followed by a rest-day and the impact that this may have on a crew’s temperament.

“It is not deliberate,” she came to the rescue of the person on public address, “One can get tired, despite the best of intentions.”

Win was already thinking of exploiting such ‘rest-days’ by doing two jobs at the same time.  She said as much in the course of conversation.

“This questionnaire shall still need to be filled for feedback, though the questions as so many!,” I lamented to the group of five on my side of the train.

“Those are surely few for someone like you,” Winnie said, “You seem to be someone who learned at the ‘group of schools’”

“But how did you know?,” I asked, amidst laughter from the rest of the quintet.

Another elephant

We would at some point discuss politics.  We would discuss corruption.  We discussed the new currency and the soon to be retired 1,000/= notes.  The elephant that symbolized the 1k note would soon be extinct.  There were no holds barred and the debate was as heated and as noisy as it could be.  I would be telling the group that corruption was good, since we were direct beneficiaries of corruption such as the SGR train that we were now riding on.  

Winnie’s friend, whom we shall call ‘the economist’, since she told us as much, would soon be analyzing the currency situation and saying that the withdrawal of that particular bank note was good for the economy.  I was of an opposing view.  Of course there was a suit challenging this withdrawal of currency, and memes were doing round about how this note shall be so useless from Nov. 1 that it shall be used to light up fires.  

Win did not seem to have a stand on this topic.  If anything, she said that she shall keep one of the notes as a souvenir.  Nikki was not sure which way out, though she swore that she can never ‘souv’ a 1k note.  Sally was just quiet, about to look at the enveloping darkness that was now starting to spew from the large windows.

“They should have withdrawn the whole ‘group of notes’, instead of just the one thousand,” I told the rest.

They laughed out loud.  They got the joke.

We finally reached Nairobi at exactly 8.20pm.

“Oh my God!  We are back to Nairobi!,” Sally shouted out, “This was best holiday ever.  I must come back to Mombasa!”

“I shall miss you guys,” Win said as she gathered her three pieces of luggage, about to head to the exit.

“We too,” I said on behalf of my trio, as I volunteered to help her with one of the luggage pieces, out of the train.

“We made a really good ‘group of friends’,” I said amidst progressive laughter as the five of us got the gist, as we headed out of the station.

“Hey there!,” we heard a shout from behind.  

We all looked back to notice a familiar figure from the train.

“You people were so noisy!,” she said, “I like your group.”

“But we just met!?,” the Economist said, “And I am now leaving to catch that train,” she pointed to the old train that was about to depart from an opposite platform to head to the city centre.

“Let me take a selfie with you people,” the stranger said, “I shall remember you guys forever.”

But before she could snap up the groupie, the train that she was to get into started leaving.  She ran away to try and catchup on it, but it was too late.

We walked out of the station to the parking yard, where our taxi, the very same one from the morning was waiting for us.

“You mean that you and ‘the economist’ did not know each other?,” it was Nikki’s time to wonder following the events of the last few minutes.

“No,” Win confirmed, “I also just met her on the train.”

WWB, Nairobi Kenya, June 9, 2019.

Running without rules – this is what you get….

Running without rules – this is what you get….

Too late 

I saw the warning sign after I was through with the walk at the beach.  I had used the same public entrance route at Pirates.  If I had missed this signage on my way to the water mass, then many others were capable of missing it.  It was too late now.  I could only reflect.,,

It was a Monday.  A day when there should be nobody at the beach, right? Wrong!  The water front was as busy as ever.  I have been here before hence can confirm that this place is always full – no exception.  Now proven.

I was taking WWB Junior to appreciate the marvels of the water mass.  She who previously was reluctant to taking a surname.

“Wam-what?,” She has asked when I was about to register her for her eight grade exams.

“That is your surname,” I confirmed as I got busy filling in the KCPE information papers, in readiness for registration.

“You people could not get any palatable name in the whole wide world?,” she had expressed her chagrin.

She did not like that surname for long.  I even imagined that she would drop it at some point.  It was quite something when she cleared her secondary education and was still keeping the name.  I even observed various connotations of that name in her school books.  She finally adopted W-jnr.

She is the one who actually drew my attention to the rules as we left the ocean shores heading to the main Malindi road.

“Ilani – Onyo”, it started off, white letters on a red background, capital letters.  The rest of the writings were unnumbered…. but the footer indicated: National Police Service and County Government of Mombasa courtesy of Kenya Ports Authority

Rule 1 - that drink

Rule 1 on the sign (first unnumbered item on the listing): Unywaji wa vileo na utumiaji wa mihadarati hauruhusiwi (Taking of alcoholic drinks and hard drugs is not allowed)

How is this possible when I had just seen a couple partaking of assorted brown bottles, which they made no secret about?  Did I not even encounter one riffraff who left a trail of the characteristic bhang smell?  At the very public beach!

Rule 2 - don't swim 

Rule 2 on the sign (second unnumbered item on the listing): Kuogolea uchi na kutembea uchi ufuoni hairuhusiwi (Swimming nude or walking naked is not allowed)

Bollocks!  Lies!

I did count at least five gals who were technically naked, either swimming or walking.  I therefore discount both clauses of the rule.  One of the ‘naked’ girls had approached my pathway, making me momentarily embarrassed in the company of Jnr.  This naked girl had a small transparent wrap which did nothing to conceal her otherwise bare undersides.  Her front formation was well laid out with the hairs clearly visible.  Her chest area had something that looked like a strip of cloth, pretending to be a bra.  It was not, it was a strip.  Nothing was concealed.  She should have as well just loosed those two pieces and walked in her birthday suit.  Her colleague, who seemed still on training, had at least tried, by having some under garment which left so much uncovered nonetheless.  Did I imagine her having the bad behavior of trying to look my direction?  No she didn’t.  It was may imagination.

“Jameni, huyo hata anipe, siwezi,” someone commented.  The someone seem to be in the business of renting out floatation tubes, say it as it is, inflated tyre tubes.  

“Huyo lazima ana mdudu,” he added, to the benefit of the other four or five people gathered at the show, two of them were ladies and they had no kind words for Miss Naked either...

“Hao ni wachuuzi.  Mwanamke na heshima zake anaweza kuwa hivyo kweli?,” the spectator lady wondered.

I had the benefit of seeing, listening and witnessing to all this as the waves hit our feet and pushed us further ashore with every wave break.  After all, “macho hayana pazia” (same to masikio).

Rule 3 - clean 

Rule 3 on the sign (third unnumbered item on the listing): Uchafuzi wa mazingira ni hatia (Pollution is illegal)

“Hi ni kama kupigia mbuzi gita,” I told Jnr, as I reviewed this rule later on as we walked out of the beach.

My observation was different.  The shore was littered with plastic bottles, mostly.  Some polythene, some paper.  How did glass bottles get into the water?  I saw quite a number. 

As if rules 1 and 2 were not pollution enough!

We even saw a dead fish on the shore.  What could have killed it – anything, including a non-conducive environment that could have been a result of pollution.

Rule 4 - its time 

Rule 4 on the sign (fourth unnumbered item on the listing): Mda wa mwisho wa kukaa ndani ya maji ni saa kumi na mbili jioni (6pm) (6pm is the latest time that one can be in the water)

Finally, a rule that was enforced, but with some coercion.  At five-thirty we had heard a whistle.  It kept being blown, before we finally made out the figure of the man blowing off as he walked the beach.  With every whistle, he would gesture to the water in a manner of calling the swimmers towards the shore.

“Saa bado,” someone commented to his earshot.

“Twa anza mapema.  Ikifika siksi basi, watu wawe wametoka wote,” he announced, to the benefit of anyone who could hear.

He repeated his whistle blowing routine at 5.45pm, and then again at 5.55pm, when he persisted until all were ashamedly forced out of the water – by just the power of the whistle!

“Why do you think they force people out of the water, yet everybody is independent and on their own?” Wam Jnr asked.

“Well,” I started, “Rules are rules”

Zero kp/h 

The next day as we took the express from the coastal town back to the city as we had a reminiscence of the 2-day holiday.  The signage in the train that cycles every minute kept reminding us:

2018-03-06

Now: 16.23

Outside: 35^oC

Luggage must not be put in the gateway

Help us to keep the train litter free

Train speed is 0km/h

Train speed is 0km/h

Only the second two lines did change.  The last two lines were exactly that, throughout the 5hour ride.  That was the fastest zero km/h that I have ever travelled at.  When it was still working, on my way down coast, the train had severally hit 114km/h, though it tended to average 80km/h.  After 300 repeats of the same wordings over and over again, I was relieved to finally step out of the Madaraka express, which the ‘lazy’ call SGR.  How do you refer to a train a ‘railway’?  Isn’t the R in SGR actually the work ‘railway’?  Call the thing Madaraka express, the express, the train or the carriage, not SGR!!!

Old or Narrow 

While I had used a taxi from my residence to the in-the-middle-of-nowhere train station at Syokimau, I was delighted when we were shooed to the ‘old’, OK, ‘narrow gauge’ train that was waiting on an adjacent platform.

“Travel to City Centre at only 50 shillings,” the concierge had announced on megaphone.

Finally it shall happen.  I shall be able to ride the ‘old’, OK, ‘narrow gauge’ train to city centre.  The contrasting experience was something I was really looking forward to.  When I stepped into it, I noted that the train was changed since the last time I got into one, more than two decades ago.  Instead of the seats facing each other with an isle in the middle, the seats were now aligned along the sides of the coach, with the wide middle isle left for standing passengers.  We initially missed seats, but were encouraged to walk along within ten coaches to reach an empty coach where we sat.  For information, that ten coach walk is about 150m.  It was quite a walk.

We got into the ‘old’, OK, ‘narrow gauge’ train just after disembarking from the express.  Since the express ‘landed’, sorry, ‘railwayed’ at 8.15pm, our entry into the old train was from around 8.20pm.  By 9.10pm the express passengers were still streaming into the old train.  I have never seen a full train in my life.  Believe me when I say that it was full.  The rains did not make matters any better, since everyone thought it best to use this means to the city.

Then… then the unexpected happened, we just started seeing people disembarking… back to the rainy platform!

“Gari haiendi,” we heard the murmurs.

“This is just great!,” I finally had to say!

No refund 

The state corporation was willing to lose out on the 50 shillings times 1,000 passengers for whatever reason!!  They had the audacity, the impetus, the infantry, to ask us to disembark!!!  Isn’t government just great!  Who should help the ‘helpless’ in us when forced out into the cold with no explanation! (And no refund!  In fact a refund is necessary.  Didn’t I read somewhere in the terms of service of the express that the ticket price of 700 shillings includes a train ride from city centre and back back!?  I read that fine print somewhere)

To make matters worse, we were even ‘politely’ chased out of the terminus building and told that, “It is getting late, hence better for you people to go out there in the rain since that is where you can easily get vehicles”

The day could not get worse than it was right now.

The parking yard of the terminus was empty.  The public service vehicles must have given up when they saw no one coming their way when all of us were convinced to get the old train.  We were now facing a new crisis.  Everyone had to turn to taxi hailing services, and Uber was the worst hit.  Its server probably just crushed!

“Prices are now higher by upto 3 times due to demand,” my Uber app announced, and projected a cost of about 4,000/= to Uthiru, which normally should be 1,200 (or less).  On the morning of my travel on Sunday they had offered to ferry me to Syoks for 980/=.  Despite that, and just to ensure that the knife sank in further, they added, “There are currently no drivers available”

“This is just great!!,” I shouted to the phone screen.

Stuck 

A phone call to the employer contracted taxi firm was a bit positive.  The controller confirmed that for a fare of 2,800/= I shall be taxied to my destination, though he would call back in ten minutes and confirm when I could get the taxi.

“Where are you?” he had asked

“At Syokimau, SGR Train Terminus”

“That should be easy, since we usually have fleet at the airport,” he reaffirmed.

Ten minutes later, “We are now ready to pick you.  However, the only available cab is at Uthiru and that is what shall be coming your way.”

I need not tell you that I was quite mad.  It is good that I did not graduate to crazy since I was at this point in time capable of doing something crazy!  The rains made my situation worse.  It was now heading to ten.

That is when I remembered that I had another taxi hailing app – and the Taxify came to the rescue.  Thought the first two trials gave me a message almost as crafty as that of Uber – informing me that the prices were now about 1.5 times higher than normal and there were not vehicles available, a third attempt gave me a 10-minutes waiting time.  And as sure as the sun rises from the East, I was being called to go to the rainy parking lot to get the taxi.  The price of 970 shillings was normal, even lower than average.

On reflection, I have learnt that “rules are rules” but that is easier said.  Many circumstances shall arise that shall makes rules to be just that… rules… nothing else.  Instinct, situational awareness and the cellphone shall come in handy at such times.

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, March 7, 2018